sometimes i like being lied to
if thats what it takes for me to think that you give a shit
everything reminds me of you, i wish i could turn back time, etc
it's all just a joke to you, isn't it?

and as i remember those days my eyes are burning and i feel the tears coming and all i think of is you and that smile and im lying here on the cold tile floor wishing you were here to comfort me with your fake words and your false pretenses and me thinking it means something and feeling alright even though i know tomorrow night this cycle will happen all over again and me wishing i would have thought of this ending the times we laughed our laughs and talked our talks but not walking our walks and im so not ready for love.

sometimes its everything and sometimes its nothing at all

"Merry Christmas, I could care less"
I only wish life that that simple
Yet most nights i find myself lying awake in bed longing for big city lights and cars in transit to somewhere other than here
These are the awkward thoughts that dance around in my head regularly
I hate that word "dance", because it reminds me of what we'll never do
The epitome of perfection is you loving someone who cant love themselves
But then again, nothing is perfect

vintage louis vuitton bags under the eyes
the marlbo-glow
i need him more than he needs me, he needs her more than he needs me and so on.
theres nothing new under the sun
but were reading on existentialism in the shade.
i am so in love with YOU and the idea of YOU listeing to the music and singing the words.
i know its weird but i like to imagine what you are thinking when its playing.
if it werent for that i am not sure where i would turn.
i guess this is another halfhearted thank you. just because you keep tuning in.

"dont you think its insane how donald duck never wears pants?"

life is better when youre around.

but yes i do think its insane.

from under the cork tree.

sometimes the planets align
sometimes they dont
its like how part of my childhood was stolen when they took planetary status away from pluto
we'll be there one day
i am sick- like i cant ever get enough sleep or time or words
as this thing grows i become more and more insecure.
cant look anyone in the eyes-
i am paranoid- worried sick that i am not good enough for anyone who looks at me
i know how rediculous this sounds
trust me
folie a deux is the idea of shared madness-
the scientific term for romeo and juliet
i have a feeling that we share that with eachother when you have your headphones on
currently working on: taking it easy-
dont mean to be so heavy; just want you to know why i look so gray sometimes lately.
have the house to myself for a day or two, if you decide to come back this time.
i was born at night, but not last night

you make me weak in the knees.
life as of late: "usually i like to get kissed before i feel fucked".

i make my wishes on stars that are probably just burned out.

there was this girl-a doll. hanging and dancing on strings. brown hair and smiling. she lived just off of a town called naivety... some place i have driven through from time to time. and i never had an idea. cut the strings so we could run down the street under trees and roll in the grass. never meant for it to become what it did in so many different ways. never meant to always leave the driveway headed one direction and never knew what waited when i returned. only that her eyes were the lights in the windows that i pulled up to in the snow. slipping off the ends of icy roads at nights racing home through the night no matter what. and the miles got father and farther in between. and i couldnt ever figure myself out to save a thing. but now i cut those strings and she is forever dancing or lying or waiting in the lit windows for vans and buses that came less and less. and i wrote the harshest words and she wrote the harshest words. eyes always red and puffy. pride always on the line. things were much simpler when she was on strings i think. things were much simpler when the van only went so far. before i had to press a picture of her and paste it on dashes and inside of bunks everywhere. i cant explain how i got here. it doesnt make any sense. she could follow the articles and videos or my pieced together stories. or a dog. or a dream. or words that make half sense sent in the middle of the night. and even when im telling the truth it doesnt matter cause the phone is always dead. and i am always 30,000 feet in the air flying somewhere. but i keep the warmest memories close to my heart even when im at pay phones and want to cut my insides out, dry them up and mail them to her. "im sorry" doesnt matter anymore. the words have no meaning. im sorry i cut the strings and ran away. now when i come to look for her i dont know where to begin. its hard to not say "its all my fault" but it goes through my head over and over so i cant sleep with out the AMBIENce of my bed. bane songs. boomerangs. badnews. texas. goodbye lovem i didnt know you well....or maybe too well.

yeah.
that whole little schpeil was about myself.
depression (?)
i wish i lived in london so i would have an excuse to drive on the wrong side of the road.

