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J Nov 2020
Shut up for once, with your arguments about how I'm not listening. I feel as if all I ever do is listen. You shouldn't assume things about me, you don't know me the way you think you do. You don't know me. I'm thinking about things that should make me cry, but they seem right for now. They seem good to think about. I will cry and whine and scream about being alone, but this is not an invitation to console me. No, I believe that the urge for you is long gone. You're upset, I cradle I adore I try to help. I'm hurt, and you open the message and drop off the face of the earth. RED FLAG RED FLAG RED FLAG. Please, stop acting as if I'm hurting you. Stop pretending that I'm the bad guy. Guess what? I have a right to feel this way. "My past" you offer when I'm mad at you. "My past makes me feel this way." But if I ever? Oh, ** **! If I dare use that? "don't use your past as an excuse to be a ****** person." You may have gone through some hard ****, Frenchie. But so did I. But you wouldn't know that, would you? OH, SURE! You know about my grandfather, who doesn't? What else? Do you know anything else? Of course not. Not much, not that I remember just yet. Why's that? why don't you know? Because I've come to realize that talking to you is near pointless.
  But you wouldn't get that, right? Even if I wrote novels upon novels, trying to let you get me, begging for you to read, you wouldn't get it. You call me close-minded all of the time. "you'd make a terrible president." Remember? I do. I try to remember everything. Just so I make sure not to make mistakes. You call me close-minded, and yet the moment anything I should/try to talk about is brought up, you disappear. But then you get mad at me for not being able to open up... hmm. I reckon it's my past, yes? I think that maybe it's my past, Sydney. OH? But you'd understand this, hm? HA! AS IF. As if you'd ******* care as if you ******* care. "You know I care about you more than I probably should, right?" Shut up.  You don't care. I know you don't. (my my my, you sound toxic, J) IM ******! ****** AND HURT! AND ALONE! OH? You're drunk, aren't you? Haven't you been? Your friends said so, the ones you've kissed, the ones you've kissed! Drunk, drunk, drunk, they message me, you in the background on your phone. Drinking, drinking drinking, smoke a bowl or seven, and who knows what else? Perhaps a massive ****, right? With your friends that you've kissed before. I'd know, I have the videos of it. But if I even mention someone I've kissed, what do you do? Blank face, play "****** on my mind" until the guilt makes me shut up, smile, change the subject. OH! The friends you've kissed, the friends you've kissed, the friends you've kissed, they text back so easily, I just wanted to see how your day was, how did you sleep, I just want to love you. Don't act like you're the victim here, don't ******* act like this. I asked how your day was, I asked how your day was, I only wanted to know how your ******* day was! Why is it that you leave me on seen? I asked how your day was, how did you sleep? "I'm with friends." "oh, I'm sorry love, I love you, stay safe." hm? and then what? opened 12 hours ago. I said I loved you I said I loved you I said I loved you. So why is it that when I post on my story about watching Twilight because I'm lonely, mostly a joke, halfway true, you're mad? Am I not allowed to feel alone, with the "opened 12 hours ago" sign blinking, screaming, at me, blinding me with its neon talons when it takes flight into dearest memory lane? Oh! MY EYES! THEY TEAR MY EYES, MY EYES! I'M BLIND! I'm BLEEDING! WILL I EVER SEE?
   Am I not allowed to feel that way? Am I not allowed to feel? a l o n e? Is that it? How is it that you can message me from your other account, what are you doing on there? You have another account, what do you do there? Oh, I sound toxic. It's my past, Sydney, it's my past!! Ha! WHY ARE YOU MAD AT ME BEING ALONE! Tell me, I've forgotten, are feelings not allowed? I think that I remember that part of my past, don't feel things. Punish them, punish me, yes? Ignore me for a while, I spoke out against you. IM SORRY JUSTIN IM SORRY JUSTIN I AM SORRY!
   I think you forget that I'm often alone, so why is it that you're mad at me? I'm alone with these thoughts, thoughts like people in a crowd, I sit in the corner, but I know they're all talking about me. Oh, I am alone. With these people who offer to help. HOW DARE THEY? I swat away their hand. ******* ******* *******! You don't know me. you don't know me. YOU CAN'T HELP ME! I'm alone. "I'm always here for you." I know it's wrong of me to believe you, I need you often, there's something wrong with me. Maybe it's my past, hm, maybe it's my past. Sometimes I can't breathe in enough air, I gasp, my lungs fill, my body expands, yet it is not enough. I can't breathe enough, I'm not breathing enough, DONT PANIC DONT PANIC DONT PANIC! ****! Crazy ***** is going through another episode, give them more pills. I CAN'T GO BACK TO THAT PLACE, OH THEY SCREAM TOO MUCH! Why are you mad? Why are you mad at me? What did I do? Did I feel wrong?
