Saturday, February 14, 2009

happiness turn to sadness everytime.

Today, Friday the 13th, my best friend's sister is having a baby boy. Suddenly I'm getting nostalgic about childhood with Kaycee(said best friend), and her sister Amanda, Kaycee's older sister.

Amanda is three or four years older than me and Kaycee. When Kaycee and I were younger we were inseparable. Every weekend we would sleep over at each other's houses. When I stayed overnight at Kaycee's I shared a room with Amanda, because Kaycee and Amanda shared a room for a long time, and they had bunk beds.

I have this one fond memory of all three of us, trying to get to sleep and I was on the top bunk bed with Kaycee, but I had been laying in Amanda's bed on the bottom before Amanda came into the room. When I was down there, I noticed this gigantic booger on the wall. I didn't say anything until Amanda came in the room. I crawled up by Kaycee, and asked Amanda about the huge booger she had wiped on her wall. She was so embarrassed, she would not admit it was her booger, and tried to blame it on me. If it was me, I would have admitted it. I remember laughing all night about that god damn booger.

I wish I was like the younger me, easily amused.

Now I think everyone is gay, and I can't write, because I don't have the right.

Everything is my fault, I'll take all the blame.

So now Amanda is Married, in the sun, living in San Francisco, and one day she will be buried in the sun.

Man, I can find any excuse to use Kurt Cobain's lyrics.

I don't want to grow up. I don't want to watch my children turn into me. I just want to finish up one thing, and then get strung out again, and wait until my tolerance kills me.
I'm on a down swing, and now palms hurt, they hurt really bad.

I'm sad all the time, nothing makes me smile, and I never feel the excitement. Even in moving to Washington, I find no excitement, I find it's all just a pain in the ass. Figuring out how to pay rent, figuring out how to get dope, writing the next great American memoir, all this before Feb 2nd, 2010.

I just want it all to end. I'm sick and tired of being me. Ever wonder what it feels like to be me?

I'm lick a lilac that grows in California, it loos like a lilac, but there is no smell. I'm just a image with no soul.

I find cigarette hole in all my close, and in every piece of furniture in the apartment, even on the floor. I just want to go away. I just want you to go away.

I can't apologize to my parents enough for being so weak. I wish I had the strength, I wish I never got caught in this trap, but here I am, and I can't take it anymore. I'm on my way out, and I'm too sad to complain, so just remember its not your fault. I'm going to the Leonard Cohen after world.

I'll never enjoy the smell of baby's breath, and I'll always be who I am. No outlet for my pent up aggression, and anger, and sadness will ever be enough. Not with a guitar and amp, not with pen and paper, not with making jokes, or painting a ugly picture. All these things I do, and I feel better for the moment, but then I remember where I am, and who I am, and realize I just wasn't meant to be.

Every time I see someone walk past me, I wish I could jump into their skin, be them for an hour, rape them, and leave them.
I'm not one of the beautiful people anymore, and my beauty is only found in Heroin, and you don't want me to destroy my life with that junk, but fuck...I am that junk. I want to die, and you can't talk me out of it, and you can't take me away from it.

What your asking of me, to stay alive so as not to hurt you, is really just to much. I want you to comfort me inside, I'm not meant for this grown up stuff. I belong in an insane asylum. Not wandering the street seeking my next emotional rape. Heroin give me the comfort I need to stay alive, and when that comfort kills me, oh well. At least I was happy for the time I was alive. I find a comfort in being sad, and I find a comfort in sticking needles in my hands, arms, legs, feet, and injecting opiates.

I know I'm dumb, and I know I'm doing this to myself. My heart is broke. May I have some glue?

All I do is plagurize other words, twist into a mumble and jumble, until I can sleep.

1 comment:

Yella said...

haha i like how you incorporate nirvana lyrics into your prose. i totally catch it ;-) they're my favorite band, too.