"Perfect for me is just tea, white bedsheets, summer with windows open, naked with books next to you playing video games."
The temptation to jump into another relationship right away is revolting me. I don’t want to but it’s pathetic that I feel that I need someone to be there for me. My friends who are guys are…well they have gotten sweeter than they usually are and it’s bothering me. I don’t wanna lose ‘em but I feel that whenever I tell them I can’t be in a relationship, I end up doing so slowly. It’s just me, I’m not ready. As long as I’m living with my parents, no relationship can ever go well. Proof are my two failed relationships, both were irreplaceable but “fuck you,” said life.
I really, really hope I get the job. I extremely want to get out of this house and live on my own. Hell I know it will be fucking hard but it beats wasting every irreplaceable second of my life bound to rules.
Him: Don't touch my face it's sunburnt.
Me: Holy shi-- are you alright? -dips hands in iced water-
Him: It's not funny.
Me: -touches his face-
Him: Oh. Oh my god. This feels so good, keep your hands there. Erghgjhf.
And she did it. Blood was sliding down her arms, she looked at herself and wondered why she wasn’t weeping. It’s in the middle of her torso, hugged by two big biological air filters and guarded constantly by an even ribbed cage. Hands searching for some real emotional thudding, she felt numb— lethargic. Visions blurred, she couldn’t tell if it was from the cigarette smoke or that she was losing too much blood, she was already covered in it. Maybe it was so but she was completely indifferent, feeling that kind of pain would make other pains incomparable, “I’ll be stronger,” she thought. Slicing one final cut, her quivering breathing returned to normal. Her hands stained the bathroom door, she cleaned herself, covered her wounds up carefully then she went out running to hug the guy that hurt her worse than her blades.
I want to slice your back into perfect puzzle portions with a lancet. My white gloves would be tainted heavily with red, it would look like paint and you would be my vindictive masterpiece. Catching my breath under my earloop mask, you would be panting on the floor, forcing your bleeding wrists out of tight fiber ropes. You’d think I’d take pity on your pathetic state but then again, I’m the one holding the rusty, dirty blade. Trying to speak under two layers of packaging tape on your mouth, you’re only really permitted to utter vowels. You being the way you are, I’d just shut the door, not looking back and mutter “bitch” under my hot, exhausted breath. Tell me, how does it feel?
And I just want to touch her skin with my lips, she would always smell nice, her random giggles comfort me so I’d kiss her more. She’ll just lay on my bed, she’d be perfect, if only she could stay there. Clothes on the floor and nothing but blankets, she would talk to me while playing with my hair. My face would always be half an inch away from her ribs, it’s where I’m most comfortable. Hours of movies and drunken words, we’d fall asleep to her favorite music.
I usually have empty thoughts when I blow smoke out my nostrils. But tonight you linger out and in my head, on repeat. The sky, it’s tainted with yellow lights, I can’t even see stars anymore. Sky, you look hideous. Sitting here would be less cold if you had me inside your sweater, or maybe if my face was on your hot skin. That sounds nice. Shivering wrists and cigarette ashes, here’s to another night.
I want to get drunk and fall completely helpless in his arms, he’ll just giggle and kiss my forehead and hold me throughout the night. I would wake up, between intervals of feeling hungover and sick to seeing him wrapped in white sheets, unconscious but hoping on opening his eyes at 4 in the morning and I’m still there. Walking on cold wooden floors, I walk through the hallways to his bathroom. Gulping water down my throat, I’d look at myself in the mirror and see my ill drunken face, I’d burst into a tired chuckle. Upon turning off the lights, I prepare to run silently back under the sheets to my fair, sleeping safety.
I feel worthless, unneeded by the person I need the most. Everything falling right in place is all I want. Dying sounds so good although I shouldn’t be thinking about that coz’ I’m so young. I wish I could just trust somebody without getting hurt and be able to do a great job as a partner because I’m motivated with the thought of forever. What’s happening. Why am I like this. I should just be alone.