you've always been the hand on my throat that restricted me from breathing but you were so beautiful while you did it that i forgot about your hand around my neck and got my breath taken for a completely different reason

i think of the romantics as the hippies of society. not that there's anything wrong with sitting in a VW van in a field of sunflowers listening to the Beatles and smoking blunts all day and night, im totally the advocate for that, but is that all there is? there's so much more, and it isn't all sunshine and rainbows like they teach you in kindergarten, and that's one of the biggest problems with the education systems throughout the world these days. we're sheltered. we're sheltered to no end. what would the kid that didn't know anything about police brutality or a drug cartel do the first time when he was ready to emerge into the real world? he would ******* **** himself because he was sheltered. and then the mental illness factor comes in, what would his friends do? they'd never been exposed to that, they didn't even know such a thing was possible. because they were sheltered. maybe the kids in his neighborhood would begin to get the same thoughts and **** themselves too because they thought they were ******* crazy for thinking the way they were because nobody ever told them that mental illnesses are nothing to be ashamed of and they're treatable and they don't make you a bad person. what makes someone a bad person is lying to someone by telling them everything will always be okay, because everything won't always be okay. and that's realism.

i cannot wait for the older generations to die off and as awful as that sounds im so sick of being consistently judged for who i love or what i believe in and what i do in my free time, being told im going nowhere in life because i failed a math test is not how to go about a future in an art field and i swear if someone who is not an artist tells me or any other artist we will not make it in an art field one more time i will take it upon myself to produce the most beautiful art possible and shove it down every unartistic egotistical *******'s throat until every inch of their insides is as colorful as a cubic centimeter of my mind is

i want to kiss you until your lips are raw
your mind is so beautiful and i long for it
i never dreamed of having someone like you with me
but now that you're here i want you to stay

before i ever met you i had no idea i liked blue eyes especially ones that resemble the crystal clear blue carribean sea and normally i'd never get anywhere near any ocean of any sort but the sea of your eyes is enchanting and it fascinates me to no end, it's what causes me to stay up past three am every night thinking about how heavenly it would be to drown in opulent sapphire serenity, but the weird thing is that i'm normally absolutely petrified of the ocean and when im around you i feel invincible, i guess the ocean is euphoric to some but to me any geographic or cosmic wonder could never compare to the inner and outer beauty that radiates off of you like a ray of sun or a wave through the sea of your irises, i may not have ever told you how beautiful i think your mind is or maybe i did but it's kind of hard to think about anything because im normally too busy wishing i was drowning in you

My family is absolutely ridiculous.  Every single time we have a family gathering, it always somehow results in everyone sitting around the table absolutely heated over political issues and everything that’s wrong with the government.  They’re all disgustingly republican.  It’s almost painful to listen to their views on certain things.  I’m the only person in my entire extended family (that I know of) that is more on the moderate/liberal side.  From what I’ve gathered, moderates/liberals are more of the younger crowd of people, because now that the older generation that was shamefully conservative is becoming scarcer and scarcer, some people are beginning to wake up.  They're also more of the "artistic", open-minded, down to earth humans, which is what I consider myself to be. I feel as though I've been shaped into who I am today because of the people I've associated with, the media, blogging, and just simply opening my eyes to what the world really is. We have a choice as human beings on whether or not we want to see the world as what it is, or the world with a filter over top of it, so we don't really see it for what it really is. Some may argue it's the "romanticism vs. realism", or at least I would. I learned that from one of my ex boyfriends, which was sort of the turning point in my views of the world. His name was Stefan, and he lived in England. I don't think that's even a real relationship, but he definitely helped me realize some stuff, although I already had fairly strong views on certain things already. One of those being the debate on same *** marriage. This hits very close to home for me, in far more ways than one, and is probably one of the things I dispute over most with people. I won't get into it completely here, but I am 10,000,000,000% for it. Just as same *** marriage, I have very strong feelings about self expression. It is our first amendment right to freedom of expression, and in school we are violated of that.  I couldn't imagine having to go to school with my hair in a bun, no makeup on, no more than one piercing in each ear, no ****** piercings, no nail polish, etc. To me, that is a violation of your first amendment right, let alone having it go against everything I believe in. This is why I'm so eager to move to New York City; where I can look however I want to and attend as many protests as I want and create as much art as humanly possible. Until the day the rest of America wakes up, the early risers will continue to brew the coffee in hopes one day the sleepyheads will smell how wonderful it is.

