(no subject)
Falling asleep on the bus ends up to be quite easy when one eye is already swollen shut from a fight. These days I am so burnt out that the steady vibration of the AATA windows can't even get me hard anymore. Just before I fall so innocently into an enigmatic dream, the retard one seat forward wakes me. "And I have a speech problem, fetal alcohol syndrome, anxiety, and depression, and dyslexia, and a sleeping disorder." The deafening tone of her voice nearly makes my ears seep colour as if they were a pair of crushed strawberries. The surrounding old ladies stare blankly in half attention at the retard, their mouths gaped wide and red like swollen vaginas. "Horseback riding, ballet, and look I can drive a car, here is proof!," the retard explains as she reaches into her purse to pull out her bus card. Moments like these turn something inside of me in which I truly miss the touch of a lover. If only someone was there; to hold my hand and share a far from politically correct laugh at another. A bad taste appears in my mouth and the slight flicker of the halogen lights begin to give me a headache. I mutter under my breath an oath to never give birth to any babies, and I eventually fall back asleep.
Recent months have seen my nose more broken than my heart and my morals lower than my self esteem. Despite how beautiful a song can make me feel inside of my headphones, I can't seem to bring myself out of being a pathetic and unreliable shithead completely counterproductive to any benefit of society. Some nights I find myself in the midst of being hosed down by my roommates, completely naked, to wash the blood off of my face as my body sprawls incoherently between the porcelain walls of the tub. At one point, Stacy has to go outside to nearly vomit from the cartilage that is snorted out of my nose. Some nights I find myself dragged through the doorway by a best friend only to end up naked and falling into the stereo in a desperate attempt to play an Iggy Pop record at five o'clock in the morning. At one point, Curt probably finds himself so disgusted by my attempts to drunkenly fuck him that he'll never give me an affectionate kiss again. Nevertheless, I keep a good GPA in school and secretly wish to settle down. Only in dreams I find the polar opposite of myself that holds the strength to act as a tranquilizer to my renegade and rambunctious train of thought. If only I could do it myself, if only life wouldn't advertise itself to me as such a cliche and moth-eaten spreadsheet of day in/day out routine with the flavour of vinegar soaked styrofoam.
A certain part of me forever wishes to slam my head so hard inside of a textbook that I won't be able to think as much as I think, something to crack my skull so wide open that I wouldn't be able to drink as much as I drink. A certain part of me wishes to fully change, to truly understand love's gorgeous exchange. After closely observing the history of my upside down feelings and obscenely deluded actions, my intentions can seemingly (and unfortunately enough) only rely on a continually heavy interaction with drugs, alcohol, and a complete ignorance of other people's emotions. As much as I wish to grow, the chemicals seem to flow. As much as I wish to think, the more I seem to sink. The advancement of my maturity has been a slow train this year, yet faster than any other in the decade. You kids have got to believe me-- oh god, I'm trying, I'm trying-- I've just always been one to slowly adjust to newly found self-realizations and personal renaissances. No matter how hard I try to pretend to be something else, I'm just a fucked up kid with lame fucked up problems and a fucked up and lame initial way of dealing with them. Apologies all around the bar. I'll call you in a couple of months when I am feeling better..
Recent months have seen my nose more broken than my heart and my morals lower than my self esteem. Despite how beautiful a song can make me feel inside of my headphones, I can't seem to bring myself out of being a pathetic and unreliable shithead completely counterproductive to any benefit of society. Some nights I find myself in the midst of being hosed down by my roommates, completely naked, to wash the blood off of my face as my body sprawls incoherently between the porcelain walls of the tub. At one point, Stacy has to go outside to nearly vomit from the cartilage that is snorted out of my nose. Some nights I find myself dragged through the doorway by a best friend only to end up naked and falling into the stereo in a desperate attempt to play an Iggy Pop record at five o'clock in the morning. At one point, Curt probably finds himself so disgusted by my attempts to drunkenly fuck him that he'll never give me an affectionate kiss again. Nevertheless, I keep a good GPA in school and secretly wish to settle down. Only in dreams I find the polar opposite of myself that holds the strength to act as a tranquilizer to my renegade and rambunctious train of thought. If only I could do it myself, if only life wouldn't advertise itself to me as such a cliche and moth-eaten spreadsheet of day in/day out routine with the flavour of vinegar soaked styrofoam.
A certain part of me forever wishes to slam my head so hard inside of a textbook that I won't be able to think as much as I think, something to crack my skull so wide open that I wouldn't be able to drink as much as I drink. A certain part of me wishes to fully change, to truly understand love's gorgeous exchange. After closely observing the history of my upside down feelings and obscenely deluded actions, my intentions can seemingly (and unfortunately enough) only rely on a continually heavy interaction with drugs, alcohol, and a complete ignorance of other people's emotions. As much as I wish to grow, the chemicals seem to flow. As much as I wish to think, the more I seem to sink. The advancement of my maturity has been a slow train this year, yet faster than any other in the decade. You kids have got to believe me-- oh god, I'm trying, I'm trying-- I've just always been one to slowly adjust to newly found self-realizations and personal renaissances. No matter how hard I try to pretend to be something else, I'm just a fucked up kid with lame fucked up problems and a fucked up and lame initial way of dealing with them. Apologies all around the bar. I'll call you in a couple of months when I am feeling better..