merde, elle a encore perdu la control

sometmes we know what is best for those wrinkles we find
catching a glimpse in the mirror at night,
oh I wont lie I stare at my reflection
in a pool reflecting the moonlight
too bright
and I hide my eyes in this soiled disguise
too long coming down the road so curved because i hide behind a soiled disguise
of bangs and bitches and tainted red brew
this you will never know n the truth
i keep quiet awake when I lay at night thinking as my teeth chatter
incessantly i imortalize what i do with myself
when i run across the winters planks
and slip and my eyes bleed
not more than my nose
but enoguh that i am blind to the snow
and my head is everywhere
so are my guts splitl along my ankles, or cankles instead
and my teeth are rotten all over again.

like a dirty french novel the absurd courts the vulgar.

sometimes i would led to be left to my misery and stirring my dark deep cauldron of thoughts alone. sometimes I feel like my destiny is written down in a permenant invisible ink, known to only the secrets that lie in history. i feel like history is my mirror and i am constantly obsessing over it in hopes of discovering more of my self. fata morgana was a fairy queen, also known as Morgaine and Morgan Le Fay. it is also the slovak word for mirage.
this is of interest.

we get in vice at the store and oftentime I just hope that we keep getting it in, just for the amount of beautiful boys that come i looking for it.
a friend of mine told me that a boy in town has a crush on me. of course ths got me searching. oftentimes i feel like a fourteen year old girl who is just desperate for attention. I know this is true and this almost hurts my feelings, despite my knowledge that it is nothing but my own fault. i think m biggest fault is that I know all my worst faults yet i selfishly refuse to change them or even adhere to making things a little easier for the people around me. i am just a lucky girl, I feel like sometimes I just want to light eveerythng on fire around me just because it makes me easier to feel unhappy. then I can place the blame in some place.
i wanted to be single this year and i feel like i am refusing to make any allowances because i think i can do better. there, its been said. I wish i didnt think it but i really do.
putain de merde

as far as I am concerned I could lay in bed naked for hours
and have you rub my arms and back
and kiss me every single time you think about it, which i know you do, you plan things, same as I except I never planned anything with you

i lust for summertime wind when i could feel warm without the company of some but I suppose thats why this will end once the seasons change
i cant run away from france, that I love because of individuals anymore, but run to france because of individualism and how obsessed i am with it.

i cant do this much longer. i frequently wonder what i think and i need silence for at least a few days, silence frm everyone and everything so i can write and retaliate and think about how i feel, how i felt about last year.
ive got a strange attitude lately and i feel like i am holding myself up like a marionette.. im not happy but im not sad.

I miss a lot of,, happenstance and magic and success and the feeling of tender emotion and true trust, true love, being true and not just wanting to run away from the entire world. it wasnt always like that but often times it was.

sentences that i like:

'm stressing and drinking and reading people's books theyre writing, I'm getting offers, jobs, drinks, nights, no money though, Im wearing my male roomate's cheap mondays, im smoking, im drinking, I'm reading in parcs, Im investing in ice cream, I;m staying out till morning hours on boat clubs, Im smoking, Im forgetting to eat, I'm telling everyone my life story, I'm making up lots of crap, I'm sleeping in a 3 tiered bunk bed, Im being told Im pretty and cute, Im brushing it off, Im putting on eyeliner, I'm not showering, Im looking greasy, Im skipping mass to smoke cigarettes in graveyards with lovers.( Paris, 2007)

Theres been some tangible collapsing.
We choose mind over heart matters, oui? ( july 2007)