i swear she was the most beautiful plague i'd ever been fortunate enough to catch

you're all you truly have and if you aren't true to you then when everyone else leaves you and you realize you were living a lie you won't be able to distinguish reality from the dream you were living in

the hickey you gave me lasted longer than we did

you were fire and i'm deathly afraid of fire but i needed something to light my cigarette with i only wanted to smoke one but you insisted i smoke them all and lit the entire pack on fire and you caught some of my sweater with it and you burned me whenever it looked like you were going out you would come back even stronger than before and as much as i wanted to break away from you i couldn't, i was addicted to you and i was already burned anyway so what difference would it make i ******* wish i listened to my friends when they told me not to play with fire because you're always going to get burned but i guess i was okay with the risk of getting burned because it was only for one ******* cigarette but i don't smoke anymore

WHAT AM I DOING
rhyming is hard
just like rhubarb
pie
sly pie
why are you sly, pie?
the frog is on a log
with the hard rhubarb pie
I’M SO NOT DIGGING THIS
i kind of just want to fling
myself off a bridge
this is really hard
lard
there is NO POINT TO THIS “POEM”
NO WORDS RHYME WITH POEM
have you ever noticed how teenagers are SO ******* SAD
TEENAGERS ARE SO SAD
THEY ARE SO SAD
AND FOR WHAT
SAD BECAUSE YOU WERE CALLED A ****
ITS SO HARSH BUT ITS TRUE
PUSH YOUR BACK AGAINST THE WALL AND BE BLUE
IF YOU CHOOSE

nope not happening
down to the important stuff

trying your luck // the strokes
old yellow bricks // arctic monkeys
electric feel // mgmt
alone, together // the strokes
stray away // the colourist
games // the strokes

SLY PIE
rhubarb pie

poverty has been a persistent problem all throughout the world for more than one reason.  it can be passed down, but in some instances it can be brought upon somebody because of a loss of a job or a mental illness.  i almost got emotional when i was listening to/watching the presentation, as i could never imagine living that way.  we take so much for granted.  knowing we can type this blog post from the comfort of our home on our macbooks or hp laptops is so overlooked because we've been graced with this technology since the beginning of our time.  we wouldn't be writing this blog post on our macbooks if we weren't in school, which to us is a necessity.  i just spelled necessity wrong, but my imac autocorrected it for me.  people living below the poverty line don't have autocorrect to tell them when they've messed something up.  they can't go to school to learn how to spell necessity, because they can't afford it.  i just drove my bmw to dunkin' donuts to grab some free coffee with an app on my iphone 6 and eat some $1.69 hash browns that my mom gave me some spare change for.  if you're below the poverty line, none of that would be in your agenda. an extra 5 dollar bill wouldn't just be laying around to go waste on something you honestly don't need.  it could be going towards the food you'll be eating for the next week or a new shirt because you outgrew the single one that you owned previously. i know personally, i get angry when i don't have enough gas in my car to get me somewhere that i honestly don't have to go to, or when i spend the last few dollars of my paycheck on an overpriced drink at Starbucks.  i will be the first to admit that i am absolutely, completely, 100% spoiled rotten but i am more than lucky to be able to get an education, have a job that i love and look forward to going to, and have a family that would give me the world if they could.  when you have family, you will always make it through.  none of us have any idea how good we have it, and i think it's about time we realize how lucky we are to live in the country we do.

