drunken_nothing raze i hate the cold dead feeling i love the cold dead feeling tight, hard fucking on the ceiling sweat drips from the face of a lover she laughs because she knows every stupid thought that races through my brain like a herd of tiny shit bugs from a distance they look like a cloud of dust up close they look just like her distant smiling cold dead that dream a young girl with a metal plate in her mouth she had difficulty speaking she grew into a beautiful woman there was another girl she & her man were blind they hadn't begun that way but their love was enough to guide them it granted them a new kind of sight much more powerful than anything the eyes could see he talks & the words spray as spittle tiny beads of love from his twisted heart i can't understand most of what he says but i can tell that he feels alone i should kiss him if i felt it, maybe i don't feel those things those monochromatic urges i wish i could tear my eyes out so i would never have to look at another girl with her arm around an asshole thinking if i could just kill every piece of "nice" every fucking thing maybe i could be that asshole maybe that could be my arm but then i come back to that place mostly out of curiosity & all of those feelings come flooding back like some pathetic typhoon that can't even get it up so it ends up more of a short breath than anything even remotely devastating a thin blanket of stars wrapped around her face a makeshift tourniquet when the romance of wasted potential dissipates all that is left is an odd desire to vomit every piece of yourself into everything that you do even if no one else will ever realize just how much you gave & how much it hurt that no one heard a single word so she forced him to choose "you are either a limp cock or a blood clot" she said "which do you prefer?" he thought for a long time before speaking "i am a wet shred of paper" he said "weak, small & always growing smaller until there is nothing left of me but a damp, contorted clump of nothing" it was the fire that made you the curious thing you are the flames shaped you into a beautiful scar 060421 ... the writer is raze and he's awesome. 060422 ... drunken jane maybe you can be the one that saves me. you offered up solace in a telephone call, i wonder if it all will make sense again. i imagine us there, i'm braiding your hair, and betraying every ounce of my soul being with you instead of Her. she was hever there. or maybe it's just we needed each other so damn bad we were willing to five up on former ideas of ourselves. maybe you'll cut your hair. maybe i'll cut mine. one of us will grow a mustache and i'll finally have the balls to tell you how miserable i am instead of pretending that everything's alright 110519 ... sober jane hever=never 110519 ... still sober i swear five=give 110519 what's it to you? who go blather from