feeling so aimless i need one project.
my birthday is coming up. i have only one plan- see Ani with the gf in Ithaca. after that, nothing. kinda lame. kinda sad. a definite antithesis of last year.


possible epigraphin hours of crisis the writer takes solace in that her realities shift and flowpossible epigraph


utteryour lips curl to accomidate lipsutter
you drink despair like you drink reality like water
with blind need
you are drunk on your mistakes
all the advice you could not heed
you hear it all now
and you hate it
your throat constricts to force down alcohol truth
tears
you have forgotten how to talk and cry and postulate
but you cannot forget words so easily
you are a poet
and it is just one more thing to resent
another niggling nag to drag a


When Sarah left.We did not speak in volumes, we had quiet mouths that were infant-likeWhen Sarah left.
in their crawl towards the matching loudspeakers we made from plastic cups.
It was a year ago today. It was
a hot day and I sat on a Union Jack, clasping ski goggles and suntan lotion
like they could save me from things that grow
and swell inside
or things that make you ashamed to be in love or things that make you blinder the sadder you get. I sat as two men spoke of a man named Clive. He would come and reuse bricks and bits of bones to rebuild the wall
we kicked d
--
i'm not afraid to die. but i'm afraid to dry./
"Je ne suis pas daccord avec ce que vous dites, mais je me
battrai jusqu? la mort pour que vous ayez le droit de le dire"
--
winter :
--
winter :
--
"It's not what they say about you, it's what they whisper."
--
I suppose this is me slowly dying,
smearing myself against you, against the words I write,
leaving little bits like bright red Christmas presents,
moist and smelling like old iron artillery.
O_O
XD
--
winter :
--
Fanfiction writer? Who, me?
--
winter :
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