I'm pouring some whiskey right now. I'm gonna get so so drunk that I pass out and forget your face by the time I wake up.

Oh Conor, how you torture me so. I could quote your lyrics all night. They seem to speak what's inside of me better than I could.

Well I guess that it's typical to cling memories you'll never get back again. And to sort through old photographs of a summer long ago or a friend that you used to know. And there below his frozen face you wrote the name and that ancient date, that ancient date. You can't believe that he's really gone. When all that's left is a fucking song.

That was for Shelby.


This post has no substance. All I want to do is quote songs. I'm tired of writing out my feelings. It's the same old bullshit. Nothing ever changes.

I hate her because she is the only girl who rejected me. I crushed harder than I should have and I was rejected. I'm still not over it. It drives me crazy. I hate how pretty she is. I thought that if I hated her, talked shit about her, I would get over it. Guess not. What a dumb method that was.


There's really not much I can do about it, either. I know she never cared about me in anyway.

I feel defeated. I'm crying because I don't trust her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate you, Alex. You are manipulative and sneaky and coniving. I know part of you is doing this to hurt me. You spiteful bitch. You know exactly what you're doing and you seem to care less. Don't tell me that you care about my feelings when it's become quite evident that you don't. Go ahead, open your legs for him. Of course he'll want to give it another. SLUT. You call me a sick alcoholic bitch, well I call you a small town slut looking for love in all the wrong cocks.

Choke on semen.

What is so special about her that keeps me waiting for hours? It's 12:18 and all I want is for you to come home. Sometimes I feel torn up inside. I don't want to know why you lust after you so, and yet the question won't seem to leave my thoughts. I keep thinking that if there was some weird thing about her that bothered you, then I know I wouldn't have to worry. If she was horrible in bed. If she wasn't a good kisser. If. If. If. It alwasys seems to be the "if's" in life that would make everything better again.
I'm not even sure if you know what it's like to feel inferior to someone. To not feel as attractive or as special. You are constantly telling me you love me. But they're turning into empty words. It's so hard to understand and give you the space needed when you come home at 2 in the morning on a week night. I'll try not to be late you always tell me just before you walk out that door. Show me you love me. Don't tell me.
I'm alone. No matter who I manage to get a hold of to come hang out when you leave, I feel alone. And you know this. I sit alone with these horrible thoughts. Thoughts of you falling in love with her. Of her being so much better for you than I could ever be. And all you can say is "I love you, not her." Then tell me why you spend so much time with her?
It's 12:30 now and still no sign of you. Help me be strong. Don't forget about me.

I crave sex with new people. It's not just you. But you always seem to be the one to get it. You get to go out whenever her time is free. It seems to you two that time is not on your side. You never have enough. Always busy, always something going on. And yet you always manage to find some time to fuck and to fall in lust. As for me, all I have is time. I sit at home and wait because you took the car. I do your laundry, wash your tainted sheets and stare at the clock, wondering what hour you'll waltz in through the door with that grin on your face. Remember when I used to make you smile like that?

Still staring at the clock. I'll hear the key turn in the lock, and squirm under the comforter. I'll listen for your foot steps, waiting to hear the bedroom door open. And there you'll be. Smiling in the dark while I try so hard to put all my focus on the glaring tv. The duvet will rustle beneath your weight and I'll feel you growing closer and closer behind me. Then you'll take me in your arms, kiss my cheek and tell me you love me. And I want so badly to give into it, to embrace you. But it's easier to think about pushing you away, wondering how long you held her in these arms. Wondering if you kissed her cheek, stroked her face and pulled her in closer. You're tainted. Don't taint me. I'll think. But you're always so patient, kissing away my jealousy. Holding me until I realize that you could never be with anyone else. No one will make you laugh the way I do. And then we'll fall asleep, our legs intertwined and laying so close to one another in the middle of the small mattress.

She crawls under my skin with her jewish ways. Nothing is move unnerving than being tossed around and played with.

She kissed me! It was so silly and flirty, but she kissed me and I kissed her. I never thought that would happen. I was always so envious of her. Turns out, she is attracted to me. *squeal*

"But it's not true, I don't know you/Don't waste your time, and don't waste mine/I'm not your friend, I won't soothe your soul/And in the end you're all dead to me..."

Tell me lies with your soft kisses. Caress my face with your hands, let them feel my smooth skin. Your eyes gaze into mine as if I posses some underlying beauty of which you have never seen. Gentle. Everything so tender and gentle. I could fall for you. How dangerous that would be.
Would you share a moment with me under the twinkling blanket of night? Or would you rather leave me stranded in the cold, arms outstretched in attempt to hold on? Hold on to something that was never mine to begin with. Hold on to something that I never really knew. I can't remember your face. But your eyes won't stop their haunting. Big and sad. Lashes that graze my cheeks when you kiss me.

Now I sit and wait.

I miss Sleeping Beauty. I miss Rose White and Rose Red. I miss you.