bLack rOsEs

I want to write. And I want to write well. And I see so many people write and I think- I can do this. Yeah- dude, I can totally do this.
But really, can I?
I suppose in my heart of hearts, I know that they were all misguided.
I really am average.
Can I learn to be great? I want to be great. But really, can greatness be learnt?
That is, ze question.
You can change your personality, the very core of what it means to be you.
But how do I change naturally? By having an adventure.
But there are no adventures in my state.
There is just mild depression, suicidal thoughts and the heavy black fear of being judged and stabbed.

forever is over

Me and you, we can fit, if only you'd stop growing.
Because my puzzle piece remains uniform while yours is stretching.
Its healthy to grow I suppose, but what about our picturesque picture?
Remember the time we stole the whole day? And nobody knows it, we took it away.
You know there's nothing you could say, that would embarrass me.
I'll never forget how it feels to be young.
If you're reading this, hi. Don't talk to me about it.
I want to own the night again.

for you, my love.

I want to sit in the huge grounds of carefree and co. and talk with you about nothing and everything. We can point at the good looking dudes sitting across from us and daydream, or we can stare up at the clouds rolling by and play the guessing game.
We can hold hands, and laugh till our stomachs hurt and then we can cry about the sadness. But just for a minute. Because we have so much to do and so much to love.
You can braid my hair while I give you my opinions, even though you know what I'm going to say, and even though I don't really care for braids. And then you can point out why it wont work and I can roll my eyes.
We can sing high and sing low and make videos about our awkwardness all day long.
And then we can dream about being together, being free.

Bananas

The winds of change are blowing, sluggishly.
Or maybe its me that's so horribly sluggish.

I'm fine with staying in bed- the whole day. And people are worried.
I don't get it.
But I sort of do.
Okay.

Heres a collection of sad post break up shit that I've written in the past few months.

He promised.
He lied.

She laughed.
She cried.

He played.
With her.

She accepted,
And hurt.




xxx






Sometimes, like right now, they're sitting and talking and laughing.
I laugh along- but then a memory, small but powerful wriggles in and intense sadness threatens to drown.
I miss laughing with you, at you, at me, together.




xxx




I brush away my tears and pick up the knife lying
beside me.
The blade is sharp and could easily slice through
flesh. 
I use it to slice a cucumber. 
The irony of mutilating a phallic symbol is not lost on me, nope.
The perfectly round circles are a bright green colour. 
I place two on either eye. They will help with the swelling, and ease away the bloodshot redness.
 Lying back on the soft leather couch, I once and for all make up my mind. 
No more.
No more crying. 
No more aching. 
No more hurt.
 No more hoping or yearning or rejection. 
No more heartache and no more painful devastation. 
There shall be none of that, anymore. 
No more.




xxx




There are no tears.
There haven't been for a ling time now.
There is a desert and it is barren, like all Good Deserts are.




xxx




Me.

Stupid

Why am I the weakest link?
Why do I speak without thinking and always speak my mind?
They were all true but I believed in myself. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to survive.
But now? As you chisel away at my skin, the half healed wounds are exposed once again and I fear they will never close up.

How many knives will I dig out from my back?
I know why this happens.
I'm too stupid to stop it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You laugh at me, all of you.
I will prove you wrong, damn it.
I will, I will, I will.

Maybe I won't seeing as I'm so fucking stupid.

But maybe I will.

I will, I will, I will.

I'll be waiting for your heart.

You're doing our thing.
With her.

The thought of you and her is bearable. But when I think of you loving her more than me, or being as comfortable with her as you were with me?
I die a little inside.

You didn't reply to my message.
Why?
'I was talking to her.'

As you sleep I curse my slow reflexes. I await your reply to my stupid, stupid question.
'So you guys talk on the phone now?'

Could I be more transparent?

But you're stupid. You might not understand.

But obviously, you most probably will.

I thought I was done. Or at least- almost there.
But I suppose it was just because of the false sense of security you unknowingly lowered me in.

I don't understand.
I just don't.
How could you?

I would do so much for you.
I loved you.
True love.

if pathetic had a name.

Failures: Bad grades, bad harkatain, bad body, bad smells, bad work ethic. Disappointment.

I thought I would always have him, like a tattoo. Oops. I thought wrong.

I'm sorry but, I've gotta be strong, I have to leave you behind.

But its easier said than done.

They say time heals. I was skeptical- but I'm not anymore. It still hurts, but its not this all consuming grief threatening to kill me.

Now its just this bad feeling in my stomach, a dull ache somewhere deep within me.

Hes with her now. He literally does not want to talk to me.

Hes a smoooooth criminal.

I love Glee. Its so bright and bubbly and fun. It has good music, and funny bits. Its nice.

Are you okay, Annie?

I DONT KNOW!

But, whatever.