Random

how many words to describe your unknown nemesis? how many words to describe yourself? how many are similar? how many are exactly you? you are fighting yourself constantly. self-hatred is the most visceral narcissism. you are me. i hate you, but not because you are me. i hate you for all you represent. you are weakness. you are my weakness, and he perpetuates my insanity which makes me love him more. this isnt what i thought. this is the deepest darkest abcess of human excrement. this isnt emotion by any human standard. this is my own conjured emotion. artificial like sugar bombs and paris hilton. sugarcoated and surprisingly envy-enducing.

theres this meter of self-respect i see on everyone. sure, you want closeness, clarity, friendship, and love. fucking grow a backbone and open your eyes. naivetee will fuck you over so much so and i cannot be around that. sure, im cynical, sure im pessimistic, but hey hey HEY i manage.

im in a dark hallway and theres a door at the end. i cannot see it but light shines through the cracks. its a rectangle ablaze and my fingers creep along the walls that tighten around me.

how claustraphobically comforting.

my fingers hold me up and i am moving and leaning ever so slowly towards this blasted silhouette. tip toes sliding down this mile long hallway. what's behind the door piques my curiosity ever so much. but my right hand runs along a knob and i grab it and look down the hallway, turn the knob, fall into the dark open hole and i hear my voice echoing down behind me with a "fuck you!" reverberation only kills my consciousness. only so much time until my patience wears thin. only so much time until i do what i always do. my dear, this is how i love, this is how i live. i dont.


tear the petals off slowly, one by one like a torture victim, to see if he loves you, loves you not.
tell me flower, tell me these things even if they arent the truth.

my neuroses are the only things that makes me feel sane. they are the only things that comfort me at night. i will curl up with my insanities and they will hush me, tell me things that make me cry into my pillow, bite into my fist until i bleed. they tickle my ear and all i can wish for is bubba. oh bubba, why have i "forsaken thee so"? everytime i confuse my committment phobic i run into old english and pages flip and files fall and my mind's a mess i beg for your comfort, where are you? where are my delusions when i need them most? oh when things go wrong how i wish i could ctrl + a backspace my entire life, or maybe it's yours i want to delete. call me belinda the beheader. i am the best at la guillotine. i use the dullest blade to inflict the most terrible pain. contusions make me hot. hack it slow like sex and smooth like butter. fuckitfuckitfuckit deeper into these perforations and rip the whole damn thing off threadbare and stained. destruction is what i know best. take that away from me, and i have nothing.