This will end badly...I think.
This is nerve-wracking. I seem to enjoy throwing myself into situations that do not merit my presence. Tonight: an outstanding example. This behavior should be rewarded. With a quick kick to the genitals.
Merry New Year, everyone.
I'm feeling neglected. Affected. Directed. Dissected. Subjected. Etc.
However, I do not feel socially connected.
No matter. I have my camera and my pen. I'll get over it, I'm sure.
When I awoke, I was on the highway.
Get me out of here.
I need a reason. Any will do.
Shake it off...it's barely a feeling.
Fine....
I know you plan out everything that you want to say.
When we laugh indoors the blissful tones bounce off the walls and fall to the ground.
Such low and pointless feelings. And my annoying dictionary fetish. I never write anything of meaning or importance or great intuition. I linger in my box of emotional merry-go-rounds and caffinated stupors. How tragic that I can't for the life of me write something (anything) to do with life's beauty. Only my little world matters on paper.
Fossils under my meat, so to speak. Or to quote?
I miss snow. There, a complete thought, unhindered by my own pitiful emotions. But I so do. I miss the feeling of it's melting kisses on my eyelashes, my face, my tongue. Summer and I have come to a fork in the road. And let me tell you, Summer's the one skipping down the wrong path.
Understanding is an emotion I lack at the moment. Have I been wrong all along?
You're the only reason I live in fear. Don't think it's alright when I'm quietly losing myself behind the smiles I so expertly muster. But the corners of my mouth can't seem to find their way up anymore.
In silence I wait for reprieve.
It's not as though I'm jealous. No, I'm stoicly terrified of the smiles and eyelashes and hand gestures. You whisper sweetly: "It's all in your head." But I know the carnal instincts you harbor just below your heart. Fresh meat translates to fresh female pharamones. It's all in your head.
I'm past all of this. I know (don't I?) this won't last forever. My fragile female ego is but a prototype at the moment. Impressionable as they come. But I know, while waiting for my phone to vibrate tentatively on my nightstand, that this is far from an ending.
Shut your eyes...know you belong to something.
Fear. Longing. Jealousy. Treachery?
Who's to know?
Alienation. Alien Nation.
I'm exhausted more often than not, these days. Different situations. Desperate measures. Count downs. And this warm little ball in my stomach won't dissipate. Nor do I want it to.
I find out that you're angry.
And you're sorry....
You ever met me.
Here I am again. Splayed open for all to see. I Read like a book. Page over page like a novel too odd to put down. One day it will all come together. A puzzle of riddles and words. Pieces? Piece. I'll grow up eventually.