yo, that's wack if i'm not the baddest


profile * old * mail * fucking sign it* or how about a nice note? you go forward / i'll go backwards


it started in the kitchen, incurable, staring at the fridge and pretending its not happening. that blurry eyed, pour me a drink, oh fuck the holidays feel. looking at the pictures and magnets, awards and report cards. my mother speaking of the dead like they'd be coming to dinner, i stretching my arms as though they'd be holding someone.

moving from one fucked up relationship to the next, each time swearing that it wouldnt get so serious. i wouldnt get attatched, nor fuck or drink, tell lies and drive their car. each time, the feeling that my face is no longer the desirable measurements that i once saw on TLC. the degree of satisfaction coming from none other than the amount spent on the present from the significant other. tight black shirt and big pants, new shoes and glossy lips.

so laying on the linoleum and waiting for you to take me to see 'kate and leopold', answering stupid questions about school and wanting to cry in your leather jacket. i am obsessed with your age and the way you feel like you could stop the world from hurting me. ever. yet wanting someone new.

d-land