I'm bored, and I miss you, so I think I'm going to make myself look half-way decent and go to Quaker.

I'm posting stuff from my old journals in chronological order, because no one reads this anyway and I can do that.

You smile at me and take my hand, and we lie in the wake of colors left trailing behind as you swirl them together. You are sheathed in white and gold, like an angel, and I feel dingy and fetid next to your breathtaking beauty. I want ( Read more... )

The nicotine and peroxide, chemicals soothing to the broken and weary, fill my mouth and nose and eyes and tastes like blood and dirty rainwater. My senses are flooded with relief, much like the sweet, heady rush of undone clarity left in the wake of reefer. My mind like a blank slate, or a crowded room; my nails the only flagrantly physical ( Read more... )

I write in here occasionally.

And yet somehow the entries I write, which are few and far between, seem to offend or upset or just confuse people. Which is why I am switching journals, yet again, and if you wish to be added just talk to me.

Love.

I miss talking to you.

I miss hanging out with you.

but I know that it's my own fault.

I want to cut you out from underneath my skin and sew myself together again.

You just... agitate me, and I hate to see potential go to waste; but maybe I really CAN'T handle you anymore, ever. Which is unfortunate, but what can you do?

You haven't changed a bit.

And You...
well, at least I have you.

( Read more... )

Schyeah, I'm over it.

Quietly fade away.

I am not happy and I am not satisfied; I am restless and I am anxious ( Read more... )