meinumberone
I wish I could invent for you a something, an anything. Any some thing. That will get you to see how much of an ass you're being.
Fucking Babbitt needs to take his fancy-shmancy alarm clock from the Hell of Conformity and eat it raw and ringing. In other news, I hate admitting that I miss you. It makes me sick, as if I'm the one who ate the alarm clock. Wake me up from my own hell, please. Oh wait, I sleep through all my alarms. Fantastic. Just fantastic.
Wrench out reality like it's the only way to breathe.
Holy shit. What gave me the boost to start talking to you again, damn, I don't fucking know. But let's hope my head doesn't get in the way this time. And that my heart doesn't get broken in the end?
You left me in the darkroom, as I always knew you would. I can't stop saying it. "I'm right. I'm right. I'm right. I'm always right." I knew everything that would happen from the beginning and still, I said, "Fuck it." And I'm still glad I did because I'm being broken into who I want to be.
Isn't it funny how every word given can pertain to love? Not necessarily always in a positive way, but still. Love is love. And love is a cliche. Just like "You make my legs turn into jelly."
Oh dear god. How do I relate print to you? I need to get you out of my system. I eat in sugar, drink in more sweet, listen to the most coma-fying songs. But I still can't get your jammed paper out of my broken printer.
You said I had your shoulders to lean on. Oh, I knew so much better. My head always knows so much better. What can I say? I suppose my shoulders are strong enough for me to lean against on my own.
writing since 2011 · 9 entries · 9 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Mei#1 showed up.
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the words Mei#1 reaches for
lovebrokenheartshouldersleanbetterheadeatfuckingalarmclockhellfantasticdroppedhopeddie