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cavernouskid
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read my profile
sign my guestbook
Name: peace of mind
Gender: Female
Interests: wandering about with no intended destination; snow; being an indie faggot; KidRobot; combing the city streets for yuppies to snipe; gutting knives; Marlon Brando, Warren Beatty, Faye Dunaway, Bettie Page; Malibu rum; climbing tall things and then jumping off of them; graffiti; Francis Bacon; fine wine and verbal swordplay (at the same time); thievery; bleeding; Southern drawls; being challenged (and winning); and surprisingly, vegetarianism
Expertise: being a douchejerk; being unsatisfied; sleeping
Occupation: freshman; forensic psychology
Message: message me
MSN: licksquid@live.com
Member Since:
6/15/2009
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| all i am is an outlet.
an outlet for other people's sadness or rage.
either that, or a shelf where people can unload all of their problems and forget about them for a while.
no one listens to me.
"friends" push my seldom complaints of the sick emptiness i've been feeling aside to bitch about their own petty melodramatic shit.
"OH, I THINK MY BOYFRIEND ONLY WANTS ME FOR SEX." oh, that's too bad... "YEAH, BUT I'M SCARED I DON'T EVEN LOVE HIM ANYMORE."
then where's the problem, you fucking moron?
"OH, WELL I THINK YOU'RE DEPRESSED." so what should i do about it? "KILL YOURSELF. LISTEN TO SAD MUSIC. HOPE IT DOESN'T GET WORSE. PROBABLY NOT IN THAT ORDER THOUGH."
thanks.
thank you for that.
i don't understand.
i only try to talk to people about these things when i've internalized them for too long and they've gotten to be too much, you know, when i feel like i'm about to fucking snap.
and no one can quit being selfish for the ten fucking minutes i'd need to be heard out, to just take a step back from everything and breathe.
welp, friends, you can all go fuck yourselves.
i am no longer giving you that breathing room.
here's to hoping you all choke.
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| be happy for the both of us, please.
trying to make you happy is making me miserable.
it is draining me.
but it is okay!
it is okay because i love you.
i love you too much.
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| Seething with contempt so thinly veiled it is hardly veiled at all.
ONE POSTAL BLOWFISH.
And I didn't even have to wait a few hours. It's only been a few moments and I already want to gut myself and let these noodles fall out.
Anyway, some correspondence with my shining beacon of hope:
paranoia, heart destroyer says:
So uh
I'm regressing, I think.
Mr. Sir Danny Motherfucker- It's alive! says:
...Do you have a diaper fetish now?
paranoia, heart destroyer says:
No, everything just makes my stomach churn.
Mr. Sir Danny Motherfucker- It's alive! says:
Yeah, welcome to my life
paranoia, heart destroyer says:
FEELS LIKE BEING 14 AND INSECURE AGAIN.
Mr. Sir Danny Motherfucker- It's alive! says:
Yeah, I haven't felt like I've developed as a character since around that time.
It's great!
Soon you'll get stomach ulcers.
Then you'll be me.
It's real fun, stomach ulcers.
paranoia, heart destroyer says:
I'm already having stomach problems.
I am not even kidding.
Mr. Sir Danny Motherfucker- It's alive! says:
You're going to be literally curled up in pain for the first two hours of your waking life.
Every morning.
paranoia, heart destroyer says:
Well, it happens at night, not morning.
Once I get comfortable in bed.
Mr. Sir Danny Motherfucker- It's alive! says:
Oh, you might be lucky then...
It might not be whatever the fuck I have
Because what I have always hurts at least slightly, until nightfall.
I'm totally a vampire I bet
paranoia, heart destroyer says:
It's not morning stomach ulcers, they're totally nocturnal!
I have them whipped.
fucking shit
Mr. Sir Danny Motherfucker- It's alive! says:
You can be my Bella if you want, you seem to have the "teenage girl" down pat.
: D
Man this PC feels brand new though, so I'm in a fantastic mood.
Feel free to complain about stuff to me.
I'm feeling GREAT, so maybe I'll cheer you up.
I will probably just make smartass remarks though
paranoia, heart destroyer says:
Well, in other news, my eyes are green today.
I guess that's nice.
did I tell you I ran over my middle finger with the chair yesterday?
Mr. Sir Danny Motherfucker- It's alive! says:
How'd you pull that one off, sweetie
paranoia, heart destroyer says:
I don't even know.
The pain was so intense I forgot the moments leading up to and after it.
Mr. Sir Danny Motherfucker- It's alive! says:
: |
But uh...
How's, uh, college, on the other hand?
paranoia, heart destroyer says:
I want to die.
I am so tense.
Anyway, my pan fried noodles are ready.
Time to eat these and regret it in a few hours!
