*what I wrote whilst having a bad reaction to weed*
- feels like a movie (scary)
- voices weren’t our own
- want cereal
- bitchy and dumb friends like in chick flicks
- want sarah
- and vodka
- never to drugs again
- but drink
- a lot
- dogs are great
- Zloot tattoo
- cookie chrisp
It doesn’t happen like in the movies.
You don’t bump into the love of your life on the street.
Your best friend doesn’t suddenly reveal their undying love.
You don’t get some magical prince to come and save you.
You wake up cold and alone with an alarm clock blaring in your ear and no one to shut it off but yourself.
And when you’re drowning in the ocean.
It starts raining when you find dry land.
Your mind turns into a high way of
Slit your wrist avenue, stop eating lane,
And suicide is the only exit you can get off on.
You constantly search for those who are like you.
With scars littering their bodies.
The ones that can’t raise their hand in class.
The ones that cover their bad days with a happy eyes.
The ones that are so good at pretending they’ve convinced everyone but themselves.
The twists and turns in your mind are drawn on paper
and when people say art comes from pain they’re lying.
Art comes from nothing.
The lines on my paper are the same as the ones on my wrist.
Art is numb.
1.) Was this all just a game to you? Fuck. I didn’t mean it like you don’t care but… Did you?
2.) I’ve ripped up all your shirts and broke every cup that your lips have touched. I regret that. They were the only kisses I had left.
3.) I found one of your stupid indie records under the couch. I’m debating whether I should sell it or just snap it in half.
4.) Update: I cut my hand on one of the shards. It’s the first time I’ve felt pain since you left."
You are a full heart
and I’m an empty package of cigarettes