typing in this box feels so weird. i'm so many months used to xanga. which no one ever reads, but whatever.
i'm sorry for neglecting this.
no, i take that back. i'm not really sorry. i'm kind of too exhausted with everything to be sorry.
but whatever the case, i'll try harder. or i'll try to , i guess.

holding her hand like some little tease.

tidal waves they
rip right through me.
tears from eyes worn
cold and sad.
pick me up now
i need you so bad.

it hurts me so much to see you hurt like this.
of course it's my concern.

i have had the most horrible day.
please realize at some point that i just need you to be there for me. when i tell you that i'm upset, after months of accepting your carelessness, i'd expect you to try and understand.

i don't think i've cried this much in months.

i don't deserve this.
i absolutely detest you, you caustic, cold-hearted bastard.

(and dearest, can you tell, i am trying to love you less.)

There was a chalk outline
of your heart
in my driveway,
where my daisies used to be.
There is no caution tape.
I cannot help but feel uneasy;
your aorta stares up at me from the
blood-black asphalt
every time I try to get the mail.
Every ventricle is still,
perfect, pristine.
My heart is pumping furiously,
and your goddamn vena cava is just sitting there.
It makes me want to tear you
to pieces.
I liked the daisies better.

seriously?

every single time i can't be somewhere.
every single fucking time.

"dear gravity, you've held me down in this starless city."

i mean, honestly?

i swear to god.
murphy's goddamn fucking law.

what the hell did i do wrong?

"you speak of love, but i've never heard of her."

now do you understand why i'm so jealous?

perfect boys with their perfect lies,

nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy.