Breathing in and out
Like a storm cloud
Start rocking,
Take the hits, stay stable
Nothing’s going to change
That I care for me
There’s not a name
Or stick or stone
Cleaning out my life and facing things head on means having to relive and deal with a lot of the things that I didn’t make peace with in the past. Which in turn means there’s a strong possibility my tumblr is going to turn into a whiny puddle of rants until I get everything out.
Gross, but I sure as hell don’t have a captive audience.
Feels like a huge weight just came off my shoulders. I have a plan now. Move north for 32 bucks an hour, mmyes.
Also:
I was wide awake at 1am. Documentaries did not put me to sleep.
2am, fap fap fap fap.
3am, home haircut.
3:30am, consider eating my entire candy stash.
4am, fap fap fap fap
5am, and I still can’t sleep. I do not like this.
I’m debating driving into the city to buy coals. Craving weesha like mad. I seriously miss sitting around in my underwear smoking my brains out and painting or drawing or whatever the fuck I used to do.
“Once more to the fray. To the last good fight I’ll ever know. Live and die on this day.”
The Grey
Fast forward, backwards slowly
I’m in an old room with cardboard boxes piled
The memories flood like the suns come readily
Wooden floors and a room by the exit door
It didn’t matter at the time
I’d dance, I’d dress, I felt fine
And little girls stayed on Their minds
I video’d the part like it was easy
Then eighteen years was too much
Too old to fuck
The words I’ve heard never leave me
When I was thirteen I lied about everything
Met with anyone that played my games
I can’t say I didn’t start it
But I don’t know if I’m to blame
It didn’t matter at the time
I’d dance, I’d dress, I felt fine
And little girls stayed on Their minds
I video’d the part like it was easy
Then the dancing died when I changed
I emptied my closet
And I began to hate everything I became
Everything I’m good at
Was everything I needed gone
So murderous, I’ve been rotting from the inside
Too smart to strike out against Them
Too trained to rid myself of remembering Them
It seems I’m torn once more
Can’t find the fucking balance
And I’m too stubborn to dip my toes into it again
Even if it’s just for my One
As if I think withholding now is punishing Them
I get the ideas, then my breath falls short
And the last thing I want to do
Is make those things seem desirable
To stir that fire
Every action has a reaction
For the things I’ve done, I will always pay, I know
But the marks I already wear
I feel are enough to have punished me