Mr. Sir Danny Motherfucker- It's alive! says:
Noodles kick ass!
paranoia, heart destroyer says:
Word.
Mr. Sir Danny Motherfucker- It's alive! says:
Try drinking lots of peppermint tea, that helps me
Just uh...
Don't kill yourself.
paranoia, heart destroyer says:
Oh, was that an inkling of concern : 3
I think I'll make my jasmine tea.
Yes.
GOODBYE FOR NOW, MY DEAR
Mr. Sir Danny Motherfucker- It's alive! says:
Fare thee well
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| This just made me rage because the person I wrote this about is a goddamn waste of space, time, and oxygen, but I still like it. Kind of. I like how I felt when I wrote it, not the piece itself. So I like... what it stands for? Whatever.
Teacher told me to stop being so fucking morose, so I gave her this and she had to do a doubletake on the name at the top corner of the paper.
PS. LOLJOYDIVISION.
It's because you can't fake a smile.
Those lips curve upwards only when you're laughing.
It's because you can finish my sentences
& read my mind.
It's because we can lay in bed
(limbs meshed where anatomy allows it)
& blast Joy Division 'til our ears go numb
(your impressions of Ian Curtis are endlessly
amusing).
It's because when I'm cold
you say "I gotcha, I gotcha"
or "baby, you know there's room for two in this jacket."
It's because you're not afraid to sing off-key,
because you can't dance but you'll do it anyway,
because you're a foot taller than me &
that just makes each kiss a thousand times more
beautiful (& impossible).
It's because we love to hate the same things.
It's because I can keep these thoughts tucked away
in the recesses of my mind
& you'll still know.
I can see it in those smiling eyes.
It's because you're not the Romeo to my Juliet—
it's because I'm the Bonnie to your Clyde.
It's because we've got our futures
all figured out, with each other
at the centers.
It's because when I posed the question,
"what would I do without you?"
you opted to never find out.
(it'sbecauseyouweretooshytoaskme)
It's because of all these things & then some
that I'm glad one chance meeting in the halls,
one trivial conversation
(you liked my hat, I liked your shirt)
turned into what it has become:
a new beginning.
A reason behind every breath.
The butterflies in my stomach (& yours).
Seventeen years of living
with the same old skyline.
I couldn't keep this up.
Could've walked through life
with my eyes closed
& not have bumped into anything.
Life like that is venomous—
I wouldn't recommend it.
But when you came along,
my pleasant intervention,
you brought along with you
the delicious sense of uncertainty
that I've been craving.
& now my time well spent
is my time spent with you.
& now my heart
is in your hands.
& I thought I could never love again.
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| Everything I'm posting right now I wrote some time in high school. I've got weird attachments to this shit and I don't want to lose them, so they'll stay here. I'd suggest not lifting and tinkering with them because most of them have been published in some way or another (not that I can imagine why).
He has called me earlier this evening. By the tone of his voice, I can tell he has a mouthful of things to say, and I because I'm a pushover or because I have essentially nothing better to do, I will listen.
"I can hardly remember the last time I felt engaged when with another person. Or even just in conversation. Well, except for with you. With you, every second is like a roller coaster on heroin through Candy Land. But in all seriousness, shit has gotten pretty boring--"
(life is waiting for my turn to speak)
"--Is all human contact supposed to be this... this unfulfilling?" He snorts with indignation. I pause before assuming this is my cue to reply with something of substance--the term "substance" of course used very loosely.
"I'm kind of hoping for the latter, otherwise there is really no reason for me to still be alive."
He prattles on, acknowledging not one word I have said. "People like me because I know what they want to hear and how they want to hear it, not because they have a genuine bond with me. I just pander to people to get them the hell off of me, that's ALL. They like me--"
(they like me because i have ripped out my spine and sold it to them)
"--Because you generally aim to please? Because it keeps things simple?" I have interrupted him. Usually he would speak over me, but he must stop for breath.
(and now i want to trade back for it but you don't want to hear it)
"Exactly." Nothing else. I am a little shocked, but I try to steer the conversation anyway.
"You know, lately I feel like I've been walking through a mist."
"Same here. I don't even want to think about it. Before I'd at least have complex angsty thoughts--"
(or convoluted, but you can never tell them apart)
"--but now it's just... damn. I don't wanna think and I don't wanna talk anymore."
"...And anything that you have to say," I murmur slowly, expecting him to drown my voice out with his own but he doesn't and the shock is probably very evident in my tone but not to him, "has either been repeated ad nauseam or simply ignored time and time again?"
"Yes! ...Usually both. Every conversation is the same. It's all just one big game of hide-the-neuroses."
I do not laugh. I do, however, take in a sharp of hiss of air, smirk, and slowly expel it through my nostrils. The irony is beautiful. It's also crippling.
(and such is life)
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