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wow i totally just wrote 6 pages of total crap

huckingfoes:

i don’t get why everyone’s bored so often. there are always things i should be or want to be doing, so i do them.

decide what’s important to you and do more of it. don’t waste your life being bored.

I hate Christmas. It’s like one of the most depressing things in the world. Like for starters you get this fucking tree right? And at first it’s all nice and smells good but then you put lights and ornaments and shit on it cuz you know it’s lovely and natural but that’s never fucking good enough right? Cuz nothing is ever good enough. And then the heat from the lights and the weight from the ornaments and oh I dunno the fact that it’s FUCKING DEAD makes it wilt and it stops smelling good and it’s just this big dead centerpiece in the middle of your fucking house. But everyone pretends not to notice. Everyone wants to pretend it’s still beautiful.

Then there’s the whole presents thing. Like suddenly it’s all about the fucking gifts. And people are running around spending money they don’t have on things people probably don’t even really want. And it’s all about how MANY presents the spoiled little kids have to open. It’s not even about what’s inside or anything. It’s just the unwrapping and shit. And it’s just this big stressful mess that makes parents big meaniebutts.

The whole family situation. Oh wow. That’s just lovely. Really fantastic. You know, spending all this time with people that you moved away from that you don’t really wanna see anymore that you really actually are just dreading. There’s a reason liquor stores do oh so well on the holidays. YOU NEED BOOZE JUST TO GET THROUGH IT. Lord knows I need to get drunk tonight just to deal with the day.

Honestly. Holidays suck.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, watching me exhale. The dense smoke rose through the crisp bedroom air, drifting towards the open window.

I passed him the joint. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

He chuckled, took the joint between his thumb and index finger, and took a long drag. His hair was black in the darkness, ruffled from the night’s previous events. His piercing blue eyes lit up the room the way a full moon lights up a dark night. His crooked nose, broken more times than I could count, and sharp jawline drew me breathless.

“It was pretty sexy,” he said, “but this is better.”

“When did you become such a romantic?”

He shrugged, his strong arms relaxed, his body at ease. Maybe he had always been this way. Calm. Peaceful.

I propped myself up on one elbow, rested my head on my hand, and gazed at him, not bothering to hide my awe. He looked down at me out of the corner of his eye and smiled. “What are you looking at?” he asked.

“You,” I smiled back.

He leaned his body in closer to mine, rested his forehead against mine, and gazed back into my eyes, his bright blue meeting my dark green in perfect dissonance. With his smirk came the crazy look in his eyes that gave me chills and butterflies at the same time. It reminded me why I loved him; he was free. He didn’t conform or commit. He wasn’t caged or chained to anyone or anything.

I longed for that kind of freedom. It seemed so out of place here in this house that had entrapped me for the better part of the last ten years of my life.

My eyes must have conveyed my dissappointment. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

I sighed, breaking eye contact. It was always a struggle conveying my thoughts, my feelings, I preferred just holding them in. No one understood them anyway, not even me.

But he understood. He understood me completely. He nodded knowingly and passed me the joint, now almost smoked down to the roach. I took the final drag and put it out on my nightstand. My mother would kill me when she finally packed up my furniture and saw the hundreds of burn marks.

“We could run away,” he said, wrapping his arm around me, holding me close. “Tonight.”

I laughed, coughing on the smoke still in my lungs. “I can’t run away tonight.”

“You can,” he said darkly. “You just choose not to.”

“It’s not that easy though. Not anymore.”

He was angry now. His eyes darkened as he stared out the open window. I stroked his chest, trying to soothe him, but his whole body tensed. “You used to be so free,” he eventually said. “You used to relish the run. No goal, no place in mind, just the open world at your fingertips was enough. I miss that girl.”

I was silent, ashamed.

“You can still be that person,” he continued. “I see it in your eyes sometimes. You want to be free again. This conventionality is killing you. It’s changing you and hiding you and conforming you to standards that you don’t belong to.”

I looked up at him now. His eyes were staring into mine again, capturing my soul. “I won’t let you get trapped in a life of loneliness.”

With him you never knew if it was a threat or a promise. As we lay there for the next few hours I contemplated the choice, weighing freedom against the things I loved. Before long I realized there was no choice. With him there’s never a choice.

“Just not tonight,” I whispered. “Just wait a bit. I’ll be ready soon. Just not tonight.”

i’m a mess
a fucking wreck
a basket case

lost in my head
shut off from the world

behind closed doors
no one can hurt you
but alone with yourself
is no way to spend a life

fuck society
fuck the hate
fuck demands
expectations
fuck reality

existence is dead

you touch on my skin
as you glide your rough hands
over my soft arm
slowly tracing the scars and wounds
of memories long forgotten

“how many of these were because of me?”

how can i answer that
how can i tell you the truth
none of them were for you
not a single one
and yet you hurt me more
than any blade ever could

i haven’t forgotten
everyone thinks i have
my friends are all shocked
they don’t get it
why am i with you again?
after what you did
after the pain you caused
how can i go running back?

i just say it’s love
and leave it at that
you can’t see into a person’s soul
but i feel like he sees into mine
he gets me
in a way no one else can
how can you?
no one else was there
it was just us
how can you not understand?
these things change people
for better or worse
till death do us part

and death will do us part

just wrote this after not having written in months. so it’s weird…and yeah..weird. uhm…feel free to read it and you know, let me know if you like it or hate it or whatever. haha

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I don’t take my meds. I’m supposed to be on crazy pills (the doctor calls them “anti-anxiety anti-depressants”) but to me: if you can’t get through it on your own, you’re not supposed to get through it at all.

After all, there’s no magical pill to succeeding in life.

pop a few pills and
drink some beer
snort some cocaine here