dismissed traffic signs always lead to tragedy.

Why didn't I see it coming a mile away? Why don't I ever heed any warnings? Why do I insist on doing things my way when I know "my way" is a pain-filled one? You tell me, dear reader. Because I'll surely never know the workings of my own mind. I'm that sort of crazy, bat-shit insane, and contemplative. Get to know me, before throwing me away or before assuming past fucks know all. Four months told him nothing of me, otherwise he wouldn't have let me go. Herding beasts gather 'round and take his word for it, against the advice of the reading rainbow... and it's just one of those times when I desperately want to scream for these men to have the balls to have a mind of their own. Why do I care? I'm over them all. No more lackluster trials and errors, stopping for games is clearly where I'm getting into the infected batch.

So I will look elsewhere, in places that I have never looked for validation and amusement. And if I'm lucky, love will find me this time.

Hangman, it's not your fault.

you better open the door before i take a hammer to the walls around it.

Is it really so much to ask for people to just say what the mean and mean what they say?

i don't know what to do with myself or you.

I should call you and straighten things out, but I don't think you're ever alone and I'd hate it if people were around when I pour my heart out. I wish I could just corner you somehow, like the times we were in your car at night, and just tell you what I feel and not be so scared that you're going to think I'm taking things too seriously (which I probably am). I just want... need to know why I'm being ignored, and if I'm not, then do a fucking better job at being my friend, you twat.

happy never seems as artistic for some reason.

Sleeping in really puts everything in perspective. Days shine a little brighter when you've got eight hours of shut-eye. Happier lyrics drifting through the air helps. I'm not going to let today go sour. I'm not. And I've finally come to terms, he's just a friend and I can now move on.

But if he ever wants something more, I'll still say yes.

dear brain, please shut up.

String me along like fish, it's not like I'm worth anything. My own father would agree. It's not like I'm good for anything. I'm just here for your amusement, so use me, use me. I'm tired of gathering dust on this cosmic shelf in the back burner of your mind. Please just use me, use me. Please yourself before me, I don't care. As long as I get the attention I crave it's okay. Play with me, use me, amuse yourself. I'm your toy, boy. Your toy.

headlines in your headlights.

Now I'm wondering if I'm some sort of plague. No one has called me other than parasitic "friends" that only call to gloat. None of the people that I want to hear from seem to care... why is that? People wait until you fall before stepping in to say "I told you so" or "you should have listened" or "you poor thing." They're never there for you when you're not falling, not shattered, to have a good time.

Why is that?

People thrive on the problematic. Higher ratings go to bad news. Morbid curiosity strikes, death is more interesting than life. Train wrecks and crash landings. Headlines. No news is good news, right?

So why can't I shake that there's some vicious rumor circling about me?

sometimes i just think too much.

There are still some things I want to just say, but I can't. Be it because there really is no circumstance or be it that there's no point... but I guess I need to get them off my chest before they stop my heart from beating, my lungs from working.

A small part of me thinks he's only using me because he can't do things himself, and I hate to be so depended on. I'm not channel five, so please stop thinking I'm dedicated, determined, dependable. I'm also not a pair of old people diapers... and I'm not here to fix you or anyone. I'm here to live for myself and if it happens to help some people along the way then that's just a bonus. That tired old wizard, can't he magic himself out of this one? And does he really have to guilt me like that? Does he really have to raise me up on some imaginary pedestal? I'm not worth as much as he thinks I am because I'm far too tarnished and I will eventually show my true colors and he'll leave me just like everyone else. Because I'm not meant to have real friends when I can have shallow, pointless ones.

So I sent him packing, despite how bad it made me feel to do it... but my sanity is worth more than his in my mind (since it is my mind to begin with).

I guess I've changed too much, too fast, or too much in a direction that the people I wanted to impress have decided I'm not impressive.