Living like a gypsy is no way to live, hypothetically. I’m feeling helpless and hopeless. Depressed and ready to disintegrate. Lonely and unhappy, I just want to disappear. My grades are just as low, school is not my thing. I hate school.
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Frosty breath or nicotine and worry. Inhale fresh Florida breeze, exhale pain and a sense of ease. Ease? Please. Maybe a contradiction in itself. A homeless young girl was given almost everything. Have I taken all this for granted? My life, an easy enchantment of everything I ever wanted or hoped for and then some. Something in my pubescent brain seems, well. Mis connected. Two fuses that just refuse to meet. Steep hill. I’m climbing up a steep hill, with zero known expectations . What is to come? A horizon filled with endless sky? Or an cliff ready for a simple good bye.
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Gentle Jaime
Sitting in the historical part of this limited city. Wishing, waiting, and wanting to see your precious face just one more time. Every second, and every blink of an eye is marked with this thin, translucent slide. A film or your photograph in a negative edit. The film lays over my eye lids, the blank canvas is constantly filled with your photograph. Resulting in talking to a God, which at this point seems non existent. Believing in a God, one God, the God that apparently works in mysterious ways. Non existent, apparently, obviously. Ejected into his arms, you left too quickly. He’s a selfish man that took you away from this sick, selfish world. Just know that I love you, and I will always love an cherish the time we’ve spent together.
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I want to muster every bit of some sort of, something. Underage thinking as apposed to drinking. Which one is healthier? I can’t seem to figure out the equation for happiness. All time low.
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Long Floral Skirts and Empty Rooms
I feel okay. I just want to write, in spite of you and your childish symptoms. This disease that you are suffering from makes me wonder. The doctor says Little Boy Syndrome can be fatal, especially under the weather of relationships. A blunt, blunder of nothing but memories. Memories where I mistakenly loved you. It’s true, I swear it. I will stand, grin, bear it and share it. It’s time for independence, no more of this co-dependency bullshit. “Say goodbye little Leo, it’s time to go, go, go.”
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Decision Time
I’ve decided, I am not waiting around the clock for you. I am currently tucked away in a pocket of books, hiding from reality. Hiding from faces I want to see but can’t because if fear of reaction. This is my attempt to bing biology and projectile vomit any lingering thoughts of you. You mean nothing, you pubescent boy. Complications, sex is the causation of complication. Direct correlation of this mad mal nourished relationship. I’m waiting for your text, waiting to reply in a simple two sentences saying. Make an effort, or I am dead and gone. Just a simple smile and laugh at work is all you will get from me.
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Children’s Hard Cover
What on earth am I doing? These actions can not be justified or adjudicated by anyone else but me. I choose the outcome. I choose the pathway that leads to, well right now a road of nothingness. I refuse to stand in the ally way and act as a rag doll dolly. Out of control, I can’t take this anymore. Why is it that you choose to alter your state of mind rather then being inside… Of, well… Me. I am already willing to be your late night date, what else could you really want? Your mother is not an option, child.
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I’m not sure who’s more immature. My ex boyfriend of a year, or my other ex boyfriend for a year. Laughing hysterically to myself, I think of days where I used to care. How you need to desperately grow up is beyond me. It used to be difficult to watch you suffer, now it makes me laugh that you believe the mischievous things you hear. Literally count to five, mother fucker.
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I just want to. I just want to write. About nothing, and this endless night. Sitting on a cold, plastic chair behind a wall of wood. Held together by nails, wires and clothing hangars. Aching shoulder, because of this large, tipping boulder. “OUT, OFF, OUCH!” I cry in angst. The smell of crunchy barbecue chips fill my nostrils. I want them.
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Blow Jobs and Coffee
Hot coffee, glides down my throat. A little bit of burn, a little bit of burden. It feels as good as diving into a pool of gelatinous lime jello. You can slightly move, because the time for setting is not present, just quite yet. Silently sit in a place where I know no one, thoughts. Thoughts that cannot be bought, for whatever price you or your brother brain asks for. “Conscience is the voice of the soul; and passions are the voice of the body.” says my dear old friend Rousseau. Two revolutions, two worlds as one. “He who is slow in making a promise is the most faithful in performance of it.” I expect so much from this boy who has his priorities crumbled up in a little ball, stuck. In that pool of sticky, impossible substance. Blind, find your way through it.
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I refuse to wait here while you take your sweet time. Sweet, sweet time. As tempting as waiting for your sloppy body to invite me over sounds. I think I will probably pass. I could use the company. I could use the stress reliever, buy I refuse to wait around like a lost girl. An endless swirl of lost girls, I desperately need to get out of here.
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Company
What tantalizing, and terrific stories tonight. Not the same, altered state of mind, but opposite. A kind, blossoming mother, one who opened up completely and put up almost no boundary against me. Not even blood related, my mind stays completely jaded. Just as I thought all those memories had faded. They are here. Flooding through my thoughts, spilling out serotonin in the hippocampus if I’m not mistaken. Will you ever forget? A hippo on campus I mean. Thomas Troy, amazing man. A tangent about him on another night though.
