a bad influence

I am drifting, aimlessly
wandering.
I am searching
Until finally I am
falling.
The distinct slap of reaching
bottomness resonates within my body.

"i am going to die. there is no god."

Lying so still, my
heart is racing as I
open my eyes.

Feeling
as though something
has just propelled me
through all of space and time
and space.
Fearing
that I've just glimpsed the truth.

This is my reality.

texture is a bitch.

what's making me happy this morning?
raspberry yogurt. and that's about it.
this being hungover at work thing really sucks.

and all the shit from the night before won't let go either.

wait. . .is this yogurt even still good?
the date on the cup says yesterday.
but god damn it, it really makes me happy!
how can something be so good and so disgusting at the same time?

anyway, the yogurt is not important.
what the hell is happening to me?
and what the fuck do people get out of hating each other?
and why do i have to have anything to do with it?

bitches.

emo runs rampant

my first morning action was to crank up some dashboard confessional.
"i'm talented at breathing, especially exhaling."
pat must be home.

while he slaved over a hot kitchen stove to make the family happy with crepes and a fruit sauce, i rocked the postal service.
"i'll be the platform shoes, undo what heredity's done to you. you won't have to strain to look into my eyes."
the lyrical masterpiece resonated in his absence.

check myspace. the home page advertises the likes of connor oberst and his bright eyes crew as well as as the postal service's silhouettes video.
"i've got a cupboard with cans of food, filtered water, and pictures of you."
it's madness. i've been sucked into an emotional black hole, and i fear that i won't be crawling back out for some time.

let us take a moment to mourn the death of any elements of cool i might have once posessed. rest in peace. kinda like helena does for my chemical romance. oh suck.

"you talk way too much"

i know. . .so what do you want me to do about it?

i realized (while in the midst of my morning shower) that i am completely content with living vicariously through other people.
i am home base.
while everyone else runs around, past, and through me. . .they always come back. and that's cool. that's just my style.

craziest-ass dreams last night. including a rock-star version of "cute boy in the middle," a synchronized swimming chorus line, creepy hotel elevators, and family affairs. if only it meant something. . .anything but a jumbled, confused mess. i already know what that looks like.

sad emo fuck.

i apologize. apparently my heartfelt poetry is just a little too heartfelt for some of you (jenni). perhaps you are just bitter because fuckshit favre-a-like is a cock. it's okay, you have the right to be. the fucker should have never called.

umm, anyway. i heard from both of the younger sibs today, that was pretty kickass. i miss them.

my big plans for the day are to eat mass quantities of chocolate and watch sammy alito get reprimanded by the likes of my boy ted (kennedy, that is). holla.

when sleep is scarce

it's a constant battle with my own eyelids,
fighting to stay awake.
just 12 hours ago, i knew it was a bad idea
but pain doesn't have a hold button.
sadness can't just be turned off.
laughing ought not be postponed.
sleep just lingered patiently in the background.

"there's nothing you can do that can't be done."

he doesn't know the thoughts i think
until the fateful nights when booze becomes to much
the constant flow of bad decisions, honest thought.

"love is all you need."

up all night

i stayed up all day,
a big accomplishment for me
waiting to leap for just a fleeting second.

i stayed up all night
studying the sparks that spewed forth from the flames
drugs, money, sex, magic.

eavesdropping from hundreds of miles away
connected to each other in a single spiral cord
"i miss you" and "you're fantastic" and "i wish i were there beside you."

i peer through the window
anxiously awaiting the suns first rays
upon this massive display of fire and ice.

the emptiness in the pit of my stomach. . .
is it here because you are not?
or maybe i'm just starving to death.

so this is the new year. . .