I fantasize and lust about clothes as much as a 17 year old boy fantasizes about his girlfriends pussy ( his girlfriend isnt putting out). I spend hours looking at clothes a day, and I dont just mean at the cotton jungle. If i won the lottery I would spend all the money flying places and buying clothes. and clothing accessories. and shoes. ( august 2007)
I'm lucky to figure things out for myself, im lucky to depict and detect whats going on in everyone else's eyes and ears. Everytime I stomp my knees crack a little bit and after weeks of not a crack, I'm cracking up.
literally. if you hear a wild shrieking laughter and cackles its probably and most likely I. i meet and i greet and i read and absorbe- it all really affects me for better or worse. I frquently make predictions and feel like nostradamus once they are confirmed. I never inflict pain on anyone else because i am so desperatly afraid of karma that i clench my teeth and rattle my smiles at everyone. I seek out the lives of saints, and that poem I wrote so long ago is more relevant today than ever. my own mind knows what will come of me and yet it takes me a long time to accept it sometimes ( SEPTEMBER 2007)

My hair feels flat and my eyes and temples are aching something spectacular. but my mind is saying that I shall never love you, and that I never loved you, oh but how I loved you, and you and you were forgotten and so was the 3 before but the one before that how I ached for him too. That being said I know my past and I see my future. I am standing by the looking glass, and I still want to be part of those fantasy worlds. there isn't a space big enough to hold my heart, nor my complications and implications- Ive kept witting them down on pieces of paper bound by red leather- I like anything red, I am wholly red. But those pages of mine number around 100's and millions that Ive read, re-read and analyzed.
I really just want a fucking cigarette, a bathtub and a weekend with nothing to do but be alone. This bathtub would be found somewhere in the marais too, I've got a kicking to go where my mind and heart is telling me to, because for once they are forged together.( october 2007)

Somedays i feel like everything comes easy and i say so when really there are pools of sweat in every hollow of my body, every crease of my skin. I had one strange night to think, and i unfortunately did when the reality of my situation caught up with me. When I am content I sit like a bird perched for flight and I can do anything. Some days i don’t quite feel the same wind-it’s too cold, I don’t want to get up from bed (really my wings froze, like the sparrow in the Happy prince). So I lay in bed or sit on my perch ( big windows that don’t open, how could I even fly out from there? I can’t; I am forced to walk out the door. And I sulk, I sulk terrible. Horrible awful stinky sulks where I feel like a spoiled princess because I’m not in Montparnasse on the boulevard Raspail and things aren’t so easy for me, or on me, and I dwell upon everything that I brush off when I talk to people.

sometimes we would make holes in the ocean, in little caves like children we fought to be the princess, we would fight for the best horse besides the brook that we would jump over. Valiant efforts, memories bought and folded inside pretty little books ribbons in my hair, and crazy cotton skirts with raspberry stains. My lips tasted like apricot juice, and I would hide inside those caves that were really just underwater jungles of weeds like the mermaid. and then I would lose my breath underneath and I would flail till i broke free because i always had to be the strong one. But the ocean, the lake, the river would remind me that they had made the whole of me and I was like a mermaid, never completely free of the tide sweeping by me, and here is my childhood laying in the grave of the pigeon i buried with a great deal of sadness because i didnt understand why he would not fly. I made him a tombstone out of a milk carton, 2%.

you made me more upset than I thought you could, and I guess my cold showering streak of jealousy if still ever present
I wish I could keep all my secrets inside, eventually I will talk, quietly, so you can barely hear. I will though and you have to trsut me on thaT, IF you ever get a chance. I'm hard to understand and I make myself to be a big deal, but its just because i like to push distance betweejn myself and everyone else. its just easier. ive already told you more than I should have, and sometimes I want to confide in you as a friend
but you are my lover and that will not change, so this keep will be kept playing the same
until we are more or less of above, until we are certain

this is defnitivly good style. I love the white, and though its not the prettiest girl in the world, the style and class and general GOOD TASTE is so there, all over the place.

ideas for stories:
+you dont look hobo chic, you just look homeless
+Yogurt tasting better the smaller the package. expl: minigos?

I've got a lot of memories on my mind and still a lot of stuff to let go of that I dont know how
I miss you when I cry, yknow. I'll never admit it outloud.

