I love you.
I hate you.
You annoy me.
I'm slowly falling apart.
I'm slowly falling apart behind my eyes.
I'm slowly falling apart in front of your eyes, and you don't seem to notice or care.
I hate it when you say there's nothing you can do.
I hate it even more when you say that you don't know WHAT to do.
I hate to admit to anyone that I am infatuated with them.
I love you.
I may act like a hardass, but I need affection.
I want your affection.
I need a hand...can you save me from myself?
Just let me self destruct.
I want to hurt you just as bad as you want to help me.
I want to sink teeth and claws into that pretty little skin of yours.
I want to rip you apart limb from limb.
And I want you to cuddle me,
and whisper all the things you want to say
but can't usually admit,
all while I rip out
Your amazing throat.
I want you.
I need you in my life.
Baby, don't go.
Why are you looking at me like that?
Well, I've gone and fucked that one up. Again.
I'll never grow into myself.
I will never accept responsiblity.
I will never be happy with myself.
All the therapy in the world couldn't cure these feelings.
Just learn to deepthroat life, and we'll all be okay.
Because if you can choke down life, you can choke down anything.
Let it slide.
Let it go.
Let me have someone else.
Let someone else have me.
Will you watch?
Give me a hand, I'm drowning in myself.
Give me a hand, I'm drowning in your eyes.
You feel so warm at night.
The smell of you on my sheets makes me cry.
Not because I don't love you,
But because I know like everything else in my life,
eventually you will leave me, too, if by your choice,
or God's.
Everything expires. I just help it along,
and it will always come to a point where,
you aren't good enough, you can't take enough, you're not
young or pretty or skinny or lovely or smart
or talented or funny or amusing or even just right
enough for them.
Because everybody loves you when you're easy.
And when you put yourself out there, when you put IT out,
You don't have to open up your heart,
and you don't have to show any real emotion.
You can giggle and laugh and flirt and touch
with only the slightest efforts. And you're good at it.
So damn good. Because when you see the desire burning in their eyes,
You know in that moment that they want you. They want to tear you apart.
And use you like a trophy. Another freak fucking lay on their fucking wall of
shame/fame. And that's all you are to them,
But your smile smolders with a nearly dead ember when you realize
that they will never know your secret. That you've stolen something from them.
A photograph in your mind, a glimpse, a moment of time.
Everything you touch passes from spring to winter.
Do not pass go, do not collect money. Go directly to death.
Because everything you touch falls apart.
But conversely, everything you leave falls apart too.
You're like duct tape....no, too redneck.
It's like a threesome. Yeah. That's it.
It's like a threesome, where you've got two guys,
who are scared as all hell to be in the same room with another dick.
You're stuck in the middle, between these two, and you're the only thing holding them together. Anything more transparent than you would be disaster. You're just right. They fit just right. Perfect fucking match.
But when you leave, all hell breaks loose. Because there are two guys. In one room. With both their dicks out.
Face it, chica, you just fuck things up in general.
Are you talking to me, or yourself, or him, or her, or someone else? I don't fucking know anymore. At this point it doesn't matter.
I want you to mark me. To claim me, to make me yours in a way that you haven't even done yet. I want you so badly that I wouldn't give two shits if you carved your name on my ass. So many have done it before.
The names, the initals, fade after time. But catch it at just the right time,
when the air is hot and kind of
dry. And the scars spring to life, and all of a sudden
You're aching for them. No, because of them.
And the painful reminders of youthful indiscretion
flash before your eyes, and on your ass.
And you want nothing more than to be taken over,
owned completely, controlled, used, claimed. And then held.
But you know you're never going to get it.
Because he's just not that into it.
And you can't really find anyone who is.
And you wonder, for a moment, what life is like for the people
in the car next to yours, as you glance down into their window,
and kind of smile to yourself and know that they're not even close
to as miserable as you are.
Let go. Just let go.
Sleep, perchance to dream.
What the fuck, Shakespeare, you didn't know one GODDAMN
thing about dreaming. I've dealt with things for years that would make
your pansy little bardic ass scream in terror and run for the nearest gallows.
Dreams? Yeah. Fucking right. I'd kill for a dream.
Instead of the shit that I'm "blessed"with. Fuck you, buddy.
Embrace it? You don't know what the fuck you're talking about.
Fuck you all.
Speaking in cryptic bits, dead languages, pieces of metaphor and stories.
I don't need the dramatic bullshit. I know what I am.
And I know what I do. And I don't give two shits how you can help,
or how you want to factor into my other self. You had a chance.
But it's past that now.
It's way past everything.
And it's past my bedtime.
I love/hate you all.
-2007
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