Sleep well

I smoke this cigarette like a kid with a lollipop;
it's gone and beg mother to buy another.

I met you where dreams can't be replaced.

Sliding, moving, falling, moving, falling, sliding, moving, falling.

No sleep or too much, too much in a day. Ashes, ashes, and we all fall down like kids. Like we were kids. White walls and black sheets are all that's left in this dark room.

Hands shake and you feel weak and tense.

We just all want to be kids.

Insects

The music is the only thing that makes sense, really.
I can't think about anything.

My stomach feels sick.

My hands wont stop shaking.

I can't talk.

If I attempt, my voice cracks.

Feelings:
Content
Excited
Amorous
Giddy
Aroused
Afraid
Pessimistic
Full
Nervous
Shy
Angry
Ashamed
Confident
Insecure


Thoughts:
5 bites of a cheeseburger
1 Dr. Pepper
1 new comment
4 unread messages
1 new friend request
Boy
Messy hair
Constant music
Change
New candle
Bed
No sleep
No school
Average grades
Long distance
Anxiety attacks
Period




I can't remember what happened that night.

Stages

I wonder if you were as nervous as I was.

I don't write, anymore.

I don't know.

So someone show me.


What. love. is.

To my-

Happy Birthday.

States of nudity

These feelings are taking control.

The steaming water is pouring on top of my bare body; my arms curled around my bruised legs.
Goose bumps start to cover my skin, although the water is warm. It happens every time.

My straightened blonde hair turns to brown curls. My tears mix in with the drops that slide down my arms and legs.

There's nothing I can cover up now, I'm exposed. It's as if I'm wearing my thoughts on my skin. I'm curled up in a hopeless position ready to be rescued.
Another night with wet hair and an old pair of blue sweats. Candles lit, and phone by side. Another night of figuring out how to keep myself from sleep. Another night alone.

No more goodnight kisses.

Again, morning turns into 3pm in the afternoon. 2 if I'm lucky.
Cold hands and a pillow drops to the floor.
8 unread messages.
2 missed calls.
1 missing sock.

I'll find something to do, see friends and share a few opinions. Some words slip out of my mouth and I'm done for the day. Either hot chocolate all night or an empty bed. I try to avoid choice 2.
Months pass and I keep myself busy almost every night. Reading to join a life that's not my own, talking to keep my mind off of thinking, thinking to keep my mind off of saying your name, sleeping to get away from reality, or typing to forget about it later.
I don't have control over any of that now.

I read, but the characters remind me of what we could have been.
I talk, but end up talking about you.
I think, but I think of all the memories I've erased.
I sleep, but dream of you.
I type, but type of you.

I miss you, still.

Beginnings, pt. 2

It's the first day of 2009. I feel as if I should write something to start off the next 364 days.
Maybe I should make a fresh start? Like what? Changing something on my Myspace page, add a new photo? I do that too often. Change photos, that is. I tend to get tired of looking at the same thing. Plus, I change everyday. So why not change a photograph everyday?
I think this blog is just going to be about my thoughts. Just for today.
Maybe I should just redo my Blogspot. New colors, new fonts. Or I could go sit in the shower.
I'm hungover.

I'm going to go get my Powerade.
Back.
This weather is getting to me.
He carried me into the house. I miss him. I'm sorry, I bring him up every time, trust me, I don't mean to. It just happens. I miss the way I would just wrap myself in his arms. I feel uncomfortable with almost every intimate situation. Except him.

Lonely.
Confused.
Hurt.

Those are my pessimistic feelings.

Optimistic feelings:
Hopeful.
Content.

Uhm, I want mashed potatoes and gravy.
Maybe, I'll post some pictures I took while I was in Eugene :)
Most of the photos are of my charm bracelet. I love that bracelet. Okay maybe some of the pictures are not from Eugene, but most of them are. Like that random picture of Abby, I took that while I was drunk. I was really drunk. But I really like it. I'm ranting, and I don't even care. I really just want to keep typing. I'm in a good mood. I think my mum is getting Chinese food. This blog is different from what I usually do. I usually just write about how much pain I'm in. Or I complain. My blog is like my little secret box of pain. I just type all of my pain into this little box then lock it up. Haaaaah. I'm a loser. I want to go shower and take pictures. Actually I just want my mashed potatoes :p I think I'm done.
Shit, I'm just going to post the pictures in a separate blog. Done.

Beginnings,