computer broke. back broke. love broke.
but the ship is gonna look pretty at the bottom of this sea.
my memory is a steel trap.
your face has been filed away- to be scrutinized later.
to be despised.
to be loved.
to be sought.
to be dreamt of.
i am the inside of "i dont care".
right in the middle.
staring at you.
i have you read before you even say your name.
except when im wrong
and my whole world tips on end.
"i loved everything about you that hurts".
everything i love about you is a mess- is the reason you cant get through your days.
in my head i smash mirrors and break palm readers' hands.
i am not a closer and never will be,i cant get my mind to shut off long enough to make moves.
i'd rather break you down.
i dread human contact but cant stand to be alone-two parts of me that are constantly at war with each other.
every single mirror is a trick mirror.
not just the funhouse ones. we see what we want.
i wish i could live a billion years just to evolve beyond love.
only the science of that doesnt really add up,and besides i am addicted to it.
i have put my belief in god in a sort of holding pattern-i close my eyes hard and want to believe. just because this can't be it.
but im not ready to commit.
keep flying.
one of these days were gonna run out of fuel.
the famous < the infamous.
i want to become better than i am.
i want cures instead of houses.
and hope instead of hype.
only its all so big that i dont even know where to start.
birth and death are just the bookends,no one explains how to find happiness in between.
my mood changes before i finish whole sentences. hence the fragments.
if anyone ever knew the whole truth im pretty sure they would lock me up and throw away the key.
i wish jimminy cricket was my best friend.
i think hed keep me on track.
it's no fun hating someone who hates themself so much more.
you're just an amateur.
you can't complain about your back and then jump off of high things.
well you can but then you just look silly.
my attention span, my temper, my faith and my height are all pretty much just short.
if i ever really had three wishes i am sure i'd waste them on ruining three peoples lives.
disappointing people is my thing baby,find a new gig,this town ain't big enough for the two of us.
i have a love/hate relationship with being forgotten.
i fall asleep on the keyboard all the time,i think it is of some comfort to me.

me=
who loves: you.
who gives: up.

"long live the carcrash hearts"

you're like a ciggarette,put to mouths and then put out.
at least you know who i (think i) am

paris,france. my ideas can't get through the narrow streets. louis vuitton has a bit more on the island than louis the 14th,but you wouldn't be able to tell. "the songs we sing are going to send us all to hell". where do you begin and end ever. threw a book out the window today,words and all. literally. it felt ignorant but like just the right thing. it's really all of a matter of who you become in the middle of the night. sometimes i'm always going,but mostly i'm always coming back. that kind of thing. in the family tree of paperback books,you know,with that spinelessness thing that's going on....on the eve of possibilty the best thing i've ever dreamt of,but im lying on the cold tile floor.

"the thing i'd like most in the world, " i say to her,since at this point i might as well go on talking to her, "is to make clocks run backward." italo calvino - if on a winters night a traveller.

growing up is so overrated

it's great how you wear your seatbelt less for the saving your life part and more for the saving your money part. YOU know what i'm getting at. all or nothing. i think this pen and paper is the closest to love i'll ever get.

"let's spend tonight on top of the world"

you treat my heart like you treat your money
heirs to misfortune
yet i still feel a surge of electricity every time our fingers brush or eyes meet
i don't get in trouble,honey
i live in trouble
eiffel tower showdown
"the very hurt you sold"
i relate to that a little too well
your ears can't seem to handle the truth behind the voices
the passion within me lets me fake that smile and pretend that everything's okay
i wish i had some sort of special glove that let me hold on to something so toxic like life itself
we just make up happy places to distract ourselves from the fact that life is too short

always borrowed,always blue

"charlie,there is no future in anything. i hope you agree. that is why i like it at war. every day and every night there is a strong possibility that you will get killed and not have to write. i have to write to be happy whether i get paid for it or not. but it is a hell of a disease to be born with. i like to do it. which is even worse. that makes it from a disease into a vice. then i want to do it better than anybody has ever done it which makes it into an obsession. an obsession is terrible. hope you haven't gotten any. thats the only one i have left". ernest hemingway in a letter to charles scribner.

nothing steals the magic from writing the way writing about it does.
but i can't help but have it spin through my head as i read "the old man and the sea" over and over again.
following two plane crashes in africa.
the old man is just an old man.
the fish are just fish.
and the sharks are just sharks.
even in this context i dream of it no less.
this maybe the closest to love that i ever get.
i hate grammar. i hate spell check.
they are tools and trades we focus on when the right words escape us.
while we can use them in a world that we write,where we make our own rules.
they can rob a piece of its life.
for me words are more of a compulsion.
it is involuntary.
it falls in the catagory of breathing and the beating of the heart.
sometimes i want to throw my hands up.
to wave the white flag.
to apologize for everything i haven't done yet.
but usually i want to forget the pictures and the rumors.
to become a recollection,a shared memory. visually: a faint, sentimental face that blurs into the background of everything.
to watch all of the magazines turn to static.
and only be thought of by the clicking of these keys.

its a shot in the dark.but everyone has got to dream, right?