i miss you and i really really really ******* wish i didnt

looking at you makes me feel so ******* sick but i would rather feel nausea because of you than nothing at all

maybe the tight feeling in my chest is a reminder for me to breathe even though it's difficult to do with the words you so emptily used to describe the scars on my wrist in the back of my head i didn't think i'd make it out alive there was just so much blood you had me in your jaws like a snake has a mouse but i somehow managed to slip away from you long enough to do more damage to myself than you ever could it ended up exactly the way i thought it would as beautiful as i thought you were you really were the death of me

i hope you're ok

i miss her and it's making me so ******* sick

there's way too much love inside me for people who don't deserve it  not one ******* bit do you understand what it feels like to know what you've done for someone and then have them step on your heart like you're a sidewalk i thought being walked on with stilettos would hurt the most but it turns out tie dye vans are the real killers i was walked on until i went completely numb all of me is numb everything is darker than i expected it to be i guess that's what happens when you have the dirt from the bottom of those tie dye vans stuck in your eyes now all i can do is use what's left of my hearing to listen to your favorite songs over and over even though you never told me what they were not even after i asked you what does it matter anyway i'm just a ******* sidewalk sidewalks don't breathe our lungs are too full of the gravel and leaves the people who walk on top of us kick around sidewalks don't cry we let the rain do it for us sidewalks don't have hearts and even if they did why would it matter anyway i was your ******* sidewalk to get to her i made sure to crack in some spots to make it harder to get to her but you're much smarter than some stupid ******* crack you figured your way around it in the most beautiful way possible and god ****** i wish i tried a little harder but now i'll just be stuck here with your dirt in my eyes and your gravel in my lungs and your tie dye vans all over my pathetic little heart

i was so happy with his arm around me on that ***** couch and with the satisfaction of raising my mother’s blood pressure tucked away in the pit of my stomach
“your parents are going to hate me”
we bumped noses and it really hurt but the feeling of his soft lips against mine made up for it completely
his septum ring became interlaced between our mouths so i pulled away and fixed it for him and he just stared at me with the green eyes he apparently isn’t complimented on often which is a complete wonder to me and i don’t really know if i believe it
“he doesn’t look a thing like jesus but he talks like a gentleman like you imagined when you were young”
actually he has a beard like jesus but maybe it isn’t as scruffy and his hair isn’t long but he’s the most beautiful human being i’ve ever seen
his weight on my chest didn’t hurt as much as i thought it would but he grabbed my neck with more force than i expected him to and it caught me off guard but the kiss made up for it again the colors of the room faded as i closed my eyes and melted into him
i guess you could say we were kind of like fondue because we both became puddles of human and love
but all puddles eventually dry up

"...maybe that's why i'm completely numb to it or maybe my heart is as cold as i think it is and i just didn't realize it but i'm unaffected by the death of the flowers you gave me that followed with the metaphorical death of us"

my life is nothing but a series of constant waiting. waiting in line, waiting for the band, waiting for the boy, waiting for dinner, waiting for 1 am so i can drink myself to sleep when i'm kept up at night thinking about the future even though i'm stuck in the past. but you know what? i'm ******* tired of waiting. i'm 17 and i want to live like every other 17 year old. happiness isn't something i should have to wait for. so that line i'm "supposed" to be waiting in? i'm not supposed to do anything, it's my ******* life and i don't have to wait in a ******* line if i don't want to. that boy i'm waiting for? i can kiss that dream goodbye, it's the last thing i'll be kissing for a while. i don't want to sit by the phone to wait for a call that may or may not come through. i refuse to wait any longer. i've waited long enough. living doesn't happen by waiting. living happens by living.

I normally don't go to parties on week night but if I hadn't seen you last Thursday night I never would've known I didn't like hazel eyes. I'll  allow you to whisper sweet nothings into my ear but I don't want to look at you because it's hard to pretend to like the color of your eyes. they're a muddy swamp that surely has some sort of decaying carcass of another girl you once killed with them hidden behind the dark iris. I don't know why but i wanted you to touch my body even though I knew you were killing me and you didn't even know who I was. the sober spirit inside me is supposed to be stronger than my intoxicated character but I spent all night kissing you, being careful to keep my eyes closed or else I was sure id meet my demise and become just another decrepit body masked my your seemingly gentle eyes. I can't even believe I somehow managed to stay the whole night with a mass murderer with the fully loaded weapons in a room in a house that I'd never been in. I didn't want to kiss you again because you tasted of  stale american beer and cheap menthol cigarettes. that night was  meaningless but I stayed because I guess I just had one too many but when I woke up next to you I wanted your awful taste out of my mouth and your skin as far away from mind as possible. we don't know each others names and we never will because it doesn't matter to me enough to know your name.  I still don't like the color of your eyes and I never wanted your sweet nothings because that's all they are. nothing.

