It's time to close the curtains because all I write is sad and dead and I am no longer pretending which is dangerous. Goodbye, I hope you enjoyed the show.

the first star i see tonight i wish i may i wish i might.
i used to wish for everyone to live forever.
now i wish we would all just die.

dear aimee and rhiannon,
i miss you like summer and chai tea cigarettes.

life has a way of being different, suddenly.

the empty that is now,
that seems forever.

i don't care that i don't care and i know i should be worried.

sometimes i think his death made them feel cool. like they were part of this big, cool group. and this sad boy, who probably smoked cigarettes and felt lost sometimes was just an excuse for them to be noticed. but how could so many people love him? how could so many people love a sad boy? sadness can be so ugly.

two smoking boys and a cat. memories that fade and ones that linger. ones you wished would disapear because you feel silly for caring. sitting on the trampoline, in the sun. no make-up and an unhealthy liver. cra crazz crazy hair. more champagne. a forehead twitching and radiation buildng blocks in his bones. cats that sneeze and cats with sore feet and cats who try to slit their throats because numbness is uncomfortable. writing too much when you know you should stick to one sentence.

I had a glass of aspirin for breakfast.

today a man noticed that i wasn't reading my usual penguin classic. i was noticed.

I sit at tables wishing I cared about talk. I soak in the sun and don't think about the consequences. I suck on sugar and put too much butter on my toast. I get addicted to food, like Marmalade. I know people can see right through me, because I can see right through myself. But you just keep talking and talking about things that don't matter or even make sense and you're grateful for things like your eyelashes and your toes.

Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.


Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.


I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.


I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.


When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.


I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.


When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.


-Leonard Cohen

i looked everywhere, but i couldn't find you and smoke rings attached themselves around my eyes. there are loose bits of skin in my throat and i love that we're playing with fire.

red licorice, chai and cigarettes. what more could i want?

There was this girl who always wore black and smoked musky, dusky, vanilla cigarettes and her hair was past her shoulders and her waist was thin and all she did was drink gin and talk to strangers because anything else would be have been too dangerous.