http://i.imgur.com/llBXcnH.png

new disney film about a little girl with arthritis and two alcoholic parents and she begs them every night to stop screaming

new disney film about a child that has a father in prison and a mother that can't make rent anymore

"when i grow up i want to be a divorce lawyer" said the four year old at recess to his friends

god's mouth gave us grenades and waterlilies

"if I buy this lipstick I'll have good *** for the first time in my life"

baby you're so much more than a Consumer Demographic to me

i'm good at bleeding

i'm good at apologizing when I'm not actually sorry
if it's sad just make it sound beautiful

is that blood gushing out of your nose or are you just happy to see me

romantic banter like "did you take your zoloft?" "did you take your lithium?"
there are no princesses here

pull my ******* to the side and **** me like your little harlot

you pull and pry at me like an eager child with a new toy, disposing of me as quickly as the newer thing comes along

sext: **** me violently and don't allow me to *** until u say so

read me like a poem
you can't relate to
you don't understand

left with a sour taste in your mouth
hatred for wasting your precious time

sad girl seeks sad boy who'll watch an endless supply of cult classics and **** like an adrenaline ******

you have cotton candy thighs
that dissolve on his tongue
and lips that taste like
lemonade on a 90 degree
day
and you’re light brown hair
blowing over your shoulder
from a cool breeze that
touches your tongue and
tangles through your open
mouth because you’re
laughing and you’re a white
t-shirt and yellow flowers
pushing up against the grass
and rain after weeks of an
empty sky and everyone
wants to drink you up and
they melt under your fingertips
you are paint stained hands
and peppermint tea
and strawberry ice cream
and then you meet this guy
and you let him touch you
and he sets you on fire
and suddenly you’re a girl
who likes the heat and
won’t run when a room is
full of smoke and you’re
coughing up ashes
and you think you’re brave
but you’re just dark and hard
and cold and empty
and you’ve got a heart that
can’t love anything but fire
and boys who play with lighters

i wanted to have something well deserved and substantial

all i’ve wanted was to end the cat and mouse games and wind up with someone who treats me delicately

but this fragile package is still being shaken around and the detail of smooth glass has took shape of broken shards and i’m empty i’m empty i’m empty inside

i am a broken vase

i am a mad girl’s love song

i am a caged bird

i am a withering ghost

i am dead i am dead i am dead

there is a pulse

why is there a pulse

i wonder why people talk so much yet mean very little

i wonder why we step on the cracks of sidewalks when we know we’re only killing our mothers

i want to feel violently in love with you

i want you to fall violently in love with me

i want to weave a noose made out of hydrangeas for you and kiss each drop of whiskey into your mouth

i want to pick you apart like the petals off of the stem

do i love you? do i love you not?

i want to  tell you

that you’re the scariest thing i’ve ever seen

i don’t mean aesthetics

i mean the way your lips form eloquently into a smile that makes me want to learn hypnosis just to feel like i have a fair chance at understanding how easily it is for you to cast spells on people like i stumble over my words trying to talk to you

you’re like an ice glacier where only the world can see the ten percent of you where the ninety remains hidden

i want to touch the hands that have held fragmented pieces of your broken heart, and kiss each finger. apologizing for the ******* before me and the **** ups i’m bound to make if you even give me the slightest chance at making you happy

i can’t promise i will make you happy

i can’t promise i will always say the right things or know how to make you smile or even want to at times

i will destroy monuments and landmarks with my mouth and there will be times i sculpt art suitable for MoMA with this mouth and times my lips meet the small of your back with this mouth

i can promise to wake you up at night and take you out into a thunderstorm

i can promise you gourmet meals consisting of ramen and chopsticks

i can promise kissing and ******* and anything that concerns my being able to touch you

i can promise you the moon, even.

but i can’t promise you’ll always want me

and that’s what scares me most

i always knew i would never be
"girlfriend material"

maybe the gods forgot to cut me carefully from the same cloth they doted out to everybody else

a thicker and more claustrophobic material

one that overheats and suffocates you

my mouth is a forest fire that ignites at the first sight of thunder ahead

other people use their words to heal and comfort their significant other while i'd always had a natural disposition of wielding my tongue as a freshly sharpened knife

i wanted to learn

i wanted to teach myself that in order to be in a relationship you have to treat the hardships like delicately gauzed wounds

changing them out every few hours and applying ointments to soothe and mend the broken flesh

but i don't know if it's because of my mother
who was never very nurturing
taking emotional withdrawals from me throughout my entire childhood

teaching me to cultivate my isolation and find comfort in my loneliness

i'd see the signs of her packing up her bags and departing from a mile away and the only survival method i knew was to let her go before she let me go, again
and again
and again
and again