MAYBE THE TIGHT FEELING IN MY CHEST IS A REMINDER FOR ME TO BREATHE EVEN THOUGH ITS DIFFICULT TO DO WITH YOU AND THE WORDS YOU USED SO EMPTILY TO DESCRIBE THE SCARS ON MY WRIST THAT YOU MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE CAUSED ON MY CONSCIENCE I DIDNT THINK ID MAKE IT OUT ALIVE YOU HAD ME IN YOUR JAWS LIKE AN SNAKE HAS A MOUSE BUT I SLIPPED AWAY FROM YOU LONG ENOUGH TO DO MORE HARM TO MYSELF THAN YOU EVER COULD

the idea of us having two ears, two eyes, two arms and two legs but only one heart so we can find the other one is a beautiful concept. but what if you never find your matching heart? what if your second half dies or is impaired so they cannot venture to find you? the same goes for the mouth, what if the set of lips you've chosen to kiss for eternity are only good for kissing, and not for speaking? how will you ever know they love you?
how?

life is nothing but a huge game of cards.  the drawing pile is a new chance, and the discard pile bunch of stale second chances that were once taken. the cards you have in your hand are what you currently posses, and you most likely are not happy with the order they've come to you in.  when someone asks for one of your cards, despite not enjoying yourself with it, you're hesitant to give away your card, as if you've grown attached to the way the cards laid out in front of you are arranged.  if you gave it away, everything would be a little bit off balance, and it might take you a while to readjust yourself to the new card. once you finally do give it away, you realize you made the wrong decision.  you figure that if you rearrange your set of cards completely, you could begin forming a new norm, and be on your way to winning the game.  you frantically begin giving your cards away to the other players and keep drawing cards from the pile of new chances. somewhere along the way you lost yourself in the game, and all your cards disappeared, and just like that, the game is over.

i'm beyond sick of acting like i'm happy for people. i'm not happy for them. i'm not happy at all. every single day i simply go through the motions of the same boring routine rather than actually dance through life like all the happy people. do you know how hard it is to choke back your tears everyday because you have to be strong? do you know how hard it is to hold everything in because nobody gives a single **** about how you feel, all because of the way you look of dress of act or express yourself. if i was a little skinnier and maybe a little prettier, everyone would want to make sure i was okay. they'd want to be invested in **** they have no point in knowing and then try to play it off like they actually cared. today's society is completely superficial and i'm over it. if a "regular" person was suicidal, they'd be told to lay down and drink some water or tell themselves that they can get better, just to change their state of mind. the likelihood of one of the "socially accepted" people getting attention for suicidal feelings is much higher. i'm sick of people not caring. i'm sick of people not paying attention to anyone but themselves.
it just really hurts.
i'm sorry.