I liked it when he refered to himself as 'the boy I'm fucking' it made me feel slightly delicious inside. Maybe I'[ve just always wanted lovers and right now I want someone to worship my body and leave my heart to be by my bedside, besides the condoms were forgetting to use. We're doing whatever we want, and whatever I want, I get, correct? I adapt this to my life so often mainly because I'm a selfish twat and I dont like feeling unhappy.
I dream of everyone's life but my own and then I realize that my own life is pretty sweet, despite it not being chronicled in pictures. its chronicled in journals, even if it be only my own.

I keep seeing pictures of paris in the autumn. I think I may get distracted eventually and forget what it feels like to be there. Every night i dream about that damned city. I wont lie- i pretend, i dream, i skip up on sidewalks. I see ic

lovers they say cry and die, behold and above, romance has no place right here in my heart. truthfully speaking ive forgotten my own, here i am dying atlantic sea taking hold. walking with stones in my pockets so deep, i rub the whitelucky ones and try not to weep, truthufully speaking i've forgotten your eyes, truthfully speaking I forgot to die
last week when I said -good morning my man, i smiles and lied and gave you my hand, but now i am glad because i've got so much distraction it couldnt fail me because theres so much attractin. and I keep the writting just coming about to discover what it is that i truly do love and its myself and my mind and my ego's career because i couldnt be happier than listening to myself talk into my own ear.

I've been playing up my senses lately and I wonder out loud- am I witting in the right style? I writhe and write every morning I wake up early because the sun hits my bed and makes me sweat.
Today it is 28 degrees and I am wearing wide leg jeans sweating out all the nutrition I attempted to cumulate into my body last night. My hair feels flat and my eyes and temples are aching something spectacular. but my mind is saying that I shall never love you, and that I never loved you, oh but how I loved you, and you and you were forgotten and so was the 3 before but the one before that how I ached for him too. That being said I know my past and I see my future. I am standing by the looking glass, and I still want to be part of those fantasy worlds. there isn't a space big enough to hold my heart, nor my complications and implications- Ive kept witting them down on pieces of paper bound by red leather- I like anything red, I am wholly red. But those pages of mine number around 100's and millions that Ive read, re-read and analyzed
I feel like a sad sorry girl, but I'm not really. I dont think I am at least. I'm just upset because my ipod battery died and I had no music to skip to, only a lonely voice to listen to on my phone.

i say hello and bat my eyelashes and as ever they get sore after a while. I feel scared that my eyes will bleed and will my heart when I keep my glasses off for too long. I sit in the library, i sit in the sun, i sit on the windowsill and the entire time i am trying to compose some thoughts, perhaps some literal thoughts and not just snippets of words that i attempt to artfully string together
everyone is doing what Ive always wanted to do and I'm a jealous girl.

everytime I stomp my knees crack a little bit and after weeks of not a crack, I'm cracking up.
literally. if you hear a wild shrieking laughter and cackles its probably and most likely I.
I havent had very much sleep and when I do it seems like nothing will be enough. Ive bene living off stale menthol cigarettes from france and enjoying them. Ive also been living in the dark- blinders on, lights off. I skip and jump and in the morning I wake up to sunshine on my face, hello that wont last long. but the sunshine makes sure I'm up and at the day, and ive been buying a million books.
Ive frightened myself into oblivion, I havent talked to anyone really in days. I have, but I've just been.. talking. not conversing.
I feel like everything is starting to fall into place, and I dont believe in coincidences or happenstance.. i meet and i greet and i read and absorbe- it all really affects me for better or worse. I make predictions and feel like nostradamus once they are confirmed.

