i told blank pages in my mind that they were the only ones who ever really listened to me. i think i got the point across fine now it's just all that fucking eloquence. you see me as cigarettes in bed and white sheets and clever lines and i just see myself as awkward moments neverquiteright unhealthy little girl. everything i see just reminds me of how much i hate myself. or maybe just the situation; 'no one ever changes. only the situation changes. they can change because of the situation but once you put them back they go right to their old ways.' i know the relationship's fucked but i want to cookie-cut it into something i can get. two days to the end. i know you're just trying to help but no one asked you. and you're not quite fit for the task at hand. (just don't know how to tell you this.) talked to the wrong person on the phone today. passive comfort. do what you can to get by. i suppose.
i just want my vices and my heroes and my comfort all in something that will get who this is in this body. what i got stuck with. someone who knows how to help instead of 'just being there'. i'm sick of 'just being there.' i want real help.
yes i know it's not what it looks like and it's never how it seems and it's always a disappointment but maybe.. it won't be. just let me dream that there are people who could care for me circumstance aside. just let me think these people aren't insane for this want for me. just let me believe i'm desired for one moment. my reciprocation of their feelings is simply the rarest thing these days. and i've found someone who fits. you're the one who makes me feel okay with being me. you make me feel sexy and sweet and wanted. fuck eight years. i know it can't be put aside but there's gotta be something we can do to make this feeling fit.
you know i talk to you like this. i'm falling asleep at this desk all crouched up and small. sleeping in closets and inside jokes again finally. it's a collection of objects and fading things. jolt back all the time. all the time all the time all the time. feel the pulse in your skin. you were the only one who told me it was okay. bruises. it's a familiar feeling in the sickest way. if you just press on the bone just so, you'll have my heart. i don't even like you but you've got this part of me now. like you can understand for no reason at all.
listen to old words... write the same lines.
i'm trying to sort things out. if you get lost in the shuffle, i'm sorry. only i'm really not. it's just that you are not a part of what i'm becoming. this smoke and kohl and kisses and hips and 'you're too young for me'. mixed all with these lies. it'll be sad later maybe but for right now it just feels right.
sometimes i'm afraid you're the only one who could tear me apart. i want nothing more than your absence but the craving of your skin confuses me.