I havn't written in here in over half a year. And I have no excuses, other than that I am lazy. Life has continued, regardless, and I'm not spending time to try and catch up. I've tired of living in the past. The only things I linger on make me smile for no reason, which is good enough for me, or anyone else that matters.
While smoking, I started day-dreaming. A white Buick, pulling up into the driveway. Dad getting out. Seeing me in all my rebel glory, cigarette in place, bleached hair gleaming and ear rings noticable. Telling him I didn't need him, he had no jurasdiction over my life, telling him I cut myself and ended up in a hospital, and then denying him details.
Saying, "You think you can just turn up, get the story, tell me to quit smoking and cussing and fucking up my body and my brain? You wanna know why I did it? Why don't you just tell me. You're the crazy one here, not me. You probably know more than I do."
Not allowing him to take me out. Telling him to go home, that he couldn't sleep here, in my home, that this place was not open to him.
I can't think of anything anymore satisfying than that.

She was a little girl; scared and alone. Youth, blind, but with the body of a fleshy whore. Where do you turn when the world hates you? There are places to go, recede to where fingers can't pry. She's still young, nieve, never been kissed. She never has really noticed the hands on her body searching for more, wanting more, finding the empty body to fill with their filth. She still wants to sit under trees in the sunshine, braid her hair into long braids and hold hands for a little while with someone who will kiss her with lips like velvet poetry. She's always looking for the bright makeup to hide the scars God has given her. Youth, blind to the world, but living as a deep fault in society.

She still wants to ask her mom where all the monsters go when the lights go out. But she alreay knows that one.

Well. I love proxies... such fun. This is usually what I do first period... go to where I'm usually blocked. Except I still can't check my mail, which is kind of annoying. But oh well.
Anyway.
Today is Thursday. Only one more day til the weekend. Thank god. Yesterday in this class (first period digital electronics), we were looking up sex offenders online. They were all quite creeping looking, to be honest. Grr Alex is late.. and the right arrow on my keyboard doesn't work. Stupid school computers need to be replaced. And I am so tired.. I had a weird dream involving being late and wearing nothing but a shirt, a short black skirt, and bright pink fishnets to school. Then I woke up and somehow I had managed to basically strip in my sleep... my shirts and pants were sitting in a pile at the end of my bed. Sometimes I confuse myself.
Oh God. Yesterday, on the bus, this guy was stoned off his ass and trying to convince some sixth graders to pick up smoking. Then I sat next to him this morning, since we seem to have the most crowded bus in Jefferson County, and he just reeked of pot. He spent about 5 miuntes talking to me about how his football team was going to kick my football teams ass, which is no surprise. Then he fell asleep for a few minutes, much to the relief of the majoriy of the bus. But my the time we got to the depot, he had awaken and was bothering this poor geek that everyone seems to pick on, David. Which was actually quite funny because he was asking David for his pen back and jsut kept asking and asking.. when David just screams out "HOLD ON I'M GETTING IT!". Which of course brightened everyone's day a little bit.
But enough about my bus excursions.
Jesus Christ. This class is boring. Why did I ever agree to take this.. he's trying to explain this little note sheet to the class, which I think everyone grasped the concept of the moment they saw it. Next is European History though, so I'm not sure which class I would least like to be in... it's a pretty close one, but I think I'd rather be here. With the internet modem and all.
Hmmm damn still about 20 minutes till the end of this special little hell.. I can't wait til Tuesday.. concert-going-ness, YAY! And then all next week is band hell with the Gaslight parade and another football game.
Well, I'm going to shut up now. I've said enough.

there's a glitch in flickr and you can upload as many pics as you want and it doesn't count towards your limit.. so i have many photos now.
mwahha

How many words does it take to fill up my life?
To fill up rooms and halls-
with these words that spill out of my mouth;
out of my hands.
I bleed these words
they drip off
my skin onto the floor
there are puddles full of them
they are scary and
sickly
and beautiful
and they are everywhere.
They can be taken with a glass of water and
a full meal.
They cause-
nausea
drowsiness
faintness
heart complications
My words are toxic and
red like
poison and they are falling
everywhere
they cover me like confetti and I can't get them
off. They are stuck and I keep scrubbing
my skin is bleeding more words
I can hear them tumble down the drain screaming
they whisper things at me.
when I have run out of soap
I sit down
and cry at the things they say.

so heres a secret…
we took a trip to this place slightly outside the boundaries of my camp and I was sitting at a blue picnic table and the guy next to me started having a mental episode and all i could think about was you …just everything
so i etched your name onto the side of that blue picnic table in a heart and wrote I’m sorrry…..
u kno every guy i like i feel like you should have them


I’m trying to fit these words in my mouth so they can fall at your feet in this beautiful perfect waterfall. You are me… I wish I could tell you that. You spend your summers in heat with hearts and eye liner and lovers, in wooden cabins, in sprawling campuses and across dorms, whispering late at night and crying alone in the moonlight. I want to prick my fingertip and bleed a little for you. The blood is red, crimson, we know it so well. We can fit into our lives of misery; we can mold the world we live in with our tears. We are together always, and you know it.

Apologies can’t be late. You can’t just write my name in your heart on a table, send me a message about how it all belongs to me. Things don’t work that way.
I’m going to fall back into wishful thinking, forget all the things people taught me, forget all my regrets and dewy mornings. This is the night, and it is forever.

You are the voice in my head. With your tragic nursery rhymes and suicidal couplets. You’re the one telling me not to talk, to one cutting up my throat to shreds and pressing up against the milky white skin of my wrist, wishing to get out. You’re in my nightmares, my dreams, perfect in all the wrong ways.
When I hear you, I want to stop at nothing.

I can feel your arms around me
choking out my misery
yeah,
my life's a lie
I can feel your arms around me
scrutinizing everything
yeah
I'm telling lies

Touch me
feel me
see my lies
see my lies
Your fingers hushing my
lips my
tongue pressing up
against my pearly whites
to bite into the world
spilling out
in my veins
to my four chambers
pumping my life against yours.
The words are pushing up into throat;
building up inside
crowded
making me red
the blood seeped words
rush out of my mouth
my red word waterfall
spilling into a puddle on the floor
among black polished shoes;
Formica tiled floors and
cracked cement.

The night-
it breaks me every time.