  Are you mad? At? Me? For being? Alone? When it is you that's left me. You decided to stop responding, give up, give in, move along with your day. My days aren't as productive. I'm nothing, just a lazy ***, my father says. (having your rights debated is always a fun exercise.) You get angry so often, I shouldn't feel this way? I SHOULDN'T FEEL LIKE THIS! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT "THIS" IS! As ******' if you'd get what's going on in my head, yes? Hell, Sydney, you hardly know what's going on in your head, right? But let me help you, yeah? Like you want? Like you need me to? Like you ask me to and then get mad if I can't, right? Am I right? Am I right? Am I right?
  Tell me, why'd you only ever call me when you're high?
  OH! IS IT SO HARD TO TEXT ME THROUGHOUT THE DAY? Shut up, J, she's not obligated to text you. Now you're just being silly. I leave you on seen for a minute, right? So then you ******* up, and then your mood switches and you get mad at me. OH ** **! You leave for half a day, and then more because now I reckon we aren't on talking terms, at least not on my side for a while. After all, now I need to think and make a decision, and then have the audacity to be mad at me because I feel.. a l o n e? Excuse me. EXCUSE ME EXCUSE ME EXCUSE ME! IT'S PART OF MY PAST HAH! Shut up, I hate that excuse of yours. Do you remember? "Stop using your mental illnesses as an excuse for being a ****** person" do you remember that? I do. Guess what? I can. I CAN USE THEM AS AN EXCUSE, IT LITERALLY IS AN EXCUSE, I CANNOT HELP HOW I FEEL! I CANNOT HELP HOW I FEEL! I CANNOT HELP hOW I FEEL! I feel things! Different from what you do, they do, anyone does. I FEEL .. OTHER! THINGS! if you'd get that, yes? I'm lonely. I'm "utterly" alone, as I often am, BUT WHY! WHY ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE ME FEEL AWFUL FOR IT? I can't feel things without you getting so upset at me. My mental state is ****, oh but you never see it do you? Years of practice, my love. And yet you claim to be able to read me, yes? I hate you. I do, my darling, I despise you. You sicken me, give me a kiss, yeah?
  "You don't deserve words." someone told me today. It wouldn't have bothered me on any other occasion,  I would have laughed it off and gave a smart *** return, but now? Now it's cutting my arms. Oh, ** **! is it? I'm against the bed, "IT'S ALIVE IT'S ALIVE!" It isn't. It has my hands tied, and I'm naked- minus the face of absolute horror and fear. OH? Is it you who wields the blade? No, though I wouldn't be surprised if it were. Nathan does, he holds this dagger against my neck. Don't deserve words, does that mean I don't deserve to talk? Or don't deserve to hear? Regardless, my neck is slit, and he plays with my vocal cords. STRUM STRUM, VIBRATO! Whammy bar, buuurruuruuhhhh! The flesh of my wrists then split from the strings of sound, muscles move underneath, he pokes them and they recoil, I flex and we stare in aw. A third arm reaches from my hand, dropping a heart that it picked up along the way onto my chest, I choke on the length of said arm, I cry, but it's too late, the blood is internal. It grabs an arm, and suddenly I'm tearing myself apart. I become a fish, I strip myself of useless skin! OH? because I DON'T DESERVE WORDS. and yet I feel like I should tell everyone else words all of the time. Chatterbox! Wow, don't I talk way too much!
  WHY AM I TYPING? WHY HAVEN'T YOU APOLOGIZED. Perhaps it is I who is in the wrong, though, yes? You're with friends you're with friends you're with friends. So I should calm down, but that doesn't make feeling alone any less lonely, I'm alone, I'm alone, I'm ALONE. And I think that maybe I'm allowed to be. because it's lonely. when you've been left on opened 12 hours ago.
When I'm mad, I call her Sydney. It's still Frenchie. Update, we've been together for a little over a month, got together October third. I know this sounds toxic, but I'm just ****** and had to get it out. I have yet to hear from her, but hey if she leaves, I'll just write again.
maybe. I'm being overdramatic, I'm sorry for that, but this seems real for me, so maybe it's real. update: I wrote this at like midnight. then she called me at six in the morning talking about how she loved me and all this **** and how she had a nightmare and now I'm going to ******* scream.
Kay-Rosa May 2019
pitter-patter on my head
turning my face to the heavens
acid burning a line of tears
thunder-beating of my heart; heavy and rhythmic
lightning-spark of my breath; sharp and bright
dark cloud, large and menacing
hanging just above my head
Kay-Rosa May 2019
Because I could not tell for Annie,
it did kindly tell for me.
Annie, Annie, every where,
Yet not a drop to tell.

