everything is the way i would have it

thats an amazing feeling

i can only tell you to make an effort to make things your way

Eaten away

...And so there it was in plain black and white, soy-based text on recycled print, and every line and cross-hatch brought back those memories. And then it was so clear, my revisit to the high school fantasy. How I wanted to take every bit of my minor agony and put it into you, mixing with your cataclysm and producing something so much more evil, destructive and wonderful than anything I ever imagined

But that is why its a fantasy, and not that this recipe has been followed with different results

And there you died, an object of desire

There is still time

Oh thats right

I forgot that your confidence gets striped when your away from that camera

And so it comes

A creeping mold has become my number one concern right now
Taking damage over time, exponentially growing
as mold often does
So where do we go from here?

What a Trip

Seeing your pictures again after so long, I'd almost forgotten your face
Almost forgotten everything

And then it all came back to me like a wave crashing down

And what did i feel?

Like it never happened, desire, but only to relearn your name

Nervous Light

guilt ridden Sunday morning, purged last night, impending purge tomorrow, comfort is not guaranteed, even the solace of white smoke does nothing for the sacrifice of character i make on a bi-weekly basis, something of an un-innocent sacrifice, hope the gods confuse it for the sweet girl left so long ago, leaving scratches in stone, leaving scratches in wood, ringing the bells and hoping someone hears, cursing constantly, curse you and all your cousins and that sacred doctrine of evolution, white powders only make you sweaty and nervous the confidence was all lost with the image you try to inhale, image imagine image imagining, purge, its almost like i forgot the memory of your smile, its almost like forgot that i am the neurotic one, its almost like i forgot anyone had any sort of tolerance for me, this is perfectionism, this is perfectionism combined with failure and a lack of support, though abundant in efficacy, its my efficacy that gives me the pride, the pride that gives me the confidence, the confidence that somehow seeps into the floor with the remains of a sugar-alcoholic mixture, staining black and red, burned, not scared, easily replaced, were all easily replaced, and yet there still was a point to all this, yet to be reached, one-quarter into the anti-climactic story, and i still forget that i never completed anything, not yet, not this sentence, not this story, not this feeling, but yet all the signs still tell me you all love me. thank you

two weeks notice

Feed me a pill to make this time pass
But not the one that makes me forget
Just let me pass along everything
So i can be in her arms again