(no subject)
i've had my heart completely ripped from my chest in a split second.
didn't give me a chance to compose myself. to come up with a comeback. to even retaliate. and now, i'm so exhausted with the bull shit that i don't even want to think clear ever again. and in retrospect i could say i saw this coming. i've never had foresight. hope, i realize, is something that loses its tact after so long. after i realized it was just getting old to tell myself again and again that everything will be ok.
WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME. i can't give anymore. and you know i always will.
why do you think you hang around me.
ask yourself.
give me sense of self.
give me reassurance.
give me fucking lung cancer.
i've never been so insulted. so hurt, by things that never should make a difference. they wanted to talk, but couldn't speak. i wanted to scream, and i could hardly breathe. it wouldn't matter if it hadn't been my childhood. gone.
the first boy to ever steal my attention telling me he never even cared about me. it shouldn't hurt. but it was my childhood.
and now this is all nothing.
and my father cups my face in his hands when i finally break down and tells me he really can't know how i feel at all. says he sorry. for the first time in my life i hear that. being told it's ok to cry, when it really isn't appropriate to do so. because fuck this.
i never needed this to be me. to have my character. to create my sensibilty.
i could've never looked back. never came here again. and this would still be pure.
the best friend i ever had. never sacrificed anything for me without benefit.
the knot in my throat from being convinced i was always wrong.
the lies circumfrancing all of us.
the lack of maturity. the nothing fights.
we've resorted to classic stnad up comedy.
dane fucking cook.
and then love.
and what its purpose.
when everything close always goes.
ive convinced myself that these inked birds will fly me away. if i keep paying for more.
oh, i love being eighteen.
the smell of cigarettes.
i don't even care anymore.
last night i held his face in my hands and didn't want to remember time was still counting down until we'd part ways. because for some reason everything feels perfect in the glow of red street lights and blue television screens.
but morning comes.
i can't help but think its another disaster waiting to just self destruct.
like
everything
else.
i need to clear my head. without that soar throat. without that roll of the eyes.
requiem.
i gained control of a loss i've never experienced in the flesh before.
that perfect feeling of losing everything that once mattered more than all else. lying with my head back and my arm around his waiste, was all that concerned me anymore.
and now. i'm awake. and cold. alone. and exhausted from the fighting. the pointless childish fucking drama that i really don't give a fuck about anymore.
stay out of my life.
stay out of our lives.
get fucked.
and repent. because you're believeable over me. it will work for you my dear.
didn't give me a chance to compose myself. to come up with a comeback. to even retaliate. and now, i'm so exhausted with the bull shit that i don't even want to think clear ever again. and in retrospect i could say i saw this coming. i've never had foresight. hope, i realize, is something that loses its tact after so long. after i realized it was just getting old to tell myself again and again that everything will be ok.
WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME. i can't give anymore. and you know i always will.
why do you think you hang around me.
ask yourself.
give me sense of self.
give me reassurance.
give me fucking lung cancer.
i've never been so insulted. so hurt, by things that never should make a difference. they wanted to talk, but couldn't speak. i wanted to scream, and i could hardly breathe. it wouldn't matter if it hadn't been my childhood. gone.
the first boy to ever steal my attention telling me he never even cared about me. it shouldn't hurt. but it was my childhood.
and now this is all nothing.
and my father cups my face in his hands when i finally break down and tells me he really can't know how i feel at all. says he sorry. for the first time in my life i hear that. being told it's ok to cry, when it really isn't appropriate to do so. because fuck this.
i never needed this to be me. to have my character. to create my sensibilty.
i could've never looked back. never came here again. and this would still be pure.
the best friend i ever had. never sacrificed anything for me without benefit.
the knot in my throat from being convinced i was always wrong.
the lies circumfrancing all of us.
the lack of maturity. the nothing fights.
we've resorted to classic stnad up comedy.
dane fucking cook.
and then love.
and what its purpose.
when everything close always goes.
ive convinced myself that these inked birds will fly me away. if i keep paying for more.
oh, i love being eighteen.
the smell of cigarettes.
i don't even care anymore.
last night i held his face in my hands and didn't want to remember time was still counting down until we'd part ways. because for some reason everything feels perfect in the glow of red street lights and blue television screens.
but morning comes.
i can't help but think its another disaster waiting to just self destruct.
like
everything
else.
i need to clear my head. without that soar throat. without that roll of the eyes.
requiem.
i gained control of a loss i've never experienced in the flesh before.
that perfect feeling of losing everything that once mattered more than all else. lying with my head back and my arm around his waiste, was all that concerned me anymore.
and now. i'm awake. and cold. alone. and exhausted from the fighting. the pointless childish fucking drama that i really don't give a fuck about anymore.
stay out of my life.
stay out of our lives.
get fucked.
and repent. because you're believeable over me. it will work for you my dear.