"look at all the lonely people"
i waltzed into the desolate church on the corner of a street in a town i didn't know the name of.  i've turned into one of those people who spends time in cathedrals on their days off in towns i've never heard of, due to loneliness, mostly.  to my surprise, there was a young lady halfway sitting and halfway standing in a pew next to a stained glass window. her breathing was heavy, i could hear her across the room.  she had a somewhat horrified expression on her face, which was pale and almost ghostly.  she looked so dejected, it was absolutely heart-rendering. once i took a step towards her, the priest of the old church appeared and told her she had to leave her sad state and her pew next to the stained glass window. her melancholy expression remained as she walked slowly out of the church, letting the wooden door slam behind her, never once looking up at me or the priest. he took his place in the exact same spot this young girl was in, and began to write words in a small leather journal with a quill pen. i turned around and left, and decided to come back at the exact same time i did the next day, in hopes to relive the past few moments.
--
as promised, i promenaded down the center aisle of the pews in the church, the carpet crackling under my feet, due to old age, adding to the sense of eeriness that lurked through the establishment.  the young girl was not there. i sat in the pew she sat in the day prior, in hopes of her walking in once more.  i waited for hours, and she did not show.  i faintly heard the sound of a violin just as the priest walked through a door near the altar.  his hands were covered in dirt, and i was curious.  i approached him.
"hello, father. might i ask why your hands are so *****?"
"ah. you're the man from yesterday." he said, a slight glimmer of fear in his eye.
"yes, that is correct."
"you seemed to be quite fascinated by miss eleanor." it's almost as if he knew how intrigued i was by her, although i didn't know her name until now.
"eleanor? the lass from the day prior?"
"indeed. well, it upsets me to break this news to you, but my hands are battered with dirt because i've just come back from burying miss rigby in the cemetery."
"you mean there was no formal ceremony to celebrate her life? what is the matter with you?! how did she die?"
the priest looked me dead in the eye, and spoke the chilling words in a completely monotone voice.
"she was one of the lonely people."

the taste of demise is in the back of my throat. it's stale and frigid. the coldness of the sweat dripping down my face makes me shudder. is this it? i know i'm still alive, for i can stand. the dead are unable to stand. the dead lay down in caskets. the living stand upright.
unless they're on the cusp.
what is one to do if you're standing with a hunched back? are you dead or alive?
this beautiful dress that's wrapped around my frail bones is the only thing keeping me warm in such an outbreak of chills. maybe i really am passing, for i am closer to the ground. my mind is becoming a psychological shipwreck, i can't bear to stay grounded. my heart is weak and my legs are shaky. my eyes aren't staying open. maybe that's what happens when you die. it's almost like a trance. it's an altered state of consciousness. you're halfway evolved, but not fully. you don't really know where you are. you're here, but you're not. what scares me most is that i know my fate. i know what lies ahead. the dreaded fate of being forgotten. when you die, you lose everything. people who once cared so much will eventually dry their tears. i'll be nothing but a memory.
i can no longer stand.
i am nothing.

the wrapper of the chocolate i ate to try to cope with the dreaded feeling you left me with told me to "follow my heart".
there's a problem with me following my heart, though.
what if my heart is going backwards? what if it's doing flips? am i supposed to follow it into the depths of god knows where? what if it tells me to go up, even though it knows i'm scared of heights? what if it tells me to go across the ocean, when it knows that's my biggest fear? why should i chase something that will only cause me to hurt myself, whether it be my actual heart, or what my heart wants me to chase?
my heart was taken onto a plane that goes 30,000 feet in the air over an ocean.
i'm afraid of heights,
and i'm terrified of the ocean.
i guess i'm too afraid to follow my heart.

we are the sun and the moon.
forever longing for one another yet destined to be apart.

we know the other one is there,
but we could never be together.

we can't see eye to eye
or face to face,
even though its well known
our minds interlock
like your rays into my beams.

it's somewhat tragic to know
that the only way for me to be seen is for you to go away;

but on the other hand,
it's somewhat beautiful
that i can only exist
because of you.

tonight is one of those nights here you can feel your own heart beating.
where you lay on your bed and wonder why you're still here.  why you're so still, how you continue to breathe, how your flesh is still somehow loosely pinned onto your bones, how your hair hasn't all fallen out yet or how your fingers move quickly enough to write the words you're thinking. it's one of those nights where you constantly ponder the dreaded thought of being forgotten. of being replaced.  it's when you think of your future and what it might hold for you. where you conjure up scenarios you want to happen, even though they probably never will.
where you miss people.
where you dream a little too big.
where you have small hopes to conquer the big dreams.
where you think of what you'll have for lunch tomorrow.
where you listen to music and sing the lyrics out loud.
where you cuddle your pillow, because you don't know if you're broken or put together.
where you're lonely.
all because of a heart beat.

