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queen_dominance

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Oh well, Oh well, Oh well. [Jun. 19th, 2009|11:47 am]
[Current Mood | aggravated]
[Current Music |led zeppelin - when the levee breaks.]


And so the needle seeps through rough skin.

I knew I couldn’t win against the edge of the pin.

You win, you always win.

 

You’ll never know your way back in

Your finest temptation, your worst sin

All committed in the sickest way, no debt to be paid.

 

Your final request is all that has already been made.

You wish it on your soul that things are no close to written or told

But wishes become lost, books are tossed; is this story old.

 

I wish I knew the battle and the problem that I am.

The cards that we’re playing; and who has the right hand

But what man wins when his soul is forever lost.

 

Thousands of miles away under old rags and cloths

No creeks to bleed steams of my tears. No place to get me out of here.

I’m no need in your memory and I’m no person to be locked for treasury  

 

Away and staying there, catching my breathe, pulling back my tongue

Oh harsh words I cast away, wishing for a bright day to tear me from summer

Nurse the children back to comfort. Edge of the mountain; take me back to my slumber.

 

I’m in eternal sleep and the words all blurred

Every night I’m left to weep.

Does that matter? Since I'm never ever heard. 

 

I was betrayed; displaced in your thought I must say.
In distress, take me back fromt this loneliness.

Reply to me when I say I’m sad; be with me stuck in the dreams in my head

It wasn’t so hard, it is not that easy. To fall in a trap, be selfish and leave me...



I want to rip of this flesh
It's not good enough anyone. So I won't show this..
i'm making the levee break and you wouldn't have even noticed.

Making those waters overflow with tears and you may have not cared 
But the trees are swinging to you with the wind
And I swear I'm blowing you everything I've got; along with my despair.

Take it and hender fresh harvested goods my way,
for in a few days it'll be my birthday.

But you won't notice a thing. You just forgotten your wings.
You're not an angel just a floundering fish, you broke your promise and my final wish.

 

I am sick it. I am sick of shit.

Today's a new day, watch your back
You are gonna pay, You are gonna pay. 

Love, 
katiekay.
 

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The first step to eternal life is that you have to die. [Jun. 5th, 2009|05:31 pm]
[Current Mood |defeated]
[Current Music |myheadsringinginmyhead.]

 

Stiff.
Razor sharp maybe…
Screwed, more than nail.
It’s getting there baby.

Stiff, yet waiting to rot in rain made to rust.
Armor: that’s just my cover.
Duck: that’s just my possy.
Air: that is just my weakness.
Hope: You don’t belong there. You’ll just into mulch.
Rust rust rusty screws with bad attitudes.

But here’s a feather duster though for those messy moods; dust bunnies
The ones that always seem to come after a summer of fun.
Funfunfun those neverdyingghosts.

Just need a little spring, summer cleaning.
Maybe I’ll need a shovel…dig my own grave today.
To jump and scream and throw my key away.

She forgets
And she’s forgotten what it is made of…
I recap the things I’ve seen. Things that have made me.

Copper:
The shiniest penny.
It’ll cost just a lie, losing sincerity with every tick of time.
Silver.
It'll make you lose your shine. It’ll leave you foolish and blind.
Velvet.
The soft and satisfying touch.
Leave you numb, selfish... saying mine mine mine.
Gold.
The missing piece to flash your soul.
Grips a lung, tears a hole. Will leave the whole world’s story untold.

So the days roll by and my four favorite things remain quiet and tucked away inside.
Might as well leash the devils from there cells.
Clean clean clean out that shelf.
The good ones are off and gone to hell.

Days gone by.
Why don’t you send me a post card, a little note. Bones shattered. 
So send a note with a stamp.  
Lick lick lick. Tastes like failures but what really matters?
Nothing. So go on.

Make a bunch of losses. I will too. I won’t miss you.
Too distracted in today, never going to want this grudge to go away.
Same thing. Same taste. It is nothing, just that gold I sold.
Gone gone gone away again.