this isn't the way things end in books and I am more interested in fiction than reality. I write what is real so that I can feel pain as if it was inflicted on my arms- my arm has the most peculiar unpainful bruise and i wish that i could feel it when i push down to hear my pulse on my wrists. Often I forget whether Its beating or not, my heart, because it feels fairly void of being there.
lets not forget- actually lets forget everything- like those quotes i favor from movies where things work themselves out. I'm sad to not even see echoes of what was, and its rude to assume that i am rude and mean and cruel- i am far beyond none of those petty things. I never inflict pain because i am so desperatly afraid of karma that i clench my teeth and rattle my smiles at everyone. I seek out the lives of saints, and that poetry is more relevant today than ever. my own mind knows what will come of me and yet it takes me a long time to accept it sometimes.
i write my wit, and my wit is wrought but bringing me pain- it all comes from seeing humour in the worst and blackest because if i cant smile through these things my teeth will rot worse than my heart. I fear I had too much sugar, but then i rememeber that times has been worse, and they will be worse again.
I only type well, and when i try to write, its too honest to appeal to any. I dream of being published and i forget what it is that im doing.
for stating of facts i heresay- i should purchase a laptop and write stories in the cradles of my nook in the arm of the church that I'll sleep in so soon. Tuesdays are my lucky day, i was born on a tuesday, i nearly died on a tuesday. I believe in these moon phases too, and I can feel the ocean current quite steady at my back, but I would rather smell the seine right now, far away from this desktop.

My mum blames the accident on the full moon- 'shit like that happens when theres a full moon'. Last night it was a half and it was so bright and yellow and lazy that I thought it might drop down from the sky and hit me in the head. As if i havent been hit enough lately- my knees are healing but they are not happy and there's craters in my skin. I spend time worrying about scars.
Last night I sat under the great big windows of the church I will be living in. I've got places to write and write I might- I've got plenty of stories to tell. I'm not really living in a church, just a big beautiful loft apartment of my dreams!!
I keep having the strangest dreams, sometimes their nightmares and a lot of the time I'm dreaming about slovakia, I've been dreaming about horses talking to me. Nothing will even be quiet in my dreams.
I think I read too many books over again, I think I read a lot of books too young and sometimes I feel like I got lost in those characters completly.

one day I dream about wearing really high heels echoeing my skinny beautiful legs and to prance over in my perfect beautiful outfit and whisper, in both your ears, "fuck you."
with my luck it'll be at your wedding.
one day I'll get over it and I wont care, true? I feel like I'm obviously circling the wrong answer here, but theres a 50/50 chance then, true? its all been like a card game, or rather a house of cards that falls down everytime I build it up. I have a lot of words in my mind and sentances that form yet I find it difficult to speak, and to explain myself.
Only these mystyfying who what and where give it any broken sense of appeal. And only to the visionaries, true?
false
false
false

I write and remember and I remember and write, constant cyclical patterns that make my nights easier because sometimes my thought bank is too full. And then I dream about being kissed and ignored and kissed and taunted- I feel like a donkey with a carrot in front of its nose to make it run.
I could click click and pretend to forget, but I wont be able to surpress my urge, and since when do I surpress urges? I have the appetite of a overweight school teacher, and not just for food, for knowledge, for eternity.
its easier to cut open my own wounds and treat than to heal the ones that I have. I feel like my summer was perfectly described in one big crash and then i ended up losing the thing I thought was most important, but really in the end, its still just me. I change the way I write my 9's, my Q's all the time, I change everything and yet i am constantly reminded because a part of me is reluctant to let go of memory. I'll have better memory. I;ll remmember more and forget more because I;ll write it down. My dreams will soar out of those church habitat windows that will offer refuge to everything and surrounding folk will occupy my hands and habits.

I get jealous, I am jealous, Im a jealous angry girl. Ive really begun to resent you, I've really come to just not understanding how you do all of this.
it doesnt matter
I've got lust on my side, mostly lust after being in paris and just partying all the damn fucking time. i want to see piles of happiness on tables waiting to be taken, i just want to move around and feel a bass, not feel my heart, but feel body heat.