sometimes i wonder what it’d be like if i stopped being the disgustingly kind person that i currently am.  then when i try to discontinue it, i realize that i’m far too weak to do anything so drastic.  i’ve had this revelation recently that nobody honestly and truly appreciates this “kindness”; most of the time it just goes unnoticed because it really doesn’t matter that much.  yes, i know the cliches of it, where even if no one is watching you, you should still be kind and courteous of others.
bull ******* ****.
when i’m alone, i could care less about how you ******* feel.  it’s not weighing me down, it’s not my
i was going somewhere with this but i don’t know where i was going.
how’s your day going, dear?

as cliche as it sounds
it's a lot easier
to be happy
than to be sad.
happiness can be
drinking your favorite tea
or eating your favorite sandwich.
it can be seeing
a familiar face
you might not have seen
in a while
or having your cat
lick your nose
with their sandpaper tongue.
happiness comes in all shapes and sizes,
in all forms of things,
both living and non-living.
however, it's up to you
to find your happiness
in those things.

january 11th, 2014
i feel like i'm getting bad again.  my head constantly hurts from all the thoughts i have going through it. my mind simply won't stop racing, i think it's because i miss you, but i'm not sure. it's hard to say. write again soon, promise.

january 20th, 2014
i'm getting bad again. i think they're worried about me. i told them about how i missed you. they said to try to forget about you, but forgetting your best friend and your first love is hard to do. i've been biting my fingers to the bone to try to keep myself from thinking of you. it hasn't been working. write again soon, promise.

january 24th, 2014
i'm bad again. i miss you. you told me not to worry about you, that you're doing just fine. but she's going to hurt you. i know she is. the nausea this is causing me is something i didn't know I was capable of feeling. it's honestly terrifying to know your body can put these kinds of ailments upon you all because of a gut feeling you have. write again soon, promise.

january 28th, 2014
i'm over the edge. she kissed you and hurt you. her lips were like daggers against yours and she ended up stabbing you, just like i said she would. but you didn't listen. write again soon, promise.

january 31st, 2014
i don't know where i am. you're sad and so am i. my empathy is unnatural. i feel your vibes from 3,800 miles across the ocean. i miss you. it's hard to keep a grip on this pen with the blood lubricating my fingers. don't know when to write again, might be soon, might be later, but i'll try, promise.

february 2nd, 2014
i'm sorry for the blood on the paper, it's not easy to control it when it's constantly pouring out of the self inflicted wounds that for some reason they've refused to patch up. i told you she was wrong for you. i knew that you'd be leaving and i knew you'd find someone else but i thought you'd be smarter than this. try to hold the pen soon, promise.

february 4th, 2014
i can't stop shaking, i didn't think you'd get to me this much. my vomiting is uncontrollable, even though there's nothing left in my body to throw up. my veins are exhausted from me constantly prying them open with the same pair of scissors you once took away from me. i told you she wasn't right for you. i told you what would happen. you knew this is how it would end up. my selfishness has taken over and convoluted compassion for you is no longer there. you did this to me because you were never there and you won't ever be. you knew how much i thought i loved you and you know how well i take these things. but my feelings don't matter, they never did. you said you'd be there for me but you weren't anymore after you met her. she changed you for the worst. i can't even fathom to say goodbye to you, so i'll leave you with a final story, since you love them so much.
"i'll sit here in my hospital bed in this gown they've dressed me in that's stained with lines and spatters of blood and smoke my cigarette and think of you as my last thought before i go. sorry to worry you. goodbye, my dear."
last time i'll write, promise.

i'm losing my best friend to a completely shallow cold hearted gripe who isn't worth anyone's time.
and it's eating away at me more than the maggots that have begun to appear inside my slowly withering soul.
my greatest fear is showing it's ugly face again - the fear of being forgotten.
athazagoraphobia- the fear of being forgotten or replaced.
forgotten. replaced.
easily.
you said you'd be there for me.
but you're going to forget me like all the other ******* did. you're going to get rid of me like every other person who has ever actually meant something to me.
you were no different.
you were the exact same.
you're just another page in my journal now.

