It's all about the love, not the hate. The good times, those good vibes -- the grooves you get when you cruise or the flow of the bow in your hair.
It's about now, not then not when not if. It's about life but not the future, not the what. not the is.
It's this or it's that but then it's nothing at all. It takes place in summer or in fall. Winter's rare, which isn't fair but that's the way the game is played.
It's tonight it's not tomorrow. Forget about the sorrow.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Sly, Flirtatious sins
sly grins, flirtatious sins, hanging on every word like its absurd.
strung along like its wrong, but it feels so right to have you in sight that I might want to stay here forever, could it get any better? A lock bouncing around my face with such grace while I smile just for a little while. Come 'round here, let your hair down dear, dont be afraid to let go of your fears!
Me and you, you and me, cant anyone see that we're perfect company? They loved you and I'm so blue, is this really true? Words come out like air! I asked but you couldn't bear.
strung along like its wrong, but it feels so right to have you in sight that I might want to stay here forever, could it get any better? A lock bouncing around my face with such grace while I smile just for a little while. Come 'round here, let your hair down dear, dont be afraid to let go of your fears!
Me and you, you and me, cant anyone see that we're perfect company? They loved you and I'm so blue, is this really true? Words come out like air! I asked but you couldn't bear.
Misery, Midgery.
Midgery oh midgery, where for art thou midgery?
I used to not be able to get rid of you and I acted like a puts.
So now you hate my guts.
the end
I used to not be able to get rid of you and I acted like a puts.
So now you hate my guts.
the end
First date in 3 years
What oh what are we supposed to do?
Are we oh are we really content with our simplistic conversation and sitting and listening to music? Everyone knows we want to move closer and closer but everytime we think about it our minds just make us think that we should move farther and farther. Who really knows what the other is thinking. Do they really enjoy this? Am I providing enough entertainment? That smile you wear is it genuine? or are you humoring me because I'm green?
All we want is to be next to each other.
No one wants to over do it, how does one know that that the other isn't just putting up with your advances cause they dont want to ruin everything and walk away on those classical tragic awkward paths that we always wind up in.
in the aftermath of glowing through the day dancing around in your mind and generally wishing you were back in the night before this one, these are the thoughts that scroll through a mind like mine, a paranoid worrysome mind.
But in the end, I'll step outside and smoke one of these last cigarettes that you said you didn't need and focus on the wondrous night that we wound up in. I'll start to hide again.
Are we oh are we really content with our simplistic conversation and sitting and listening to music? Everyone knows we want to move closer and closer but everytime we think about it our minds just make us think that we should move farther and farther. Who really knows what the other is thinking. Do they really enjoy this? Am I providing enough entertainment? That smile you wear is it genuine? or are you humoring me because I'm green?
All we want is to be next to each other.
No one wants to over do it, how does one know that that the other isn't just putting up with your advances cause they dont want to ruin everything and walk away on those classical tragic awkward paths that we always wind up in.
in the aftermath of glowing through the day dancing around in your mind and generally wishing you were back in the night before this one, these are the thoughts that scroll through a mind like mine, a paranoid worrysome mind.
But in the end, I'll step outside and smoke one of these last cigarettes that you said you didn't need and focus on the wondrous night that we wound up in. I'll start to hide again.
untitled, unfathomed.
I need a bottle. any bottle. I'll drink the rotgut piss of mexicans, scotts, germs or russians. I don't care. It's been awhile since I've wanted to drink myself to sleep, but bottle you have been there for me for 4 years now. Bottle, you are my lonesome only friend. You've also fucked me over when others get ahold of you but I'll let that go, that's them and other bottles, not my bottle. I should have known that night 3 years ago. When I convinced her to drink with me. I should have known where I'd be now. She got a nice buzz and I was already on my way to drunk... Her friends showed up and she left me. Just like she always did. She left.
I feel sick.
Something about this book is killing me a little bit with each chapter it seems, but I keep reading, I want it to turn around. Give me hope oh fictional book, While I may enjoy your truthful counterparts more because it's real, you've reeled me in. I need you as much as you need me to justify your publishing.
It's shit when you grow up with people asking you why you feel bad, what happened what went wrong and you have no answers, you just sit there with the streams rolling. So you stop. You get to the point where streams don't come anymore. You can bounce sadness off of you like a rain drop that never caressed your skin, as if you were covered in the water repellent they put in windshield fluid so it just beads up and rolls off as if it were never there. So then you have this thick skin over your emotion. Then when you actually feel something it almost feels good even though it hurts so much and you don't want it to end, you drag it out untill you are completely exhausted and can't do anything, pull yourself back up off the cool garage floor and piece yourself back together. Then you don't feel again for months or years.
I feel sick.
Something about this book is killing me a little bit with each chapter it seems, but I keep reading, I want it to turn around. Give me hope oh fictional book, While I may enjoy your truthful counterparts more because it's real, you've reeled me in. I need you as much as you need me to justify your publishing.
It's shit when you grow up with people asking you why you feel bad, what happened what went wrong and you have no answers, you just sit there with the streams rolling. So you stop. You get to the point where streams don't come anymore. You can bounce sadness off of you like a rain drop that never caressed your skin, as if you were covered in the water repellent they put in windshield fluid so it just beads up and rolls off as if it were never there. So then you have this thick skin over your emotion. Then when you actually feel something it almost feels good even though it hurts so much and you don't want it to end, you drag it out untill you are completely exhausted and can't do anything, pull yourself back up off the cool garage floor and piece yourself back together. Then you don't feel again for months or years.
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