Between you& I.

Terrible people doing terrible things. This shit is all my fault, and I don’t care. Honestly, I’m shallow. Water, dark and murky with unintentional indifference and rage. Raw and passionate; stale like my cigarettes. I’ve got cavities in my mouth that are constantly out to remind me that I am young and I am stupid. “You’re dying!” They say, and it gets louder every time, but I’ve got nothing to say, and I’ve got thousands of strangers who are dying to listen. They crowd empty streets, and they’re dizzying, spinning. and I’ve never been all that great with human interaction, so I stumble; heavy footed, light headed. and I land with one foot in the gutter and one foot in the gold. And if I think hard enough about it, I’m pretty sure that I could find a deliriously metaphorical sentence to sleep adjacent to my previous one. But i can’t, so gutter wash and acid rain, city filth burns my skin and I’d really love to say that this is the end for me, but I’m far too good at faking intelligence to convince myself that it is. I haven’t felt sorry enough yet. Sorry enough for age fifteen. For being a liferuiner, a sinner and a whore. I never have been sorry enough for killing my father. I haven’t been turned far enough inside out yet. I haven’t felt the full weight of the world on my shoulders and I haven’t experienced a fraction of the pain and embarrassment I’ve put out into this great big white world. So, the cavity’s call increases with age, and as my teeth continue to rot to the beat of the summer heat, they remind me that I am a lack of nutritional value. I am empty calories and I’m no good for you. “You’re young and you’re stupid and you’re self absorbed and you’re dying.” They say. and I let them.

I think,“ she said slowly, “you can drive a person crazy by simply refusing to look at them. “There isn’t anything quite like being ignored by someone you have feelings for.”

Once people are given the chance, they’ll stick a knife 7 inches into your chest—then ask you why you’re having such a hard time breathing. And if its the person you love, you’ll respond by sticking the knife in a little deeper and claiming that it hurts less to just keep it there than it does to actually remove it.

How?

Fuck you, I’m worth it and fuck you for making me think for the slightest second that I’m not.

We’re often asked, “Why dope?” This question is not easily answered, most of the time we don’t have any idea but we can’t stop. After a while its just life, you can’t live with the drugs… but you can’t live without them even more. We get high because the world’s uncomfortable, uninteresting and unbearable. Always.

I go through phases. Somedays I feel like the person I’m supposed to be, and then somedays, I turn into no one at all. There is both me and my silhouette. I hope that on the days you find me and all I am are darkened lines, you still are willing to be near me.

And I know she’ll be the death of me, at least we’ll both be numb. And she’ll always get the best of me, the worst is yet to come.

When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago.

Lady Macbeth to Teenage Girls