So stiff like a jack knife.
Leaving quick tears to create rippers.
Vanishing cause there aren’t enough miles to go to sleep.
Nothing to keep the soul from falling so deep.

Imagine a dream so unscene.
Throw a wish blow a kiss.
There’s no words
That will make me feel missed.

Nothing nothing nothing.
So I create this old ancient song.
With no one to sing along.
Not an answer so I might as well be gone.


 

Back to self, I thought her dead but I guess it’s time to be rust.
Stiff and cold maybe dead.  A statue again.
Drowning in water with weight at the sides. Forget lust, forget pride.

No thought can relief my hope pending, guess it was true about my ending.
I'll never tell another lie. So all angels must die. 

And keep my soul tucked away. Under your bed. Thoughts in your head.
But never ever dead... The ghost will spread. lay awake lay awake.
My pretty little headheartache.
 

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Mrs. Cocky Newscaster [Mar. 1st, 2009|08:44 pm]
[Current Mood | devious]
[Current Music |Bjork - Human Behavior]


Original, you try and you try to be original but absolutely everything from up and until now has already been written. Oh no…dead end, blank canvas on plain lined paper…headaches, and dehydration…it’s all been said before. Predictable, inevitable rock bottom…you know the place, you’ve read the words upon that crooked smile already sensing what comes next. Another teaser to a broken spiral lifestyle, that’s going to make you feel a whole lot better about your own life. Because it’s always nice to watch how shitty someone has it more than you, then you could say “At least I’m not 'that' girl” in a tone of disgust. Oh no, you’re not. You’ve got your share of headaches and maybe a few cuts and bruises, maybe even a scar and battle wound or two…but you don’t have the past in the palm of your hands, the story of all of “that girl’s” plans, you don’t see the dreams in your head and you wouldn’t even be able to imagine the levels of darkness of which she has seen; because if you did…you’d wish you were the victim. The poor and innocent girl of sadness, the maniacal egotistical bitch that walks around with an unshakable frown and doesn’t give a damn about your past, or who your friends with, or who you’re related to but if you at least have an inch of common sense added to that thick brain of yours…with a dash of madness yourself hopefully. Since no one likes to be the only wreck in the room…she’ll grin sarcastically and you just know when she opens her mouth to speak, she’s not going to have anything nice to say. Hair flips and long sharp piercing stares flare and spark this avalanche of feeling in the pit of your stomach, there mind wonders “who is 'that' girl” Oh yeah, I get that one a lot too…of course she does; she’s a mystery, an exotic beauty and instantly you’re captivated and she invades and occupies every little inch of your mind. Pfff, predictable? Well, you are to her. You’re a game, a jungle gym she likes to play on. They wouldn’t be able to keep up…god bless there souls for trying. You know Katie always has an inevitable plan. It always happens, this cycle…
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Oh you always know the guidelines and blueprints to such wit. It's all repeated history and disaster from your favorite weather lady, your favorite newscaster. Oh, you'll never read her disguise, never see the white lies in her fake smiles, never decode her twisted phrases it took you so long to understand...no. You'll only be wasting your time trying. Wasting your precious time watching and reading so closely, that way you can learn and try to imitate her all so original ways. Oh...no, you might as well save your breath, watch your bad cable hazy television screen, get a balanced breakfast, organize your dresser, paint your nails, read the newspaper...anything to distract yourself from falling in to the way she'll draw you in, the way she'll keep you entertained and asking and wondering...until you're stuck. Like magnets, her difference from yours has gotten you pulled in. Like opposites, you attract. Unless she decides to change again..., change her mind, her heart...you know her...the bipolar mind is a tricky unstable one prone to collapse at any moment; practice your getaway boys...'that girl' doesn't fuck around...not anymore.
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She always needs an introduction [Feb. 6th, 2009|06:54 pm]
[Current Mood | amused]
[Current Music |Circus]


Sound the alarm. Ring in the sirens. Dominance is back and she’s back with a vengeance.