on my best day, when all the planets have aligned, i still couldnt come close to touching you.

take your taste back,peel back your skin. you should try saying no once in awhile.

name names. i wish there were words stronger than fuck you. but face down on a wet carpet, salty eyes,i cant think of them. "i really enjoyed kissing you tonight. i wish there hadn't been any interruptions" versus "things happen". the texts flash and you're fucking caught. i'm addicted to the truth, didn't anyone tell you baby?

this is me broken down.

your fist and my face-because i found you out.

i don't think ive ever met anyone so terrible.

eyes only.

only you understand this.

idontcareanymore.

let's crash this goddamn party of a heart

i'm a prisoner of myself
locked up inside this alcatraz of a mind
the key is running through my bloodstream
shouln't be that hard to find
my heart's not beating as fast since you left
love only has legs so it can run away

.

this room overlooks a city that i do not understand when usually i am overlooking cities that do not understand me. i don’t have any "start over" left inside of me. i wish anyone would understand. all roads lead to longing. the neon signs never turn off here. there are oceans inside of me. i only want comfort where there is none. i have never been so wrong about anyone ever. for the record, i am as sorry as i have ever been. my mind changes so much i make stock markets look normal. there are words that can be strung together and repeated in my ear in a particular order that will unlock the codes of my heart. i sit and wait on them.

i'mreadytoforgetyou.

currently trying to get over myself,but i never really was one to take the high road. so it's proving to be quite the challenge.
i was designed to break your heart. my only real crime is my obsession with documenting it.
and maybe the way i still love you after the flash on the camera cools off.
"lying is the currency of the world"
i could learn to read your mind but reading in the dark has wrecked my sight.

alive and (un)well. just being melodramatic when it's completely unnecessary. my mind is running but more like in place,kind of how life is. you wouldn't understand what i mean. you and they have been here before but it isn't the same for me. and trying to explain anything is just leaving me with a dry mouth and sore shoulders and you shaking your head (not in disagreement but more like disbelief). "mellow out"- but thats been the problem all along, at least it's been one of them. i feel like a nocturnal animal in the zoo at 12 noon. me turning away from you so you don't see my eyes when im walking out the door. you saying "shake it off,get back in the game,kid. we're gonna be okay", but trailing off in a whisper cause i know you don't even believe yourself. the volume goes with the truth. naivetey feels very strange on me but is as warm as the shyness that comes with it. you'd never guess that. new york transit love affair. the veins going underneath the streets that feel so foreign yet endearing. it's not charm, i just don't get it. trust me (but not really). couch living has me hanging onto phone lines. darling, i'm not making sense and my throat is sore-maybe at least you know i mean it. dreading your voicemail as it clicks on. and on and on and on. its me logging off.

terminological inexactitude

we are pirates of the
cruelest kind.
we pluder emotions
pillage intimacy
and rape the mind.
the world is our ocean
and we build or ship of
pretty words that lack substance.
we knock back bottles of
pocket distillation
brewed from weakness
and sweetened with lies.
we answer to all and to no one.
so trust nothing,
there's no honor amonst theives.
like you and me,
with you selling me your
bootleg affection
and me,
with all my talk
of a cutlass for a heart,
buying it nonetheless.
and while i'm still not sure
what it is i stole from you,
i guess it's nothing important.
nothing you'd miss.

song in my head

"be there or be square."
i think i'd rather be square.

latchkey princess

what has this become?
a question only countered in some monster movie madness.
sometimes spewed out just before the
signal down.
the wizard of oz in reverse.
from color to black and white.
i am completely obsessed with everyone who is completely unobsessed with me.
or sometimes with life.
and by life i dont mean heartbeats and breathing.
i mean 9 to fives and becoming the suburbs.
the complete fuck off of it all being that i am completely obsessed with backyards, christmas trees and lemonaid stands.
its like the northshore is my heaven,
the valley is my golden gates.
excuse me for nodding off.
always boring myself to death.
take a chill pill.
the story of my life.
take a vote, the eyes have it.
but the knives have our back.
i dont even remember saying goodbye to you.
happiness is the sand in the sea. its just a percentage of a percentage inside a body of water,
life is just a crocodile with a ticking clock inside of it chasing captain hook.
just wanna dip my toe into death to see if its a warm bath.
anytime anything breaks me open i just spit out a fortune.
if it means anything i spend my time with a bunch of people who ignore the vibrant sky and just look for the pot of gold at the end.
addicted to addiction.
if i bashed your head in how good would the secrets be that poured out.
i feel like a penny turned up the wrong way.
put me in the bowl in front of the register anyway.
let me change someones day.