I need to talk to a devil, baby.
I need you to tell me what I want to hear. Tell me it's temporary. Tell me you want me and that I need this.
Tell me again how you want to fxck me. Tell me you know exactly what I want and you're the only one who knows how to give it to me.
Don't worry, those bruises are fine. And you barely left a scratch on my back, and I'm all healed.
I don't care why I want it and what it's doing to me and everyone else. Don't let them talk me out of it.
i just think that she's the best. and its doomed to failure as she's too good for me. theres only one girl i'v felt like this for. and well... she broke my heart. :]
everyone who loves bright eyes or brand new comment.
You really dont get it.
I dont want to hear about your new so called love life.
I dont want you to know about who I am or who im not seeing.
Its none of your business you get it?
When were in a club dont come and sit with me.
Dont buy me drinks.
Dont sit and stare at me.
Dont piss my friends off.
Cos you know what the next time im not gonna hold them back.
If someone wants to hurt you I wont stop them.
You understand that even your own friends think your being a dick to me?
Your best friend told me that your still inlove with me.
So what the hell are you playing at?
Stop trying to make me jealous cos its not gonna work.
Tonight guess what I'll be doing.
Im going on a date.
A real life date.
There, see I can move on
And I dont need to make up some bullshit story to make me look better than you.
The fact that I have stayed up until two thirty in the morning for two nights in a row hoping against hope you'd sign on like you used to just to TALK for once might lead the more sexually driven members of the teenage community to believe I am madly, passionately in love. That is not true. I swear.
It's just that lately I'm becoming more chummy with my asinine classmates, and I don't exactly feel like it's rubbing off on me; it's just that it makes me feel like I'm losing my iconoclastic, chip-on-the-shoulder identity. And well, talking to you made me feel like I'm still that little warrior princess I tend to think I am.
I've wanted to talk to you all week. I feel unbelievably guilty about how I've been constantly blowing you off and being intentionally distant since August, and I was a bitch, and I'm trying not to spoil it by doing everything I can to drop "I'm sorry" hints. Still it doesn't help much that we almost got in contact on Friday night/Saturday morning. Just like it doesn't help that last night I re-read all of our convos that I have saved and realized that, despite being six months old, they still seem as witty and insightful as ever. Usually those kinds of things lose their novelty and depth when you look back and usually end up just seeming very corny. These had their hokey moments, but they were amazing most of the time.
You remain one of my only old friends who doesn't annoy me. This is very important considering the old gang are the ultimate (here meaning best and last) outlet for my teen angst. I mean, when I vent, I need to vent to someone with an IQ, which you have.
This is why the week I am going away- next week- will be especially painful. I'm being cut off from my escapism, the thing I do to maintain my quickly dwindling sanity. To a point, it gives me a legit excuse to not talk to people I want to avoid, which is good. But on the other hand, it keeps me from conversing with the very few smart people in my world.
That's probably why I was, and still am to a point, desperate to talk to you now, before I'm forced into my week-long hiatus of hermitude. I'm a squirrel storing up nuts for winter. Or something. And I'm just kind of afraid that I won't wake up in spring. I'm afraid that I'll feel so liberated by my life free from the shackles of old-me and happily hop into the rest of my world, and the idiocracy that governs it. I know that this will not happen no matter what my elaborate paranoiac daydreams tell me, because it's irrationally adverse to my nature and is nothing I'd ever do.
But still. I don't want to be blissfully ignorant. I want to care about issues and be smart and witty like I was with you in those 58 pages I read last night. I really do. But since there's no one I hang with now who can help me be that, I figure I need you.
I'm leaving tonight and there are only a few hours left, so I know it will be t least a week, maybe way more than that, until I get that again. But I just want to let it out that it's seriously going to suck.
Thanks for not being an ass, amigo. And I'm so sorry for the extended metaphor. It was too literary and cliche to resist.
My eating disorder is tearing me apart.
I've never felt so numb.
And even though I hate my body
I've never been so at peace.