Mrs. Cocky Newscaster
Original, you try and you try to be original but absolutely everything from up and until now has already been written. Oh no…dead end, blank canvas on plain lined paper…headaches, and dehydration…it’s all been said before. Predictable, inevitable rock bottom…you know the place, you’ve read the words upon that crooked smile already sensing what comes next. Another teaser to a broken spiral lifestyle, that’s going to make you feel a whole lot better about your own life. Because it’s always nice to watch how shitty someone has it more than you, then you could say “At least I’m not 'that' girl” in a tone of disgust. Oh no, you’re not. You’ve got your share of headaches and maybe a few cuts and bruises, maybe even a scar and battle wound or two…but you don’t have the past in the palm of your hands, the story of all of “that girl’s” plans, you don’t see the dreams in your head and you wouldn’t even be able to imagine the levels of darkness of which she has seen; because if you did…you’d wish you were the victim. The poor and innocent girl of sadness, the maniacal egotistical bitch that walks around with an unshakable frown and doesn’t give a damn about your past, or who your friends with, or who you’re related to but if you at least have an inch of common sense added to that thick brain of yours…with a dash of madness yourself hopefully. Since no one likes to be the only wreck in the room…she’ll grin sarcastically and you just know when she opens her mouth to speak, she’s not going to have anything nice to say. Hair flips and long sharp piercing stares flare and spark this avalanche of feeling in the pit of your stomach, there mind wonders “who is 'that' girl” Oh yeah, I get that one a lot too…of course she does; she’s a mystery, an exotic beauty and instantly you’re captivated and she invades and occupies every little inch of your mind. Pfff, predictable? Well, you are to her. You’re a game, a jungle gym she likes to play on. They wouldn’t be able to keep up…god bless there souls for trying. You know Katie always has an inevitable plan. It always happens, this cycle…
Oh you always know the guidelines and blueprints to such wit. It's all repeated history and disaster from your favorite weather lady, your favorite newscaster. Oh, you'll never read her disguise, never see the white lies in her fake smiles, never decode her twisted phrases it took you so long to understand...no. You'll only be wasting your time trying. Wasting your precious time watching and reading so closely, that way you can learn and try to imitate her all so original ways. Oh...no, you might as well save your breath, watch your bad cable hazy television screen, get a balanced breakfast, organize your dresser, paint your nails, read the newspaper...anything to distract yourself from falling in to the way she'll draw you in, the way she'll keep you entertained and asking and wondering...until you're stuck. Like magnets, her difference from yours has gotten you pulled in. Like opposites, you attract. Unless she decides to change again..., change her mind, her heart...you know her...the bipolar mind is a tricky unstable one prone to collapse at any moment; practice your getaway boys...'that girl' doesn't fuck around...not anymore.