I hereby will not break my solemn vows to
-keep a straight face when neccessary
-do all my schoolwork. do it well. do it with my entire heart and brain in it.
-watch more french television
-smoke less and smoke more
-smile at people more often, mostly strangers. mostly people who will not strike up a conversation with me
- move to europe again for the summer. what is here? no one and nothing.
-keep my thoughts to myself, keep my heart for myself
-dont do drugs?

i cant think of anything else. I could hardly think to begin with. Everything lately has seemed like such a waste. Im wasting my life. I want to get to the point where I can honestly say "yeah im over that phase now" and I want it soon. I want nothign beautiful to escape my clutches and I want to keep meeting people who provoke positive energy from me.

remember where we used to lay?
under seascaped grass we played
rolling and roaring, touching alas
we found each others lips through moments passed
and i couldnt believe what i could feel
moments of rush running freeing me
like i could never be
alone again
then i found myself undiscovered when i thought it would be over
when i thought it would be forever but alas
we found time had passed and shadows neared
never had they completly disapeared
we never knew what we would find again
the lies and tangles webs of misery
i wrote all those stories
inside my diary
alas alas time is gone
and now all ive got left is one silly song
to sing
now i find myself
missing the undead,
remember where we used to lay?
now we've all been lead astray,
different branches, new romances.
our story is an old fairy tale.
i wrote all those stories
inside my diary
alas alas time is gone
and now all ive got left is one silly song
to sing

I've stopped listening to songs that remind me of him. With every word and every glance, I'm starting to forget why I loved him in the first place. The after hurricane is when you realize what was worth it and what wasnt.. and how much a person really cares.
Now I listen to love songs and fantasize about new seasons, and new smiles, and new things and people that make me smile. I'm glad for the time alone im getting because Im having so much fun so often!! new shit to talk about!! STAYING POSITIVE!!

that sigur ros song that gave me so much overwhelming uplifting feeling last year also gives me hope for the future.
Its easy to be happy, with you or without you. I hear too many songs that make me feel kind of craazy because people are putting words in my mouth and lifting them into my ears.

Oh simple girl
Oh foolish man
Trying to bend these lovers rules
Into a simple plan

Oh aching bones on sleepless bed
They toss and turn and roll away
From words unsaid

It's just that all that you were
Was all I could want
Now I can't trust your lover's tongue
Except to tease and taunt

It's been said best by you
Been said best before
But I just want to let you know
I don't love you anymore

Sad wakes alone
Cradling the phone
Knows that sullen silence
Is the meanest way to moan
But all that you were
Was all that I had
And we could not find a simple way
To work that simple plan

Oh aching bones
Oh sleepless bed
Toss, turn and roll
Away from words unsaid
It's been said best by you
Been said best before

But I just want to let you know I don't
Love you anymore

I just want to let you know
I don't love you anymore

I dont have the patience for online shopping, because one of my senses is hardly being indulged, plus my visa doesnt get any swipe marks.
I've just been reading deeply and madly and passionatly. I'm reading a rather tasty Vampire novel that I've been changing up with porn reviews, and then HARRY POTTER, which I read in 4 hours. I cried. a lot. But I feel completly fulfilled and satisfied, but I wont ruin it for anyone.
I decided that next summer I will move to Vienna to take some german classes at a university there. what could be better than Vienna? Its so close to France!!
This week overall was quite satisfying. Every week gets better. My substance abuse needs to step up, I tend to forget because of it, and thats pure and sheer joy.