do you ever feel worthless?
everyone has a bad day every now and again, that's perfectly normal. but it's the days where you can somehow feel everyone around you constantly judging you. in complete silence. supposedly without you knowing.
but you know.
you know their silence just as well as their voices.
the comparisons they make of you, to your peers. your closest friends. your family.
the "perfect" ones.
and then there's you.
you alone, standing right in front of everyone, waiting for a reason to continue the short yet steady inhales and exhales of oxygen into your lungs.
you haven't found it yet.
the people standing in front of you are waiting for you to find that reason for yourself. it's expected of you to know exactly why you're placed on this planet when you're in high school, sometimes even before that. with no help from anyone at all.  
it's a bit difficult to figure out exactly who you currently are, who you want to be, who you could be, who you should be, but most importantly who you will be, when there is nobody to light your lantern through the cave you have to trudge through to get there.
in addition to that, as the one being judged, it's just as terrible to have to sit there and take it like absolutely nothing is wrong.  to stand in front of these ******* and continue inhaling and exhaling like you suddenly have some sort of purpose to continue to do so.  making it appear as if their criticisms and comparisons don't make you want to down that bottle of pills you have laying under your bed.
continue putting on the front that you are just fine, that there isn't a raging crater of fiery anxiety in the pit of your stomach where normally nothing except complete emptiness sits.
extinguishing the fire inside of you is easier said than done.
and most of the time, it's a lot easier to let yourself become engulfed in flames.

i never knew missing someone could hurt this much, and i shouldn’t even miss you, since you’re still standing right in front of me. i just don’t want you to waste all the best of you in drama and i think it’s just that i miss the drama free-not infatuated with other girls-same old you and it ******* *****. that awful feeling in my stomach is the contradictory emptiness that i spill my ink to all the time, it’s so overwhelming that i want to reach down my throat and grab my small intestine so it will burst and hopefully engorge me with something more pleasant than complete destitution.

i couldn't stop looking at this girl. i glanced down at my black leather jacket, black v-neck, ripped blue jeans, and black boots with the buckles on the side. i popped my collar and set out to find the girl i'd just found. i noticed the lights of this weird indie club i'd somehow ended up in. this music isn't normal "club" music. it's all arctic monkeys. the lyrics of these songs empowered me, i felt as though i had to continue my search for this soul.  despite the darkness, i slid on my aviators to protect myself from those blinding lights, and also to give me a hint of mysteriousness. girls love that.
and then there she was.
sipping on what appeared to be a bottle of coke, but i couldn't tell because of the ******* sunglasses i was wearing. she was standing laughing with one of her friends. she had such a different aura to her. i couldn't help but watch as she pulled out one of her organic cigarettes.
"i wanna make her mine." i thought to myself.
the lights reflected off the sweat on the walls as i tried to keep my cool, strutting my way over to her, hoping to get her eyes to lock onto mine. from what i finally saw of her in plain sight, she had love in her eyes and perfect lighting over her; like a camera plus filter. she took drags of that cigarette like some kind of goddess, causing me to get weak at the knees and form a lump in my throat, which i soon managed to somehow swallow. i had to find out who she was. i wanted her more than i'd ever wanted anything, or at least so i recall. i played out the scene in my head - we'd dance, and numerous guys would approach her. it was hard not to. i'd overpower them. "she's with me.", i'd say cooly.
i didn't realize all this fantasizing about my mystery girl had taken me so little time, because by the time i was finished my train of thought, i was standing right in front of her. god, i wanted her so bad. i swear, if i looked at her long enough, she'd steal my soul. the love in her eyes was contradicted by the incredibly **** sparkle in her iris.
"hello there beautiful. you seem to be having a lovely time. you're absolutely breathtaking, i'm forced to believe you are a certified mind blower. what's your name, milady?"
with a turn of her head, a bat of her lashes, and a flash of her perfect smile, she answered me in the most angelic voice i've ever heard.
"arabella."