these will be simply titled with date. i've been having trouble fitting all my words into categories, so i won't.
i can't remember the last time it'd been like this. relapse?
November 6, 2011
Before I go,
before I go.
A hundred words before I go.
You never were as useless as
you are now.
I never saw
the things you told me about,
but that doesn't make you a liar.
It just makes me blind.
I'd love to say,
that all I've wanted was to be loved,
and then to die; loved.
But all I want is to love
To sense before I lose that right.
I often talk too much
of one single subject,
because I like to peruse plotlines
all the way to fairytale ends.
And I'd stay up all night
just to know the end.
Mirroring the insecurities of life
as I know it;
of my future as it's sprouting.
Of my own predisposed demise.
I'd like to stay up all night, every night.
Because morning doesn't exist for me anymore.
I'd like to live
in a state of dilapidation,
wasted and unwarranted.
As I'd rather live the habit,
than relapse it continually.
A hundred words to make you lie to me
A hundred words,
turned to a million,
because no language
in the world can possibly
build me up to the height
I watch in consternation, begging
to be me, hoping that if it could see,
it'd choose me. That I'd be the one to die,
at the end of the world, in the arms of the sinner;
a beautiful giant.
(made of words and rotting clay,
a paper doll, and mutt; dirty stray)