8 AM (a bulletin I really thought better of for posting... saving it here for if I feel evil later)
The time at which impotent rhymes and off-kilter analogies fall short of true poetry, and suggest a lack of real emotion.
Somewhere between 6:59 and 7:01, I swear, there's a spot where I missed waking up next to you and seeing you sleeping for just 60 seconds, then falling back to sleep, feeling safer than before.
You want poetry? You want soul?
Then don't dump it on my doorstep like an orphan in a romance novel.
Look me in the eyes and tell me you'll be using your moves on some lady tonight, when your breath is so heavy with booze your words are like lead. Tell me, a girl you loved once, that you don't want my works because you just don't want to deal with them reminding you of me while you're humping the sweaty flab body of a woman you hardly know who thinks you're far more attractive/rich than you are.
If you had said that, I might have respected you a little.
But you didn't.
Confirming all my doubts and fears, you are, in fact not the man I loved, fell in love with, or adored so purely.
Also: Fuck you.
-n
[subtext: James dumped me over ASKING HIM HOW HE WAS. he became incredibly childish and attention-whorish, and even said he wanted to just go out and get drunk and die in a ditch. now, he's completely changed. he's an emo peice of shit. he whines about EVERYTHING. last night, he called me at 3 AM, most likely, I believe to brag about how he slept with some whore named Brianna, more then likely. now he's moving in with a bunch of alcoholic fucktards... yes, this includes rafah who said I was WAAAAY too fat to be a stripper... and yesterday, yesterday, he leaves a box on my doorstep containing all the art, poetry and nice things I had ever given him- all the things inspired by my love and adoration of him. attatched was a note that said "hey, you should get back into art. by the way, it doesn't feel right to have these anymore."
all in all, im tired of his posting up lyrics and poetry in order to seem cool and deep and profound when all he is an attention whore whose horny and misses my boobs, and how i used to stroke his damn ego.
sorry, i needed a place to vent.
this is what irish car bombs do to me :(]
Somewhere between 6:59 and 7:01, I swear, there's a spot where I missed waking up next to you and seeing you sleeping for just 60 seconds, then falling back to sleep, feeling safer than before.
You want poetry? You want soul?
Then don't dump it on my doorstep like an orphan in a romance novel.
Look me in the eyes and tell me you'll be using your moves on some lady tonight, when your breath is so heavy with booze your words are like lead. Tell me, a girl you loved once, that you don't want my works because you just don't want to deal with them reminding you of me while you're humping the sweaty flab body of a woman you hardly know who thinks you're far more attractive/rich than you are.
If you had said that, I might have respected you a little.
But you didn't.
Confirming all my doubts and fears, you are, in fact not the man I loved, fell in love with, or adored so purely.
Also: Fuck you.
-n
[subtext: James dumped me over ASKING HIM HOW HE WAS. he became incredibly childish and attention-whorish, and even said he wanted to just go out and get drunk and die in a ditch. now, he's completely changed. he's an emo peice of shit. he whines about EVERYTHING. last night, he called me at 3 AM, most likely, I believe to brag about how he slept with some whore named Brianna, more then likely. now he's moving in with a bunch of alcoholic fucktards... yes, this includes rafah who said I was WAAAAY too fat to be a stripper... and yesterday, yesterday, he leaves a box on my doorstep containing all the art, poetry and nice things I had ever given him- all the things inspired by my love and adoration of him. attatched was a note that said "hey, you should get back into art. by the way, it doesn't feel right to have these anymore."
all in all, im tired of his posting up lyrics and poetry in order to seem cool and deep and profound when all he is an attention whore whose horny and misses my boobs, and how i used to stroke his damn ego.
sorry, i needed a place to vent.
this is what irish car bombs do to me :(]