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.

STOP FUCKING WITH MY HEAD.

how could you possibly not understand how awful that makes me feel?

for some reason that i don't understand,

every cell in my body was screaming, "yes."

i am sick and tired of dealing with everyone else's shit.

edit/

i just want an open window.

if you were going to say it, you could have said it to me.

you don't know me.
you don't know anything about me.
what gives you the audacity to think that you can pass judgment about my character?
if you want to take it upon yourself to "help" me because you think i need it so much, go right the fuck ahead.
if you feel like you need to actually condescend to assist me because i would obviously just appreciate it so much,
go right the fuck ahead.

you're a hypocrite. you think i need your help?
no. you're the one that needs help.

bitch.

baby britain feels the best
floating over a sea of vodka.

i don't like being taken for granted.

don't think that you can just blow me off, and that i will keep standing here waiting eagerly for you to come back.

because one day, you'll turn around and i won't be there anymore.

and all the styrofoam
began to melt away.

close your eyes, clear your heart.

cut the cord.

you're the right kind of sinner.

you're a heartbreaker, dream-maker, lovetaker,
don't you mess around with me.

tell me, tell me;
what makes you think that you are invincible?
i can see it in your eyes, but you're so sure.
please don't tell me that i'm the only one that's vulnerable,
impossible.

i've recently had urges to take shears to my hair.
to let it fall, lock by lock, until the only thing left would leave me completely unrecognizable.
as if shedding something so attached to me would inherently let me shed myself.

where is your boy tonight?

it's the only place i've ever felt completely at peace.
the only place i've ever felt completely connected to anyone, to everyone.
i'm convinced if i can go back, and take someone who means everything to me, things will be okay.


it's not your fault. it's not your fault. it's not your fault. it's not your fault.
(don't you fuck with me. not you.)

FUCK ENZYMES.

i deserve better than this.

you make me feel absolutely helpless.
what am i supposed to do?

oh, vienna, where i first found love again.

the inside of my mouth has tasted like blood for days.

you love me 'cause i'm fragile,
but i thought that i was strong.
then you touch me for a little while
and all my fragile strength is gone.

where do you turn when the world comes crashing down around you?
when the inner dome of heaven crashes and shatters like ice from birch trees, who hears you screaming?
who will keep you safe in the eye of a storm?
who will hold your hand when you walk through fire?

keep me safe inside your arms like towers,
tower over me.

sometimes i wonder what makes me feel.
if you think about every single human emotion within a biological sphere of thought, everything anyone feels should be a strength, should make you, as an organism, strong enough to live long enough to propagate your genes. any trait that should be carried into the future must be one that gives your offspring a better chance of survival.

so why want something so badly that it hurts?
why cling almost electrostatically to something that will only destroy you?
why even feel at all?
letting yourself feel only gets you hurt.

but maybe numbness could hurt even more.
if only congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis
extended to emotions,
i would be unbreakable.

but CIPA leaves you without any feeling at all.
and you don't know when you're hurt.
would you rather feel and be hurt, or not feel at all?

"you're always preaching not to be numb when that's how you thrive.
you pretend to create and observe when you really detach from feeling alive."
"perhaps that's because i'm the one of us to survive."
"poor baby."

(don't call me that.)

at the risk of sounding like an obsessed fangirl,

CHELSEA AND I WERE LESS THAN FIVE FEET AWAY FROM PETE WENTZ.
HE ALMOST TOUCHED US.
ALMOSSSSSTTTT.

and i will marry gabe saporta.

i think i just got my life back.

< /APUSH >

i really really hate
when i'm upset about something
and people tell me that
"it's not a big deal."

come together, right now, over me.

i cannot do this anymore.

what am i supposed to say in my defense?
i have none.
he's right, and he's always been right and he will probably always be right, and so what should i do?

green light is casting a shadow, shadow shadow shadow.

so much for secretary of fucking state.

i am not afraid if she's a jedi, too.

oh, i don't believe in anything.

it is the faithless who know love's tragedies.

pretty boy. pretty eyes, pretty smile, pretty silhouette. pretty words. pretty red telephone. pretty sunshine, pretty leaves, pretty playscape, pretty shoes. pretty reflection. pretty melody, pretty harmony. pretty little liar. pretty ghost. pretty vicious. pretty slick ambition. pretty snowflakes, pretty stars, pretty tears falling down a pretty porcelain face. pretty icy breath, pretty ice, pretty cold cold cold. pretty sheets, pretty baby baby baby baby don't go. pretty bottle, pretty dizzy. pretty lights, pretty naive, pretty blue blue blue blue orange. pretty air, pretty water, pretty glass, pretty asphyxiation.

drink up, baby, look at the stars,
i'll kiss you again between the bars.

No me gustan las mariposas.

why are you everywhere?

you waited for me in the rain, in the parking lot.
cold hands, lips blue, clothes stuck to you.
you could have phoned me for a ride, it's a mess out there.
you said, "the rain's the rain. some air would be good for you."

you can breathe, you can breathe now.
you can breathe, but the air is running out.

you get in my car where it's warm, you cannot forget.
skin new. hands true. my hands all over you.
so what's another night? the seats rolled back, you can't see through.
the rain's the rain, and some air would be good for you.

you can breathe but the air is running out.