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

and disappear.

.

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.

Predetermined.

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

again.

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)