Tuesday, April 28, 2015

cc cheer

Newport hundreds bummed like an entitled vacuum, the kind dogs fight with. I watched a toilet overflow and refuse to flush. Then I stared it down and quietly hexed it. After 5 long seconds of stillness, the fucking thing swirled down just the way I wanted it to.

Georgie, my darling sweetheart baby. I'd never heard anybody talk so loud and so carelessly. He said that every city he touches turns into fagville. Then we touched some places together and even those turn into his own pool of goo. Charming fucking man. I feel unstoppable with him. The queen and the queer. And I'm certainly not the queen.

I can't stand counting money.

The difficulty of grasping a very particular fact is astounding. Not everyone can make anyone come. "You didn't come?" Get out of my fucking face. It's becoming more clear to me why I stayed as long as I did with my last relationship.

I revealed to Georgie that I'm not actually a lesbian after spending weeks of allowing him to assume so. But I also told him that I don't fall in love with guys. Homoromantic bisexuality, but who wants to get into that shit? I am starting to like not receiving the assumption that I'd be straight. Still, some people are fucking clueless.

FSU at it's peaking point. FSU and Ace isn't even home yet. FSU and I keep finding new rock bottoms. Fuck shit up, fuck shit up, fuck shit up.

This is me trying to get over this. This is me trying to get over her. This is me burying my face somewhere else, anywhere else, so long as I don't think about that face.

Sunday, April 26, 2015

bad fucking week

every single day

Am I acting up again

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

straight fucked

I didn't need to say "bless you." I didn't need to buy mouth wash. Didn't need to apologize so often or say it's ok. Didn't need to say hi so fucking cheerily. Didn't need to justify why prostitutes should be protected too.
I didn't need to wait for phone calls or peer out the window. Didn't need to sing along to songs I went out of my way to learn. Didn't need to be the designated driver. I didn't need to hold a goddamn hand, with the other on the wheel, while craning necks for all those kisses that I pulled my eyes off the road for. I certainly didn't need to let pry open those pages or read aloud those short stories until I heard the light snores. Killed the sarcasm and professed nightly, I didn't need those either. I was fine not needing. I really fucking was.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

knots

In the morning I smell like Mexican food and at night I smell like seafood. I smell like heaven during the in between and I probably taste like it too.

Stabbing. Slicing. Grazing. Cold metal and no clothes on. Trash and cash in my pockets, covered in half-chewed spearmint gum. This is devious. The air out is dry. Moist palms but grabby hands.

I will stack them however I please.

Monday, April 20, 2015

ss mf scoundrel

My tendency of hitting on other niggas' girlfriends is starting to get fucking out of hand. Bad enough for me to have to acknowledge. Too into tryna steal your girl. Fuck.

I can see the look on all their faces that they're itching to punch me in the fucking face.

Friday, April 17, 2015

burnt

that's me. I'm burnt the fuck out. I'll get whipped in the face with this overwhelming urge to quit everything. Every now and again, the thought rises and it comforts me. But I know I wouldn't try that shit again. I can't even fucking think straight right now.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

tuna

This idiot loves me.

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Sunday, April 5, 2015

ss 15 hours daily/60 hours a month

I replaced alcohol with this beautiful girl.

I replaced my complacence with a quieter nod.

I replaced frigidness with kisses to my dog.

I replaced my temper with sweating and soreness.

I even replaced swerving sarcasm with transparent, embarrassing, and absolute truthfulness. (But that's not always).

My contact list is at its bare minimum. I tripped for a little bit until I realized I had no reason or urge to trip at all. I'm so calm and it's fucking lit. It's candle fucking lit.

Everyone I know seem to all be smiling about something. I've been smiling back, I just haven't shown it yet. 

In between reality and delusion, there's this one thing always looking at me, and it's the one thing I'm always looking back at. Small hands, soft eyes, and a propensity to be both breathless and at peace.

This, right now, is my favorite kind of hunger. It'll eat me alive eventually, but I'd still rather be eaten by this than the nothingness that I usually let swallow me.

ARCHIVE, FUCKERS (for Ace-like purposes)