She misses him the most during hurricane season, remembering when their toes would meet under blankets and their lips met above the thundering skies, because those were the first and best memories they had, in that tumultuous weather, stopping and pausing to breath and blink.
Then there was every bruise she received that reminded her of all the hickeys, and even every hickey now made her laugh. She grew out of him all of a sudden; she was always there but never really there, always plotting her next departure on Air France. However this is a story, and not a love song- love songs are reserved for things that are yet to come to pass or places that will always exist.
There have been a few eclipses since, mostly when she was listening to cheesy love songs, and finally understood them.
“I still love you and how I could not when we broke up it wasn't bad”
- Well in a manner of speaking- They had to stop speaking in order to reclaim their independence and to learn to dance separately. For so long their arms had reached for the same sweat filled rooms and their hips had grinded together till both their eyes darkened with pleasure and their pulses could be felt through their lips.
She would see his eyes watching her though, and she would avidly seek them out when she was dancing in someone else's arms and it hurt that he didn’t get up to fight for what he claimed to love.
“You quit, just like you quit everything hard in your life”
Last summer, she fell in love and left for France immediately after. She wanted to quit while she was still ahead and on top in the North Pole called Canada but when they were laying together
“You told me that you’d wait forever”
She felt like the Bryan Adams song, summer of ‘69 that he would wait forever, till she was done pausing and could finally stop, like a record. She knew eventually she would be replaced by a CD that stops when you will it to, no matter where you are. Records were slower to stop and pause, and you lose your place and have to start over again.
Tonight it is hurricane season and she is alone and who knows where on earth his toes are treading, but there are no tracks inside her soft Mondrian inspired sheets.
Her toes were dug pretty deep in the rocky sand of Nice and plastered into the cement in Paris. When she broke out cigarettes, she would expect someone to light it, like last summer when she met Julien, oh Julien.
“ Why are you going back to Canada?” he asked all night, placing Marlboro lights carefully between her lips, putting his free hand beside her thigh as he would light it up the cigarette for her. Between sips of beer she explained that indie music was not Indian music and she was not really that interested in the Jungle Book soundtrack. They laughed they sang and touched skin shyly, the moisture of their bodies in the cannicule (summer heat wave) leaving traces on each other.
She had never dared and though the sweat on their upper lips (in the creases underneath their nose) had mingled by the end of the night with the parting kiss, she didn’t go to Montparnasse to continue the party and sleep at his apartment. The love affair was over and she drank the whiskey that bore her long distance lovers name quietly and was dragged home later by her Columbian amigo to a hot bed and a bad hangover the next morning, mostly from how hard her heart was pounding.

I could buzz away at any moment, next summer I'll go to BARTHELONA ( pronouncing it like they do) and adapt and blend in. I've been blending in with the bathtub lately, turning an unlikely shade of grey, and my eyeliner has swept into its old Margot Tenenbaum apperance.. so has my hair faded to more golden shades. I've lost all of France again, I feel mildly defeated.

I miss you the most during hurricane season, when our toes would meet under blankets and our lips met above the thundering skies, because those were the first and best memories we had in this tumultuous weather, stopping and pausing.
Then theres every bruise I receieve that reminds me of hickeys, and even every hickey now makes me laugh. I've grown out of you all of a sudden, I guess I always had because I was constantly going and coming and you never knew where i would be next week.but this is a story, and not a love songs- my love songs are reserved for things that are yet to come to pass or places that will always exist.
Theres been a few eclipses since, mostly when I'm listening to cheesy love songs, and I finally understand. I still love you and how could I not when we broke up it wasn't bad- well in a manner of speaking, but we had to stop speaking in order to reclaim our independance and to learn to dance seperatly.
I would see your eyes watching me though, and I would seek them out when I was dancing in someone else's arms and it hurt that you didnt get up to fight for what you loved. You quit, just like you quit everything hard in your life.
Last summer, I fell in love and left for france immidietly after. I quit while I was ahead but we layed together and you said that you would wait. I felt like the bryan adams song, summer of '69, that you would wait forever.
tonight its hurricane season and I am alone and who knows where on earth your toes are treading, but no track inside my soft mondrian painting inspired sheets.