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Thank you, thank you! Thank you for the baggage! For pulling me down and hating me for what you’ve created, the obnoxious headache sitting across from you staring in utter disgust. You spit fire but my eyes scream hate. Oh you just wish you could have that abhorrence, that passion, that reason to be the victim…but you’re just the one who conceived it. He stirs in waters to create pools of his own misery he will then eventually drown in… Should I apologize for his stupidity? You think you’re smart, but you gave birth to the supreme. Supreme bitch that still won’t quit, still shit talking years and years after you almost killed her. But I can’t die! I can never die! That’s the tragedy. You see, you and I are opposites. Night and day; and neither of us can exist without the other. So I am doomed to a future with you, condemned to swallowing your ridicule… and oh how I just feel myself struggling to break free and just scream. My thoughts continue to eat away at my brain, rotting my intelligence but ironically never my ego…you just bring out that fire, that burning passion to rebel against everything that is desirable to you…I want to be everything you’re not. I want to do everything you don’t want me to do. That fire has made the impossible, possible. There is not one emotion that can hold a candle to this. This feeling of anger that has given me fuel to soar, oh yes. I thank you! I thank you for pushing the pusher. And awakening that ego. I know you missed her, I know I did.

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Well, well, well [Oct. 2nd, 2008|08:19 pm]
[Current Mood | bitchy]
[Current Music |Muse - Apocalypse Please]

Dear "S", Knock knock, here it comes drama knocking once again. I'm still undecided on if I should answer. You see, I know I'm a negative bitch. You said it... But right after I did, so I guess there shouldn't be any surprises there. There is though and a whole lot of unresolved bullshit just waiting to hit the fucking fan. It's been up in the air for too long, weeks actually. It all goes down the same way: I stand up in the face of a coward, she laughes *eye roll* I speak no longer and then suddenly she realizes, everything as changed. So predictable, thats the word I use to describe everyone that I've ever met. The only ones actually worth being around are the ones that are going to make your life worth living, there going to spin your head around in the best way possible, throw all your shit aside, twist your thoughts into beautiful metaphors and make you feel ten times taller than you really are. Yeah that was all there once, but it's all gone now. With just an ego to show for it. Again I say, nothing corresponds. Realization: You're NOT a friend, you're a fan. Deal with it.
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Stealing my words, my title, and my interests was a cute sisterly trait when we were friends, but now it's just a pathetic insecure lining. How many times do I have to spell the word "copycat" for you to understand it, get it through your THICK head. I've got TRUE friends. Nothing comes close to Erika's brillance of picking me up and then talking shit with me to bring everyone else down. It's amazing haha. We've been like this since the get go. NO ONE can fucking replace that. Yet someone in our friendship tried to replace ME. But things HAVE changed, and I've noticed that, Erika's noticed that, YOU'VE noticed that. And all of a sudden YOU don't like it. Well, well, well. Knock knock. Uh oh... Bad News: I'm not home.
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Hunger [Sep. 28th, 2008|06:21 pm]
[Current Mood | annoyed]
[Current Music |Marcy Playground - Coming Up From Behind]

My stomach is full; I hate this feeling. This is nausea, this is uneasiness, this is revulsion. Yet I’m still always hungry, it’s still questionable for what. I sit at the table speaking to end up finding myself being ignored. My mind is craving a plate served with patience and a side of grace. Waiter please, give me a round of piece of mind for the whole family thanks. This stomach cramps, grumbles for attention. This dessert taste like regret, I didn’t order blood and bathwater but I always take it down everyday, more senseless opportunities to create pity. This is sickness, this is vomiting, this is life on repeat. My head is sinking my bath is overflowing.
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Right now is therapy. A Sound of music that pounds the eardrums to familiar voices that arouse a joyous innocence that is sadly only temporary. All natural feeling moved out of my realm of thinking a long time ago. There are just cobwebs and empty boxes waiting to be filled up… by forced activity and pointless antics. I guess I'll always be starving for something. This torture on a stick and heart attack on a bun just doesn’t do it for me anymore. All I’m doing is planning my own misery and continuous obsession. This is a crossroad, this is a deadend, this is them starving me...(un)consciously speaking of course. I’m too busy buried underwater, under regret, swimming in there future dessert. Stomach that loved ones. This is disturbing metaphors on repeat, this is reality told as a misinterpreted fairy tale. Time for more dessert.
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Grace [Sep. 26th, 2008|11:15 am]
[Current Mood | blank]
[Current Music |The Beatles - Because]


