i hate myself more today than i did last night.

sitting on fences used to be fun.

but i'm no pro at balancing, and pretty soon my butt starts to bitch.

i'd rather be married.

i want to settle myself the fuck down.

but tonight i'll setlle for settling myself precariously between your shoulders.

it's days like this where the room is dead.
the tv's on, the music's playing.
and it's all the same.
except no one's reaching into my pants.
and im not either.

where are you?

how you sneak in and rob me of my sentences will always kinda leave me
a little more speechless
than i used to be.
and i am addicted to the way
thecure on repeat always leaves me
a little sedated, a lot diseased.
contradictions versus contraindications,
it's amazing, the amount of word vomit that twentysix letters create.
the alphabet is most surely fucked.

i crave the old familiar certainty.

you're such an inspiration for the ways i will never ever choose to be.

and when i say you, who the fuck am i talking to?
it's just like me to play the victim anyways
so erratic, i'm predictable.
it's days like this, i cant be sure
if i'm playing our song, or playing along.
sing a long goodnight, forfeit any fight, refused to rest assured.
you starve me for perfection, till i matter only to your perception -- -
here i go again, me and my fucking you-turns.

i'm going nowhere

















and baby if you're goin that way too, let me
let me







let me hitch a ride with you.

Current Location: gracie's room
Current Music: so much by the spill canvas

correction: i owe CGH 16098 in full.

dateline was yesterday, mom is playing the silent game.

and i am playing too.

i'm fucking playing along.

where the fuck is god. who the fuck does he think he is ?

Current Location: gracie's room
Current Mood: sore
Current Music: if it isnt thecurethecurethecure, out of this world

owe CGH 16100 dollars in full.
when i tell mom, she'll disown me.
i'd rather be disowned, discarded as being worthy of hope, than to be lectured.

i think i'm pregnant.

i've been eating like a horse.

i need castor oil badly.

i miss Clarissa.

i'm fucking tangled.

goodbye world.

Current Location: here.
Current Music: blonde redhead

i'm gonna get my ass offline now and transfer myself to the television.

i miss you.

i need diverson.

Current Location: still here...
Current Mood: blank
Current Music: -

+ tidied the couch
+ fed the babies
+ painted my nails
+ cleaned out the bedside table
+ put his laundry in the wash
+ emptied the ashtrays
+ deleted pictures on my cellphone
+ read expired texts
+ contemplated the penknives
+ listened to this song thirtyeight times on repeat
+ Clarissa Clarissa
+ friendster and photos
+ livejournal
+ washed a sink full of dishes
+ youtube
+ 3000 mg of paracetamol
+ nineteen sticks of cancer
+ an hour till the sunrise

and i'd rather have been in a cocoon with you, the air condition is cruel now that you're gone.
i dont count the calories, my mouth just glues shut.
i'll never let you know, but i'm a glorious mess.

remind me that the pain is there for a reason, and that i am more invincible than i feel now.

Current Music: so much by the spill canvas

Over-Anxious Hands on Hurt by Nine Inch Nails: decaying life gets my head stirring. I am a sick sick scrap of a human.
Clarissa; is sad: youre lovely.

muah to you, pretty lady.

rawr.

five hours in front of this screen, havent done this since brian.
my eyes are beginning to see a blurred version of these words. i've got built-in suicide-control. these songs on repeat make me wanna stab myself repeatedly with a blunt kitchen knife. it apparently is my inner emo kid's night out.

omar has mastered the skill of getting out of the cage. he's the sweetest warmest thing i've got for company tonight. a rabbit a laptop and a fuckload of cancer - i am a shame indeed.

even aliens would be baffled.

okay for more cancer.

Current Mood: rejected

tell me i found this in your throat:
i cant quit you.

Current Location: still here.
Current Music: hurt by nineinchnails

for the sake of repetition, and feeling exactly like i used to:
I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel
I focus on the pain, the only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole, the old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away, but I remember everything

What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down, I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of shit upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time, the feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here

You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down, I will make you hurt
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself, I would find a way

give me the nerve to tell you, lend me the ability to stir you.
come back come back, come back to me.

how do you disarm me like you do?

Current Mood: blah
Current Music: hurt by nineinchnails

you see if no one gets inside, i dont bleed internally.
oh Hurt, i heard you sneaking back in,
through the crack in my wall, the chink in my breastplate,
to settle down within my typing and some lyrics,
i watched as you arrived - so timely and so late.
so much, and so little still, what constitutes enough,
my darling, do you believe we've had enough?
do you believe that i have?
are you reading, are you recording this in motion ?
but i am still, i am still, i am still so present.
what is past, what is poison? what i drink,
is only fuel for this system,
so dysfunctional, and quickly flooding,
with things i remember, i refused to say to you.
they still swim in my pools of ponder,
and every thing that was trivial, are now so fucking distinct.
of chances and thrones and fast-dissolving bones,
i challenge them all to validate my own.
if i asked you just one question, baby would you answer it?
and if maybe i missed you, could you detect it?
oh despite.

i deleted all our pictures from my cellphone, it's funny how the silly ones still have to power to squeeze a smile out of me.
i hoped it'd be somewhat liberating, but somehow i am here still, lacerated from our razorblade words.
and there are so many songs that fail to justify their impact on me, without you cocooned in my comforter. ha, comforter. am i lying to myself, or beside myself tonight?

wont you deny me another excuse,
another cowardly neon exit, please?

(my darling, wont you fuck me in parentheses.)









"i really dont deserve this from you."

you dont.

exit,
su querido fo siempre.

Current Mood: melancholy
Current Music: so much by the spill canvas