I read something from a long time ago.
And it made me cry.
The thunder outside told me to shut up.
And then I realized it was raining.
But I stopped crying.
Because I'm not supposed to, cry, I mean.
And I grabbed a cigarette.
And my zippo that says lucky on it.
Made of '04.
I love that lighter.
I went outside and lit it.
But I didn't want my mom to come out.
And see how I was.
So I started walking in the rain.
I didn't want my cigarette to get hit by the rain.
So I stuck it underneath my shirt.
And then I walked.
And while I was walking, I tripped.
I accidentally burned my belly button.
How the **** did I manage that.

I'm so stupid

So I walked to the side of the house.
There is a little porch big enough for one.
I finished my cigarette with my eyes closed.
Just listening to the rain.
When it was done, I walked up to the steps.
And I sat down, still getting pelted with water.
I realized I couldn't keep sitting, I was shaking.
So I got up and started walking towards the back of the house.
I walked to the very back, towards the alleyway.
Making sure to drag my feet in the puddles, soaking my pajama pants.
I got to the back gate.
And I started crying again.

You are hopeless, this is hopeless, what are you even doing here?

The thunder told me to shut up again.

You are wasteless

I saw my old trampoline and started jumping on it.
When I was little, I used to sing to the rain.
I would sing good songs, to try and soothe it.
Never sing 'rain rain go away'.
That's makes the rain upset.
And the thunder says to stop.
So I jumped.
And I sang a little bit.
Then I laid down and closed my eyes.
Just got completely soaked, y'know.

You are going to be okay, everything is okay.

Just felt the pitter patter of rain drops on me.
Tried to bury my zippo in my clothes so it wouldn't get wet.
Then I got up, cried a little more.
And I walked back.
I walked back towards the front of the house slowly.

You are going to be okay, everything is okay.

Dragging my feet in puddles.

I miss you Grant, I hate you Sam, and I love you..Well, you know who you are.

Just getting completely soaked.

You are going to be okay, everything is okay.

And I went inside, smiled at my mom.
Went downstairs.
And changed my clothes.
Began getting ready for work.


You are going to be okay, everything is okay.





*You are not okay, everything is not going to be okay.

I'd focus if windows were always
                                                        open,
And doors didn't
                           *exist.

I don't like people. I like red wine & cigarettes.

Crystalline shards, we are what we choose to be..
                                                            ­                            .
                                   ­                                                   .      .
     ­                                                                 ­               f     .                                                                ­                      
                                                                ­                        .   r
                                                               ­                    .   a      .
                                                                ­                           g .
                                                               ­                         m
                                      ­                                               .         e .
                                                               ­                   .  n        t    
                                                                ­                        s  .
                                    ­                                                       .
                                                               ­                       .
                                        ­                                                    .
           ­                                                                 ­        .         .
                                                               ­                           .
                                    ­                                                 .
                                                                ­                         .
                                                               ­                       .I'll  .
                                                        ­                        end up in      .
                                                       ­                     crumpled heap
                                                                ­     .  .   at my own feet.. ..

The world is lonely while they cry for help and
                    they reach their hands up.
In words, in books, in paintings,
                    they portray their loneliness hidden or blatant.
But even that isn't enough to highlight
                    the lowlights of our lives
It's in our blood, it's in our veins, our bones,
                    it's in the cigarettes that we smoke.
Which fills the air and wails out loud,
                    screaming a symphony of isolation.
It's hidden in the corners of the cities,
                     hidden in the tall green grass of the countryside
It's everywhere you look, in famous words,
                     in ancient books.
It fills your mind, it takes you hold, it's in the tiniest key hole,
                     but enough.
It's enough to spark a burning fire, to long for another's touch,
                     to feel desire
From another human being,
                     to share in what is the only thing worth keeping
Human company. We long, we dream, we scream for it,
                     and we hope it favors us too.
It's overwhelming, it makes me, it makes me long
                     like so many others
We are not alone in our loneliness
                     and what a queer thought that is

*“Wir können uns einreden, dass wir mit einem Buch nicht allein sind, wie wir uns einreden können, dass wir mit einem Menschen nicht allein sind.”

I wait for cigs to appear in a tiny tea can
I buy things I don't need, not out of greed
He gets off late at night, quite near three
I'm not good at loving anybody, any man,
Anything

Why must I love the poets, the painters, the piano players?

I dilute, I digress, as he touches my chest
Soft permeating whispers of spurious love
Pretending for a reason to reach this octave
I'm somewhere distant, somewhere I can rest
A mess

Are artists meant to be with artists? Do they bring out in each other what is darkest?

He lies tired, I wide awake with moon eyes
I curl my ivory back to his kisses and fingers
My cold heart does nothing but shiver
This is a sad type of a music, reprise after reprise
I sometimes cry

And I can't get close, cause I can't relate.
No brain train is the same,
but mines off the rails and no one knows what it's like to ride,
******* great,
*this is why I don't date.