“Nothing, Everything, Anything, Something: If you have nothing, then you have everything, because you have the freedom to do anything, without the fear of losing something.”

Another sip
Another ****
Fading into the haze
Of my own self destruction
You act as if I'm human
That I can be hurt
That I'm not willing to suffer
Just for your own entertainment
I'll pave my own path to my early demise
Dont think you can help
I'm miles ahead of you
You're only just beginning
Polishing the fingernails of deaths hand
I've felt them
While I fade into my eternal oblivion
Another bottle down
Another cigarette smoked
Maybe I'll continue
Driving this dead end road
At 90 miles per hour
Fading once again
Back into the man I used to be
The man I'm always meant to be
Now I'm wondering
Was the psychic right
Will I ever see my 31st birthday

Ayyyyyy-
So as quite a few of you presumably know, the original creator of this page is pretty awesome.

However, from now on, there will be two people maintaining this HP page- the creator, et moi! The creator of the page will use whatever nickname she likes to differentiate herself from me, and vice versa.

We'll make sure to put the differentiation in the notes of each post, the exception being this one.

But yeah, that's about it- so hey, guys! You can call me LB ;)

if my erythrocytes change every 120 days, then I wonder if the process would be faster by opening up a vein or two, so I can get rid of some of the red blood cells instead of waiting for them to change.

my heart bleeds a hell of a lot
as hearts do
as one does.

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it