fights with everyone
Im over everything, or so I say outloud to convince myself of my own coniving tricks
I miss everything about france, I miss meeting new people, I miss cigarettes, and breathing in ocean air, trains, panninis, the water, the air, the people

theres things lacking in my life
theres less rain and less thunder and lightening
I feel oddly unajusted, out of place
France was toutes mes reves familiers
I still have too many dreams, especially at night, mostly during the day
and my thoughts keep wandering away and astray
its like Ive been marionetted through the way I should be acting and thinking
and now that Ive let loose
well,ive let loose
I havent cried in over a month
not even when I arrived to the place that makes me feel content
but a place cannot deliver what your heart desires

where am i headed? lifes, dreams aspirations? i need to make a list. an ongoing list of things i want to achieve someday, things i would like to see, i would like to do, ect.
-live in france
-own a art gallery
-own a restaurent
-work in a second hand bookstore
-have over 1000 records, cds, tapes
-read Utopia, Thomas More
-design an entire line of clothes
-work for a designer( preferable, Chloe, imitation of christ)
-work for a magazine(preferably nylon)
-live in new york city
-perform on an album
-do art for a living
-learn to sculp
-learn to scuba dive properly (again)
-have a darkroom in my own house
-own horses, live on a farm
-write a book
-get book published
-get poetry published in a book
-currate a gallery
-dj
-take salsa dancing
-go to india for yoga for a couple months
-live in morocco for a year and not do anything
-work in piran, slovenia
-work in a castle in slovakia
-learn how to make lace
-throw a succesful dinner party
-have someone really love me
-buy a broken down house in italy, fix it up beautifully all by myself and sell it
-go to ipanema beach in rio de janeiro
-inspire someone else to create something beautiful
-introduce myself as "mrs"(ie. get married)
-raise a child, whether my own or someone else's
-live in london england
-take photographs for a living, get published in magazines
-learn to drive standard

I'll admit that I am missing the southern wind in my life
and my raindrops are creating puddles down by my feet.
I miss you, a lot more than I would ever let on because I am embarassed that my stoicism doesn't fool any of god's heavenly creatures
even that june bug that stared at me from outside the window knew
he could see my heart carved into the back patio, its where I left it last.
I've been trying to formulate new potions to make me say and think what I will but honesty is my best form and my best form is gone
my throat aches my head pains my legs are bringing news of new weather like they always do
and my heart is lost, really I can feel it pounding whenever I think I am playing wheres waldo again
we are making it all E-Z by avoiding being seen among the trees and the tall buildings and the darkened streets.
I'm leaving you know, I know you are aware and what do you think when you think you may never see me again? have you thought about it? I wonder what you think about because when I dont see your face I dont know
I know we were both tired, we both have and had and will have these wrinkles but sometimes a little exfoliation smooths them out
a little time
maybe one day we will meet again

my moon to me
as gone as could be
I look above at night and wish i was below
the ground
6 feet just isnt enough
because of lingering smells and sights
every intoxication of all my senses
just brings you about moon
my darkest mystery, my greatest wish you shall see

there is a part of me
that does not see
the windows closed
the moon away
in its bleakest state
when you dont shine
when I cant see every bump and grind
-that is mine
when I bloom
like a night lily or a dahlia
late night winter lights
maybe it will get brighter if I just keep the curtains open
but I get so scared alone
I keep the music on that plays in my ear
when I cant feel the light on my cheek

did you ever know it makes me feel awful to think about any other girl you've ever dated?
I'm even jealous of all of THEM and the list is long to count
I've only ever lead affairs to remember although most of them I could hardly call not to mention care about and it frightens me to remember that but I dont remember things without you any more
and i get so terribly jealouse that I choke up on my own words, rather my own thoughts because I could never voice those things.
sometimes I wish you hadnt loved so eagerly before, that I was the ONE the first and best and last
not everyone is like me and I have a hard time remembering this.
my skin burns because everything is more enticing, every other situation but I guess I resort to understanding
that you'll never be all that into every inch of me and I'm strange, I know, so contrary
but you're like delicious sugar coated turkish delight in the best flavours to me.

I guess its a pretty way to ring in the new year, what to expect from shortcomings- I dont even know, I'm in love, shortly, always, I dont even know how I feel about love because it mostly makes me act stupid.
the onlyfeel good about anything when your here
but is there even any hope or future in this? because I see it, but I think you are blind
(mostly because you "lost" your ticket to the khyber in your wallet)
but sometimes I just want to run forever, your like a sweet speed pill( I never told you i took)