Beware another sappy poo-em. Avoid at all costs.
I'm just flesh left to hang and be colored olive by the sun.
Zoom out to see me lying in a bed that lies in a tiny house on a block that lies in a busy city in a big country in a world that lies.
And my single biggest fear is meaninglessness.
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This is a letter to the pretty girl who reads my journal at a distance.
Maybe, at one point, something I wrote elicited an "aww" or a "how cute." Maybe you like a particular poem, the one about the drinking or the one about the sexing or maybe the one about the drinking then the sexing. Maybe you sent the journal-link to a girlfriend and told her, simply, to "read the long one about the chick in the library."
Maybe you've posted anonymously, maybe you haven't. Maybe you're not anonymous at all, you're a Friend or even an AIM Buddy. Maybe you've only read this crap once. Maybe I'm overestimating. Maybe you don't even exist.
But if you're out there ... I need you to know this. If you thought that something I wrote could "totally" be about you ... then it was.
I'm a million to one. The odds are stacked against us both.
But please, take the chance.
Just.
Say.
Hi.
Don't waste your life like I did that day in the library.
Yes, I carry my disease faithfully. Yes, I'm needy. But beneath the dust there's something rare and alive in me. (You can feel the eyes peering at you from behind my touch ...)
I promise you.
If you put my shadows to sleep,
if you tuck them in ...
I'll light your eyes on fire, I swear to god.
But please. Whatever you do. If you think you might be this girl, if there's the slightest chance you might be this girl ... DO NOT, for the life of you, click on the link to my headshots.
Just don't do it.
Apparently, a virus immediately takes over your computer and it blows up. Like, on the spot. No lie.
*cough*
Take care of yourselves.
Zoom out to see me lying in a bed that lies in a tiny house on a block that lies in a busy city in a big country in a world that lies.
And my single biggest fear is meaninglessness.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is a letter to the pretty girl who reads my journal at a distance.
Maybe, at one point, something I wrote elicited an "aww" or a "how cute." Maybe you like a particular poem, the one about the drinking or the one about the sexing or maybe the one about the drinking then the sexing. Maybe you sent the journal-link to a girlfriend and told her, simply, to "read the long one about the chick in the library."
Maybe you've posted anonymously, maybe you haven't. Maybe you're not anonymous at all, you're a Friend or even an AIM Buddy. Maybe you've only read this crap once. Maybe I'm overestimating. Maybe you don't even exist.
But if you're out there ... I need you to know this. If you thought that something I wrote could "totally" be about you ... then it was.
I'm a million to one. The odds are stacked against us both.
But please, take the chance.
Just.
Say.
Hi.
Don't waste your life like I did that day in the library.
Yes, I carry my disease faithfully. Yes, I'm needy. But beneath the dust there's something rare and alive in me. (You can feel the eyes peering at you from behind my touch ...)
I promise you.
If you put my shadows to sleep,
if you tuck them in ...
I'll light your eyes on fire, I swear to god.
But please. Whatever you do. If you think you might be this girl, if there's the slightest chance you might be this girl ... DO NOT, for the life of you, click on the link to my headshots.
Just don't do it.
Apparently, a virus immediately takes over your computer and it blows up. Like, on the spot. No lie.
*cough*
Take care of yourselves.