What If I Don't Want To?

I'm supposed to write this.  Something for the masses. And I find that all the words have left me of late.  I sit and stare at the paper and it just is.  And I am, but we are not together.  It would be tragic, if it could be considered remotely sad.  Its not like I don't have thoughts.  This morning I swam a mile and my head was full of things and now its empty.

Its always empty the moment the ink is ready. 

Like a Little Girl

Yesterday I was in a car accident. Nothing major, really it was hardly even a fender bender. And I was totally fine, the lady I bumped into was a snarling cunt like I had made it my mission that day to fuck her car up. Which was awesome considering her car had nothing wrong with it aside from some scratches on the bumper and the car I was driving, not mine mind you, had a caved in front plate and slight hood raising. To top it all off I am completely calm and resigned with how this is going to float back with the car owner when the officers show up. And I fall apart like hot fondant.

I literally started crying when the officer talked to me. Granted it was the first car accident I'd ever been in while driving, and it was not my vehicle, and I was on the return of a long car trip; but still. I did what I always laughed at girls on TV for doing, and that's legitimately crying in front of officers. Although I did try and hide it. Which I think made them more keen to comforting me, because both of them were really hip on assuring me that everything would be all right and no one was hurt and these things happen every day! Seriously, both of them must have said those exact same sentences three times a piece. At least. And I kept nodding. And then they even joked with me to get me to smile.

So I wonder, why is it some people look totally adorable when they cry and others look like they just squeezed a lemon out their nose? And I mean adorable. So cute you want to give them a cookie and a pat on their head. And if they are the others, then they look like they just got stung by something their allergic too. Their face puffs up like Will Smith in Hitch and you wonder what in the hell happened. Do they have the mumps? Are they a demon straight out of Angel and they're shedding their mortal flesh sack so you can gaze upon their fearsome complexion?

I mean, really? Where in evolution did we decide that being cute should hitch onto crying? If you're cute, you should be cute when you cry! Damn It!! And how to you explain the pretty people who are all "Ooh La La >;)~" and then they cry and they become "DAMN! D:"

Aciculate

What do I think of her? I don't care. I hate her. I hate you. I want her to DIE. Quit bleeding me out with your rancid bullshit. WHY DO YOU WANT MY FUCKING APPROVAL? Piss off. Stand on your own two feet for FIVE god Damned seconds.

Sometimes I want to string you upon my wall. See Blood Eagle, Norse. I want to skin your face while you sleep. And keep you alive so I can wake you while wearing it. So you'll cry and I can chirrup in the sweet glee as the salt from your tears bores acid trails down your fucking face.

I AM TIRED OF YOUR FUCKING GAMES.

I'm sick of the way you lie. The way you showboat and endeavor to endear yourself to others. Seeking something you don't deserve. When I want fiction I'll read a book.

The thought of you makes me itch. I feel as though all the flesh I have is constricting me, and I know it's not my flesh but thoughts of you. Thick and sticky - like florida air. Some sick sadistic sauna that never shuts off. Burying you, crushing in upon you like some ghoulish additional layer of gravity that shouldn't exist. And the razor I've entombed in my cutis drags so easily along that line displayed in taxidermy guides.

And I'm not sure what's sicker. The fact that the thought of you makes me want to skin myself for fear of suffocation. Or that the blade slicing through to the dermis is the only happiness I know anymore.

And to your shock and horror I am hysterically happy, cackling with glee insurmountable. [Insurmountable - incapable of being overcome]

I'm suckling the blood from my fingers. Tonguing it from my arm. And if I gnaw just a bit harder I'll reach that pulsing beat within these soft tips.

What wounds me is the fact that you will assume this is about you. Because you just cannot help your arrogance. Everything I used to love about you is wearing me down. Before it crumbles to dust I'll make sure to carve out a piece for you to keep. You always had to prove you owned me in the end anyway.

And this life I'm living is a lie. So all I've left to do is throw it all away. What makes me sadder still is the knowledge that in the end it wouldn't make an impact in your life

Cessation depends on inconspicuous intercourse betwixt carotid and steel...