take over my mind
take over my conscience
you are my hero.
take me
so I can take you.
my escaping
engulfing
entourage
consisting all but of 2.
put down your fork
and follow me.
tell me what I want to hear
make this worth while.
I think I've found my antidote.
swallow me into your arms
and take me to your maker.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Dear Diary, fix me.
09.05.09
Today,
I made a mixtape.
Is this what all the hopeless romantics do?
Catch your attention through music?
Just beckoning you to come over and feel sorry for us.
I'm sorry that this is the way I express myself.
I can't help that he still hates me.
And I can't help thinking about him every now and then
while I'm trying to move on.
I can't help but think that this is a huge joke,
and the new one has no idea what he's fucking with.
I've been through too much for failure at this moment.
So if he fails, I do too.
I will sink into the earth,
and become one with the ground I'll be buried in.
I gave up trying,
because the last boy showed me what can happen.
I wont lead you on.
And I wont lead myself on either.
Three different beings.
Yet my heart is afloat before them.
One would tear it apart, the second he could.
Another would so carefully take it, conceal it in a glass box and sing to it.
The last would hold a question mark,
and leave me in wonder,
because this is what he enjoys doing.
And somehow
he has me so mesmerized.
Home sounds best to me.
Alone.
But no weed to numb all feeling.
It's just me,
my pen,
and the headphones,
that so many nights,
have kept me up,
crying to the grooves my pen creates.
Each tear that's fallen,
with my head bent down,
and my hand fidgeting furiously,
against the paper that's become my new best friend.
I must let the words flow,
all by themselves,
or nothing sounds right.
All civilization,
all conditioning,
just disappears.
The feeling bubbles up past my stomach,
and up between my lungs.
It settles in the bottom of my throat,
and aches to break free.
But I keep it tamed.
Because this is what I've learned.
So here I sit,
and I wrote a lullaby.
For me,
and for them.
It wont put you to sleep,
but it will give you something to cry about,
that's all that matters.
x's and o's,
love, your favourite.
Today,
I made a mixtape.
Is this what all the hopeless romantics do?
Catch your attention through music?
Just beckoning you to come over and feel sorry for us.
I'm sorry that this is the way I express myself.
I can't help that he still hates me.
And I can't help thinking about him every now and then
while I'm trying to move on.
I can't help but think that this is a huge joke,
and the new one has no idea what he's fucking with.
I've been through too much for failure at this moment.
So if he fails, I do too.
I will sink into the earth,
and become one with the ground I'll be buried in.
I gave up trying,
because the last boy showed me what can happen.
I wont lead you on.
And I wont lead myself on either.
Three different beings.
Yet my heart is afloat before them.
One would tear it apart, the second he could.
Another would so carefully take it, conceal it in a glass box and sing to it.
The last would hold a question mark,
and leave me in wonder,
because this is what he enjoys doing.
And somehow
he has me so mesmerized.
Home sounds best to me.
Alone.
But no weed to numb all feeling.
It's just me,
my pen,
and the headphones,
that so many nights,
have kept me up,
crying to the grooves my pen creates.
Each tear that's fallen,
with my head bent down,
and my hand fidgeting furiously,
against the paper that's become my new best friend.
I must let the words flow,
all by themselves,
or nothing sounds right.
All civilization,
all conditioning,
just disappears.
The feeling bubbles up past my stomach,
and up between my lungs.
It settles in the bottom of my throat,
and aches to break free.
But I keep it tamed.
Because this is what I've learned.
So here I sit,
and I wrote a lullaby.
For me,
and for them.
It wont put you to sleep,
but it will give you something to cry about,
that's all that matters.
x's and o's,
love, your favourite.
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