i tried to mend myself for you
to be less broken down for you

i promised myself i'd be healthier and fight my depression like a true viking at battle

i knew i was never girlfriend material

i don't have the patience or understanding to learn how to nurture wounds

my natural instinct has always been to throw salt in them

to slit my throat and slit my throat and slit my throat until i bled out all of you entirely

it's not that i never knew how to love
but that i never knew how to love properly

caring too much and showing too little
displaying my fear of losing you with an anger that destroys everything in my path

instead of affection and vulnerability

my lovers never know if i love them
i display my feelings  in watered down sentiments that take shape in the way i allow my body to mold into theirs under bedsheets


the love i carry though, suffocates me
it drowns my internal organs
and floods the entirety of my body
leaving me speechless and incapable of articulating how i feel or why i feel the way that i do

in turn i appear cold to the touch
and that is how i knew i was never girlfriend material

i want to lay down on train tracks and sacrifice my body
again
and
again
until i get it right
but i fear it only leaves me in poorer condition than the last

i'm sorry i don't know how to love you properly
i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry

you see, i'm just not "girlfriend material"

I don't know if it's the whiskey or the cigarettes or the one night stands or the phony lovers phoning you for self affirmation that they too - can **** like a professional star on a cheap website.

I don't know if everything I've ever been told was only a regurgitation of everything someone else has ever been told. If we all function solely through heresy and political agendas.

Blood stains on freshly lit cigarettes, they say those'll **** you - but I'm already dead inside.

Starve myself because the scale hates me
                       because the models in the magazines are what my lover fancies
                        because every photograph I've seen within the past several years were of girls resembling holocaust victims - who most likely suffered in the same way that most of those victims have. But only in the sense that, they themselves were the German Nazis malnourishing their Jewish bodies of food.


How awful it must feel, to embody both the **** and the Jewish girl. But I've never actually read Anne Frank's memoir - so what the **** do I know.

If I were skinnier, if I were prettier, if I were smarter, if I read more non fiction and russian literature - if I listened to radio talk shows about politics and found scifi equally as enjoyable as I find raunchy cult classics that make up the subculture stereotype.

       Would I then, capture your attention?


I've already lost my own, truthfully. But everything is only temporary anyways.

I'm very peculiar
in the sense that I enjoy company
although I never really initiate it

I enjoy love
but I never really procure another's interest

I have a way of embodying the sand as lovers, friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers have a way of embodying the ocean. Coming around to kiss me, or capture me, or acknowledge my existence, ever so often.

But I never have the energy or the power to make anyone stay for very long or at all for that matter.

I'm scared I'll smoke all of my cigarettes, and not have the means to afford another pack.

I'm scared I won't have enough money when something enjoyable or fun or entertaining produces itself to me.

I'm scared you'll leave me before I have finished loving you.

I'm scared you'll love me more than I am capable of loving.



I'm scared I won't make it to 22

or that my parents will die too early

or that more of the people from childhood will go away

i'm a beautifully detailed gown but i'm ripping at the seams

Kiss me 'till I'm dizzy

    make me feel as if I drank the whole bottle

love me like the ****** you shove desperately into your already swollen veins every night

I decided I would **** myself the night I was coming down from a high dose of adderall and my boyfriend was dead asleep

It was the bitter realization that this too was a pitiful reflection of my life and how it would always be. Me, regardless of how "fulfilled" or surrounded by people that exceeded the expectations of check lists, your mother slowly marked off as conversation droned on the first time you took your bow home to meet the parent(s).

You will always be entirely alone.
Nothing is ever going to amount to anything, because we as a whole are an anthill that is doomed to be knocked over by the first grader with the light up sneakers.

We are all a conglomerate waste of living organisms which seek to destroy as much as "humanly possible.."

In the end there is nothing good that will come but the inevitable death that is bound to follow.

None of us are important.

None of us are significant.

We came here alone, and will leave as an even lonelier/petrified version of ourselves.

Me personally, I would like it to be homicide. Something of the Black Dahlia sort.
You see, nothing is more praised in this pitiful existence than a young pretty girl with her body found entirely sawed into two halves.


I don't think it bothers me anymore, the idea of being alone.
I don't feel the disappointment anymore. I don't allow myself to get my hopes up -- because I know that nothing ever comes of that.

I think I just wish that I lived a different life
Perhaps taking up a different life form, altogether.

I would like to be something as meaningless as the human race.
Perhaps an ant. I've always had the desire to build monuments and watch them be torn down in a matter of seconds.


I just want to create something
and then destroy it, because it was beautiful and I am not worthy.

Your entire existence was a cruel joke

that your parents concocted while

you were in the womb

only to tell you, in your later years,

just how bleak and insignificant you truly are

and were always - to them.