me and november 14
sometimes it is the times when i am most carefree that i feel the worse.
i think of the end.
i think of the songs, the eulogies and the fantastic feeling of not feeling.
i think of booze and of drinks of all the empty glasses and all the times i stared at myself thru the bottom of these empty glasses and how i felt fantastic and how i knew it wouldn’t last.
i think of all those i’ve hurt and lost.
i think my head just might explode into a million pieces of ‘i’m sorry.’
i wish i could be bubbly. i wish i could be amazing. i wish i were ordinary and plain and sewed and made stupid art that nobody loved and i didn’t care and loved watching the sun rise and appreciated the beauty in that and if i could just leave it all…
someday.
i love hotel rooms. i love the uncertainty.
i love the fantasy.
i fucking love fantasies.
i could be anybody. i could be happy. i could be a wonderful person and shine.
i don’t want compliments. i just want to say that there is nobody in the world who could hate me more than myself. i swear.
