I want to carry you around.
Build you up. Break you down.
Into a million little pieces.
That shine in the sun like gold.

I want to get pretty little pictures
all over my body
some to remind of of the wasted nights
some to remind me of you
I want to feel the needle sink in
I want to feel it pierce my flesh
I want to remember what if feels to be alive
even after death
I want to feel what it’s like to hurt again
I want that flood of adrenaline
I want to drive this car right off the road
Into oblivion
I want to look into the mirror and see a pretty story
Tales of knights in shining armor who never had their glory
I want to remember all the endings that came a bit too soon
I want want to recall all the nightmares
and how I put them to bed
I want to know what it’s like to leave it all behind
With raised skin and heart beating
I want to take it all at once
Stay the moment so fleeting

Nothing of substance to put this mind at ease
day after day and still no cure for this disease
pretty little drug will bring you to your knees
a swift kick to the gut and heart between teeth

never again until the next time
safety sought within a fortress of witty remarks
never again until the next time
she can’t keep this up forever
somethings going to break, some things you just can’t shake
on a foggy morning sometimes I can’t tell where I’ve woken up

I’m going to lay on the floor, and have a long think, about everything.
And maybe a good cry, about everything.

Do we attempted to bring order to chaos, or chaos to order? Where in the expanse of mundane and manic does the pendulum swing? Inside out and back again. It’s all as above and so below.

…that anyone has ever done for me was sing me a song. It was a cover of a tune that he’d sent before. Guster – Satellite. I’d been hassling him on and off for a while to record him singing. Finally, he either gave in or was just absolutely sick of my nagging and so obliged. We weren’t dating, I only had the slightest notion that he somewhat fancied me… I think? But it was just the best feeling to know that someone was kind enough to make my day that way. It was really sweet.

One of the other nicest things that anyone had done for my was when he apologised for hurting me after everything was said and done. It felt good knowing that someone cared enough about me to try to right any wrong that had been done regardless of fault. That someone valued me enough to honour our friendship, to straighten things out and tie up whatever loose, frayed ends remained.

I wish everyone was that nice.

Watching my family fall apart piece by dysfunctional piece. Feeling the reality settle in again that nothing, no nothing, is permanent. Everything fades. And it seems that when it’s down to the wire, everyone is the same and there is no escaping disappointment.

If this is human nature, the cycle of things, then why bother at all. Nothing lasts forever. No one seems to love forever. It’s all a selfish act and instant gratification seems to previal in the end. Consequences are never considered until its too late.

I reckon I should be thankful my process started and ended in only the fraction of a life time. Lessons learned and burns slowly heal if you stay away from the flames. How are you suppose to believe in something that you’ve never seen except on silver screen. I don’t want to become anything I’ve known. But what else is there.

Because everything ends…

If nothing else, I can thank you for hurting me enough to give me something to write about.

They say success is the best revenge, though I reckon it can be a complement as well. As it’s the result of someone forcing you to grow and be better than you were, if you choose to react accordingly. I can be better, do better, act better, and live better than I was when we were us. I dont see another way or choice. So I suppose I should thank you for twisting the knife deep enough to make me want do whatever it takes to not be here/there again.

“Time heals all wounds.”
Time is a subjective & relative theory of consciousness that doesn’t really exist, some placebo to facilitate order from chaos. Wounds heal when they heal.

I wish you could see you’re nothing breathing.
I wish you could see you’re not living.
Stuck instead inside your head, trapped within four walls.
This merry-go-round has broken down and your heart is barely beating.

Tragic, manic, pathetic, and I find it hard to give sympathy when we know we both see what you’re doing consciously.

I feel for you deeply, but I cannot be had like a fool any longer when it was all an act, an elaborate facade that never anchored in reality. Done.

What’s wrong with her?

Nothing.

What’s wrong with her?

Everything.

It’s not that hard to find someone who’s easy to get to.

But nothing worth having ever came easy.

They take the pretty ones, and break them instead.

Because who wants something that is already broken?

And so she cracks a smile to hide the frayed inside.