Love/Hate

Modern Paranoia

I wore burgundy and gold macabre dress.

He wore a black suit.

We danced the night away 

And I could barely breath.

Yet nearing the end 

I felt a cold stab of guilt

And bit down hard

On my goblet.

Shattering the thin glass 

Between my teeth.

It cut my tongue 

And the inside of my lips.

I could do nothing but

Spit out the beautiful splinters,

Creating a pattern of glimmering

Red on the floor, that so closely matched my dress.

I suppose all sweet things 

Just turn as bitter as blood

And just as hurtful as glass. 

olive you.

Rawest form.

I hate your stupid blog. I hate your fucking face. I hate your hair. I hate the way you type and what you write. I hate your sweatshirts and the clothes you think look good. I hate your smile. I hate your shoes. I hate your pretentious love of fashion. I hate Toronto. I hate cold hands. I hate how my white couch is now tan. I hate your stupid fucking jeans. I hate medicine and illness. I hate how brown isn't black in some cases. I hate that my steve madden rain boots are gone. I hate neon colors and 1980s inspired clothes. I hate tacky. I hate raw hide. I hate when my dog is sad. I hate how you tell me what to do. I hate the way you talk to me. I hate how we haven't spoke in weeks. 

I love chocolate. I love wine. I love travel. I love movies. I love writing. I love Lily. 

funny HA HA

Lots of my days are spent writing, but never writing anything I want. Its always media plans, or to do lists or health facts. This was a generally enjoyable weekend. Better then most I must say. J's birthday was a long time coming and it ended up being really fun except we were at the club way past my expiry date and it was fucking freezing inside and outside. Note to self: anytime anyone says its useless to bring a jacket, tune them out. A is turning out to be one of my better and more reliable friends, which is something I do not take lightly because good friends are really hard to come by. Also anticipating Lying, which looks marvelous and whimsical,both of which my life is lacking in. Marvelousness and whimsy, that is. Anyhow, must be off as my dog is literally biting my hand.

Dying Day

Broken dishes

And I am the only one left.

Table tops and train stops.

And there is no more gifts.

No hearts to heal.

No games to be won.

Sable colored hair blows in the wind.

And I am just as frazzled 

As I always was.

I'm letting all my flowers die.

Rain fell on the window pane.

Seeping through the cracks,

Causing mold, and mildew.

Rotting the wood.

A pile of newspapers

Yellowed in corner of the room.

Proposing oxymoronic thoughts

Of old news.

The jewelry box on the night stand 

Is filled with fifty different rings.

Some gold, some silver, some gaudy.

But all of them much too big. 

A blown glass vase from 1928 

Is the most beautiful thing in this place.

It houses a bouquet of crispy, brown peonies.

I'm letting all my flowers die. 

Lint roller.

First day of classes was yesterday. 

Exciting, yet I know that in 3 weeks I won't be feeling quite the same.

Got up at 6:30am today, avoided carrying Lily due to the fact that I am wearing a black dress. 

However, it seems to be impossible to deter white hairs in anyway. Its really awful to feel the way I am feeling, but I think that this week will be just what I need. School is a major distraction from what seems to ail one in life.

Its hard to imagine what is going to happen in a week, let alone 2 months and the future, now more then ever scares me. 

Its nice to have patterns, and when they get stirred up, you really have to take a step back and think about serious choices and things you may or may not have to do.

And sometimes you hate the choices and sometimes you think you can't do it, but its better then sitting around waiting for something to happen. 

I suppose. 

But then again, what do I know? 

Its true

Hair dye stained towels.

New day. 

Nocturnal Dimithicone

Heaven is made of tears.

Dreams collapse like buildings and wishes are falsified.

The swelling of the heart is followed by the deflation.

We stand on hills made of mortar fire.

Fear not, our feet have yet to burn.

Oceans tear things apart like bits of paper.

Trees are hollow, rotting from the inside 

And white as bone on the outside.

Funny how bones are associated with death

Yonder, window light pouring in

Artificial and yet so cunning. 

Why must the sun lie?

I felt the warmth of summer once.

A glimpse of hope in this hothouse of ramble.

You brought all of this here and left me

Alone, along side the rocks and pebbles and useless sand

For blindness seems to be the only way to live.

I put ten thousand words down and you put fourti.  

Hardly seems a fair trade in place where the execution is 

The one thing that matters anymore. 

Ants & Ice cream

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