my heart is beating faster than my mind can think. tried and tried again, and then tried some more. spent the night with wide eyes and a weakening heart.
im not nearly as strong as i like to think.
thanks for being my knock on wood.
its wearing (me) thin.

you're the safest kind of dangerous.

it's funny how easy it is to sleep with someone, but how hard it is to sleep next to someone


you're sleeping with the light on like you're dying to be found out.

professional bridge burner?
why yes, that would be me
I professionally burn bridges, maybe not for a living but definitely on a day to day basis.

lonely bed and heart


...

if you can't get someone out of your head maybe they're supposed to be there

As the sun slowly fades, so does your voice. Yet it paints such a beautiful picture. A world where everything is perfect. But that world is galaxies beyond us, beyond the farthest star, yet closer to me then you'll ever be.
The bell on the door of the coffee shop rings and wakes me from my dream world. I blink my eyes a few times and try to see that its actually you standing in front of me. I sigh in defeat and roll my eyes to the gods. you begin to smile when you see me. You begin to speak and my world goes weak. I smile and slowly nod my head. As you turn around and leave, I stand transfixed in my spot. Contemplated why you would talk to me before I look down to see the paper you left folded in my hand, Written in big bold letters are the words I love you too.

every once in a while i wake up to what feels like lips on my cheek but im always alone. i need you. it used to be everyday now it seems to only be late at night. sometimes i wish for you so hard that i cry. i cry for what we had, for how we'll never have it again and for how im responsible.
i'm done with being proud i want to be vulnerable again. i want to be free again.
im tied down with memories and regrets. im wide awake with feelings i cant shake. my choices have gotten worse, my judgement doesn't exist anymore. i feel more alone in a room full of people than any other time because they always look so alive and i always feel so dead. i dont even know how i really feel anymore. i force it all. i threw away making sense probably the same day i threw you away.

i really wish i didnt need this keyboard to get all of this out.

believe me i like the way you breathe, and you could stand there forever.
__________

This is a girl who knows the cliches. This is a girl who knows how to make them feel new. This is a girl who knows how to be cruel and this is a girl who knows how to leave scars. Don't take your eyes off of her. This is a girl who will take everything you've got and then just a little bit more. This is a girl who is one of the deliberate outcasts, the original hypocrites, and the ghosts in the wet dreams of morrissey.
This is a girl who didn't know what she was living for. This was a girl who couldn't deal with it.

sleep is a cheating whore who never comes back to me.
damn you sleep.
but when you do come back, i'll totally be here for you
and then we can collapse together for a while
i can't wait because i really miss you.

salt, sweat, sugar on the ashphalt

My six o’clock headache is here 10 minutes early and I’m a jittery mess of held back emotions and anxiety. I miss the feeling of having hands being run through my hair and the steady breathing of a boy lying asleep next to me. Nothing can calm me down quite like that can. Today is going on record as the day I project honesty and admit held back truths. Don't look at me like that. I'm not a liar. I'm an emitter of omissions. I'm on sad song overload.
jimmy needs to eat world somewhere far away from my speakers.

Don't forget (the/to) change.

every other day it seems i give up on all of this. thanks for holding my hand way too tight. i keep swearing to stop falling in love. 'besides, liars turn me on.'
just know i'm not shy. i'm quiet with confidence

i'm lingering.

first of 2008

There is a flicker from the continuous lights, as minutes turn into hours which turn into days. And day after day after day after day after day my eyes snap open as the first trickles of light reach my eyelids. The water is just not hot enough; this room is just not hot enough; it is just not enough. My hands paint faces: of people, of stories that merge into my own skin, and I admire my work in a mirror. Today is the day. Today will break the reoccurring pattern of my existence.

The voice inside my head keeps me preoccupied as my hands write and I am here, but I am there. My mind explores every aspect of the consistency of my days. Since when does every sunrise look exactly the same? Thoughts interrupted by the echoing bell. An involuntary reaction.

I have followed the concept of long-lost souls that come to me at night. They seem to be the only things that can make me differentiate between my days. They call to me, but melt when the lights come alive. Since when does the sunrise murder the creations inside my mind? Thoughts cut short by the echoing bell. An involuntary reaction.

I live inside a simply patterned world. I shun inconsistency. I fear abnormality. I am the patterned stars, glorified in the sky. Oh, but please, if you could just come a little closer you could see that all the other stars are not just mere copies of me. I watch the back of plastic heads day in and day out, bobbing in agreement of every word spoken by The Higher Ones. Cyclical ideas stopped abruptly by the echoing bell. The bobbing heads involuntary reaction.

The World outside may actually appear to change, but it is carefully controlled by the perfectly timed bell. The trees shift from green to red to dead following the precise clock, ringing and ringing and ringing and ringing. The sun rises everyday. Perfectly. Consistently. Normally. The light is broken off at sunset by the echoing bell. Days are the involuntary reaction.

I’m spinning on my axis, always returning exactly where I have been. I have traveled these courses before, so I recall the outcomes. But doesn’t repetition make everything interesting? Doesn’t repetition make everything interesting? Doesn’t repetition make everything interesting? Saying “NO” will break the Mold. Cross the line. Fight the clones. Thoughts shoved to the side by the echoing bell. Involuntary “yes.”

My hands fight to stay afloat, lingering on this back and forth, back and forth, back and forth progression that doesn’t seem to be progressive. Let us slip underwater for a split-second: to feel what it is like to have no control over ourselves. My muscles relax and let the shifting of the water move me so that I am fighting the tide. My eyes are closed. I am breaking the mold. Shattering the clones. Tossing the array of bells into the bottom of the ocean.

An alarm clock screams.

My eyes snap open.

An involuntary reaction