Gas Station

I see you there,
It sucks to think of you,
us,
a prevalance of void here,
d****ed beauty,
An overblown sense of her own
importance
I almost wish you never lived,
forget about you.
Florid with fantasies,
it's so awful, a perfect imitation,
a liability to love, forget you.
Alone, dissapointment, grotesque thoughts,
Still...
your arms cradle them, her,
poisionous, trashy, slut,
l o n e l i n e s s.
Long-distance cries forever,
you never respond.
take everything and just go!
wait...touch me, feel me?
no.
I'm not there, no human condition.
Stop, [penitence] it cultivates.
You, forbidden, appealing, rage, unsure.
Still...
it's too much to risk. I cringe.
F*** you insane person, dissonant and querulous.
I turn away,
Taking one step into my future,
I feel your eye's stare,
it taps my shoulder,
Temptation.
I glance back,
I don't need you,
My gas tank's marked FULL.

Blur

So lately things are fadded. I wake up and go to sleep. I relive the same day five times a week. I feel so stuck. It's crazy. I've never related so much to the phrase "same s***, different day". today I woke up got ready for the day, drove to school, went to class, came home, ate, and got ready for bed. Everything is perfect before it's official, before time takes your virginity and before the sweet taste of innocence is replaced with the taste of blood and dirt when age smashes in your face. Life. It makes you who you are. It's turns me into someone i'm not. I don't like it and now i'm beginning to wonder if it's even worth it. We live the day-to-day making choices, "right" and "wrong". But what does it all add up to? Maybe it's about what we really want. It's about what we make it. What we want and choose to make it. ughh. Sometimes I see it clearly, but most of the time it's just a bblluurr.

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we have grown.”
-Pablo Picasso