Maybe I do like to wake up with you

Use me, Abuse me but please never leave me.

A guilty flower to match your sordid conscience. “It’s okay “, I say, “Go and be with him, I’m used to being the ugly third wheel”.

I walk back alone like a zombie in a trance. Holding this flower you gave me with utter care.

Be careful don’t crush it. She gave it to you; she gave it to you to make her feel better of the rejection she offered.

Suppression prepares for overflow

Do you remember that lost voice that you once used on me years back?

That voice that captured my soul and bound me to become addicted to the very essence of your aura is now a long distant fragment of memory. I heard it today and it brought back all those fuzzy feelings but it also brought with it pain and defeat for that voice was aimed at someone else.

I sat there today with my back faced to your beauty regime. It felt good that I didn’t have a single urge to just stare. I like the fact that I look like I don’t give a fuck on the surface.

If you only knew how it’s destroying me piece by piece inside.

Existence depends solely on perception

Hang me up and leave me there to perish for I’d rather take a stand and die then let my soul be sucked by the formalities of the day. What’s the use of today when it’s just preparing me for tomorrow? Why can’t we live for today and fuck the rest?

The face you put on every day is your defense mechanism. Why can’t I see you for what you are? My ideal of you blind sights me for what you really are and that, my friend, places you on a pedestal in my eye.

This pedestal does not fit you, you’re slipping slowly but my mind can’t allow an empty space so there you will remain forever .The past 7 years will mean nothing and you my indifferent stranger will stay number one in my head regardless of what you do to me.

Is that love or fearful obsession?

Fears in solitude

That knot in my stomach can be soothed by a couple of sit-ups.

The sit-ups are done and I sit and wait for the pain to subside. The pain is a good pain, it makes me feel like I am alive again and not just another piece of the dancing singing crap of the world. I cant stand the idea of going back home.

Home is a place where I never want to be. I’m running away from being that girl whom people expect to care about the well fare of her family. The truth is that I really don’t know what I’m doing at University, I have no idea what I want to be and I have no drive to really make it big.

What do they expect from me?

Do they know that by them pinning their ever long hopes on a stoner like me will just lead to fucked up emotional throw up?

Sitting adjacently

I take my tray piled with the morsels of vegetables mixed with spices, Heading to my usual table, I’m shocked to find that you my windless fantasy are already sitting there, time to re calculate, its difficult when that stare you gave me 3 months ago is still reverberating through my chest bones.

It took me a whole term to pluck up the courage to speak to you on Friday night, It was short-lived and interrupted by another acquaintance, its hard to hate her when I’m prepared to die for her on the spot.

Back to the dingy smell of jock filled dining hall, my right eye has a clear image of you to the side, you’re beautiful in your solemnest, It’s excruciating to sit there and know that you probably think me a freak. That seal clubber looking out for fresh meat.

Your blue hoodie hides your face as you walk past me to get some caffeine. That’s it I need a re-fill, Its now or never. I don’t want to look back and regret the chance that I missed.

I speak to you, you’re polite and that smile just makes me want to drop my coffee. I turn back, Your friends sitting at your table are staring and giggling to themselves. What are they saying?

I don’t want to know because that moment made my heart twitter and float, It was worth it. Who gives a fuck.

I’m afraid to know the truth, I’d rather live with my made-up excuse. The sad thing is that you don’t feel the same even though I wish you did.

Death is easy. Life is harder

I found the cure to growing older and that is to not have any expectations about your lover or your beloved ones for that matter.

I've recently realised that people are unreliable and the only one you can truelly count on is yourself , which is sad when you think about it cause I know that as a fact I am a fucked up little mother fucker. I need people sometimes to just tell me to back the fuck away slowly. I'm afraid that one day I'll be left in this world with nothing but the pale blue memory of you. Is that selfish of me?

Maybe its just easier to sell my soul and keep the shell as a face to the many lies I tell and cover up.