I bet this sounded better in my head.
I'll keep talking and you just tell me when.
Sometimes is not enough. Someday never has been. I’m alone with the prospect of tonight, cold and covered in the frozen monotony of another stifled day, drowning everything telling me absolutely nothing. I’m cold and I’m exhausted from the mental energy it takes to remember what makes this easier. I’m angry from the compulsion to dedicate everything, or to appreciate every petal of every flower when sometimes it’s just filthy, and sometimes people are really stupid. Sometimes my hobbies are fruitless, my ideas have no point, and it’s really obvious. There are a lot of times when my thoughts DON’T rhyme. Sometimes I just plain want it to be easy. And sometimes isn’t enough. This is insatiable. I am insatiable. What I want doesn’t exist. What I am doesn’t exist anywhere else but in me. And yeah, that’s a good thing, a great thing, even, but a lot of times I just kind of want my own hug from my own self, and you have NO idea how hard that is to manufacture, or how underwhelming the story is when you yourself wrote the ending. I am working to stay sane, and once I am, I lust for crazy because at least in crazy I can be crazy. I’m so alone. So alone tonight, and I can’t stand that at all, no, not naturally.
You’re Welcome, Okay?
“Oh Oh that feels good, scratch that, there, now now now. I want to paint your face, oh my, let’s put some BLACK AROUND YOUR EYES, this is fun, this is FUN, THIS IS FUN!”
“Oh tell me again, I’m crying, so tell me again, tell me again that’s it’s all okay, this isn’t my fault, this is just what my life has done to me!” [You’re okay, this isn’t your fault, this is just what your life has done to you].
Yeah yeah yeah, but that aside, your progress can’t be mine, your diamonds barely shine, I’m shaving GLASS to make this fine. I actually do think that this is your fault sometimes.
Don’t worry about it, it’s not like you’re all I’ve got in my head when I’m trying so hard just to go the fuck to bed.
There are only two things that work, the sound of someone else going through the same thing (a good man with a good heart) and this thing my soul does sometimes. I can’t remember what it’s called… I think it begins with an H?
Wait a minute— screw you Wednesday.
Ooo you the best
The way you lay down on my chest
Monday Tuesday failed the test
But you and your sunshine never rest
Oh you saw I was scared and you gave me muuuusic, you saw I was crying and gave me thunderrrr, you saw it was to grey outside and cleared the sky to make for little dandelion snow all over and under.
You gave me a good idea (a few in fact)
You gave me headache free (free at last)
You gave me a calzone and dinner at home.
Thank you, Wednesday. I wanna kiss you with tongue.
Love,
Jil
I can’t hear the sound of my own voice. I sound like a muddied mess of uncertainty, the lovechild of false pride and absolute euphoria manifesting into a sad, sad shallow hollow well of a person who just caught a glimpse of loving herself blind. I sound like an idiot. The brighter the sun, the faster I run. So rain like hell. Give me tragedy. FLOOD THIS WELL.
