as i worry about whether or not this is what i want, it becomes what i don't want.

i sat in the car thinking that i don't want us to go on like this. i hate it. it makes me feel depressed and adult and responsible and all the things i can't stand. i want to change it, or i want to end it. now. this week.

(duly wonders here if i am just making excuses. fuck off, o my insecurity, i mean what i say.)

let's quit talking about it. i don't want to have to think about why i act the way i do, i don't want to have to keep thinking about us. i just want it to happen on its own or not happen at all. i don't want there to be an "it." just "us." stop liking me so much, i just want to have fun.

and i understand that you like me. i get it. comprende. knew that six or seven months ago. didn't forget. don't just say it in the middle of a conversation. it makes me feel awkward.

what the hell am i saying?

i feel that pain in the bridge of my nose that precedes tears. i don't know what to do. i haven't got a fucking clue. i .. christ. i'm crying like a little girl or, more appropriately, a lonely faggot who feels he's the only one on earth. i want ... i want ... i want nothing. i want sleep and more sleep. i want someone to hold me, someone i don't know. i want some kind of god damned fairy princess to come down here and just hold me as i weep in her arms, not saying a word. (and no, that's not a metaphor. i want my fairy princess or i'd rather be alone) i want people to like me, i want to be myself, i want to be someone else. a year and a half until university. tabula rasa. oh glory hallelujah. i long to get away from all of you. i love you more than any of you will ever know, but i want to run away. i want to run away from everything. i'm a selfish, mopey bastard. christ almighty, a black pit of self-loathing if i ever did see one.

and the worst part is, i don't even see faults in everyone. there's at least one of you who i see as faultless even though i know i'm wrong. and it's not who you think, no matter who you're thinking, i know you're wrong. i want to run away with you, the faultless one. let's go on a trip. let's hijack the rave plane and fly off around the world. and when i come back, i'll be ready for maturity. you'll have faults finally, or maybe you won't, and you'll be the one, and we'll keep the damn rave plane for all eternity.

what the fuck is wrong with me?

i'm pitiful.

don't like me. i understand it even less than you do.

um.

should i quit bitching about my own personality?

doubtful.

turn - ons : curry and being disliked
turn - offs : kindness and soft food

why?!

do you hear


there is no god
and there is no truth.


but maybe you're right anyway. only time will tell.


although you didn't use the word "unrequited" in the proper context. look it up kid.

a revised poem

love also known as sorrow in this filth

Nobody loves him
or more truly
he loves nobody
who loves him.
He sees nothing
and believes less
yet sometimes
once in a while
he understands.
And understanding
offers him nothing.
He finds only
sorrow and
heartache upon
a realization.
Only unrequited
love will last.
He can cry until
the rivers run red
with the blood of
a thousand sorrows
and he can lay
upon his bed
thinking of days
that could be
until the mountains
crumble into the sea.
But when those days
finally come to pass
he finds that he longs
for the salty breath
of glistening tears
and the comfort of
a wrinkled bedspread
and nights of sorrow.
He will return
weeping at stars
and crying for Sinatra
while his dreamt days
weep, themselves,
on his doorstep.