for all those people who read this: fuck you and i mean you.

i don't like you now that i think about it i don't know if i ever did.. i am happier without you i've learned that in the past few weeks i never did like your appologies or excuses i found them to be quite pathetic and redundant if you insist on this being fixed, then do it yourself in no way shape or form do i want this to be fixed i would appreciate if you didn't tell others about me; make up rumors and lies all while trying to save the world i said it i said what nobody wanted to say

it's just an idea: MANNERS whatever happened to them?

i remember everything the words we spoke on freezing south street and all those mornings watching you get ready for school you combed your hair inside that mirror the one you painted blue and glued with jewelry tears something about those bright colors would always make you feel better but now we speak with ruined tongues and the words we say aren’t meant for anyone it’s just a mumbled sentence to a passing acquaintance but there was once you

at the center of the world there is a statue of a girl. she is standing near a well with a bucket bare and dry. i went and looked her in the eyes and she turned me into sand. this clumsy form that i despise scattered easy in her hand. and it came to rest upon a beach, with a million others there. we sat and waited for the sea to stretch out so that we could disappear into the endlessness of blue, into the horror of the truth. you see we are far less than we knew. yeah, we are far less than we knew but we knew what we could taste. girls found honey to drench our hands. men cut marble to mark our graves. said that we will need something to remind us of all the sweetness that has passed through us the priests dressed children for choir but found no joy in what was sung. the funeral had begun in the middle of the day when you drive home to your place from that job that makes you sleep back to the thoughts that keep you awake long after night has come to claim any light that still remains in the corner of the frame that you put around her face. two pills just weren't enough. the alarm clock is going off but you are not waking up. this isn't happening happening happening happening happening. it is.

it's funny how we turn into strangers.

i think that what you mostly do when you find you really are alone is panic. you rush to the opposite extreme and pack yourself into the groups-- clubs, societies, types. you suddenly start dressing exactly like the others. it's a way of being invisible. the way you sew the patches on the holes in your blue jeans becomes incredibly important. if you do it wrong you're not with it. you have to be with is. that's a peculiar phrase, you know? with it. with what? with them. with the others. all together. safety in numbers. i'm not me. i'm a basketball letter. i'm a popular kid. i'm my friend's friend. i'm a black leather growth on a honda. i'm a member. i'm a teen-ager. you can't see me, all you can see is us. we're safe. and if We see You standing alone by yourself, if you're lucky we'll ignore you. if you're not lucky we might throw rocks. because we don't like people standing there with the wrong kind of patches on their blue jeans reminding us that we're each alone and none of us is safe. bitter coffee and red wine are all we need