How happy is the West Side Story, American Anita!
Anti Anita.
Does the anti Anita make you shiver?
does it?

How happy is the three fundamental truths Angie!
Does the Angie make you shiver?
does it?

When I think of the brilliant Becky, I see a common O.W.L..
Why is it so fuzzy?

Like an a friend's friend, the Annie likes to tell.
Annie, Annie, every where,
Yet not a drop to tell.
Kay-Rosa May 2019
you crawl inside my veins,
clog my circulation,
stop my heart

you cuddle inside my bones,
rattling the mirth of me,
stopping me in my tracks

you sneak inside my mind,
clouding my every waking moment,
stealing my brain cell (one at a time
with every side glance in my direction)

you steal inside my ear,
your voice a whisper across the room,
your sound resting on my shoulder

you sit upon my lips,
dangling your legs from my tongue,
your name choking me every time I see you

you curl up between my legs,
your voice, seductive to your significant other
bothers me so

you scratch beneath my skin,
always a need at the back of my neck,
forever pulling me in while pushing away

you cloud my subconscious,
so every time I drink, somehow
your my designated driver

let me poke your heart,
as you stab mine, shredding it to bits
just so you might see me
hey, dudes.
Kay-Rosa May 2019
Darling, baby, corazon
Dear, sweetheart, sugar,
Honestly, never your name.
Honey, pet, cinnamon
Carino, mon chou, bunny.
For the day I call you by your name,
Cuddlebear, goddess, pearl
Star, treasure, microbe
Is the day I'm on one knee, love.
Google 'terms of endearment microbe' apparently its Italian. I laughed sooo hard at that. Im terrible.
Kay-Rosa May 2019
i fear the dark,
i fear the light.
i fear the shadows and the monsters who take refuge in my mind.
i fear the eternal silence,
i fear the bloodcurdling screams of the voices who are never given a microphone.
but most of all,
above any fear i have ever felt,
i fear being stuck, i fear failure.
i fear i will never get anywhere with my limited abilities.
i fear falling down,
to my own personalized hell where endless,
                                              crippling failure is
                                                            for once
                                 just once
can i play the game
                                                                                 and win?
Kay-Rosa May 2019
When we were younger,
you wished to be a pirate.
You wished to pillage and plunder, brother mine.
But, of such times, you forget.
And I helped you to forget.
Rid your intensely intelligent mind
Of rotting things.
Now, you help people.
But, not to help them,
To keep yourself from becoming too bored.
I wonder, brother dear, if you were a pirate,
Would you become bored of the sea,
Bored of the pillaging and plundering?
Would you wish to come home?
Or would you continue searching for something,
Forever upon those waters of endless boredom,
Forever the bored pirate, dear brother?
Would you?
Inspired by my obsession with Sherlock Holmes, in all his forms (RDJ, Benny Cumbers, Will Ferrel, etc.) and his ever present brother, worried about his safety. They're just a bunch of big ol' softies, I swear.
Kay-Rosa May 2019
The simple things in life, flowers, kisses on children's noses;
Everyone says, "stop and smell the roses".
I prefer a lilac, a sweet, soft aroma;
The color of the wax insignia on my high school diploma.
Or maybe a honeysuckle, sweeter than day.
Singing songs on stage, a heart meant for Broadway.
Then, possibly a gardenia, a white multi-petal;
Floral smell, like jasmine tea in a copper kettle.
But never a rose, the smell sharp and acrid;
Red, pink or white, all color refracted.
So, can I stop and watch the sunset, slow into the night,
Instead of pricking my fingers, Mr. Fahrenheit?
Kay-Rosa May 2019
look for the bare necessities
the simple bare necessities
remind me of my worries with that knife
i mean that tongue that rests at ease
the color out of life, you squeeze
leaving just the bare necessities of life
sing it. i dare you. tell me if you do.
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