If you want the honest truth, then I’ll give it to you: nothing makes sense anymore. Frequently you’ll catch me cracking a smile, singing a song while walking tall, closing my eyes to listen to sweet lullabies; oh the joy. Yet this happiness doesn’t change my depressive behavior, these rapid impulsive thoughts. You see, nothing corresponds to anything anymore. You’re not a friend, you’re just fan. You’re not a parent, you’re just a guardian. You’re not a lover; you’re just a fish in a pond. Last night I laid in the bathtub, foam wonders and all, blowing carefree bubbles, shedding stressful filth. This is where we reincarnate ourselves, this is our restart button. This is where I watched a familiar red substance float off of the body like red dust drifting gracefully through deep seas of tranquility. I feel like a fan of law. Lawfully speaking: An act done in secret never really happened. With no witnesses and no evidence, you’re pretty much innocent until proven guilty. The best medicine to a flat head of curiosity is proof, knowledge, but most of all, experience. Truthful statement: The subject of history isn’t important for the reason it claims to be. (So we don’t make the same mistakes that have been made in the past) You see, the human race’s evolution of thought has been put on hold by, well…human nature. When our elders go through problems and we read about them we are always still bound to come cross the same situation, inevitably making the mistake for ourselves. Learning individually of course that misery has always had the same definition. Our self-taught lesson: We don’t learn from other people’s mistakes we learn from our own. Yet this statement doesn’t include how many times we need to repeat the mistake to finally get it.
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I am the witness to my own crime, but I am no one. Justifications, they wash sins off your conscience but never off your hands. It’s always going to be wrong yet the definition of wrong is still open to interruption and its continuous our accusations. Again lawfully speaking though, it’s only wrong when you convince everyone else it is. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty, jurors all of rise. No one knows the truth completely. Yet in law when you’re alone on a side yet completely right, you’ll still lose. Tell me how that makes any sense? So I took action upon a sturdy thigh, my experience experiment. No one was there, no one was hurt. The smile is still there for everyone to assume is real so I guess that means in a lawful sense that I’m happy. Truthfully speaking verdict: Our final judgment shouldn’t be debated by others who haven’t felt our experiences, who didn’t witness, who don’t know a thing. One thing I know for sure is, to everyone else I maybe wrong and there consciences maybe clean but justification also, but that bathwater is waiting for them. My heart still hoping, that the calmness will do the same for them as for me, reincarnate a criminal, set free the demon and unfurl the grace that can only be seen deep in the far seas of tranquility.
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Apathetic in August [Aug. 11th, 2008|10:50 pm]
[Current Mood | confused]
[Current Music |The Mamas and The Papas - California Dreaming]


I miss the village of rock bottom. There was just always something about peeling back your skin that made sense to pain. You can read a million definitions of your disorder, but none of them make you feel quite the same as when you’re experiencing the situation. My understanding needs the self made chaos to survive within me. They’ll never know, but I’ll never forget. Even if this therapist is my exorcist; I’ll always flash back and picture a white pale face drowned in ice cold water, I’ll feel irregular heartbeats, taste blood, sense self hatred. It’s still always going to be there. On the playground where I left my innocence still spinning to see time, envision the future. I guess I say that now with all those memories and experiences still relevant, but I can’t reject my past. That’s been the fear, the rock in front of the next obstacle, the reason I haven’t been able to move on. It’s the ghosts and demons in front of the next door. I just can’t help but be frightened to tackle them, my issues, my darkness, myself.
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Gray skies and rain clouds’ forming reminds me of somber music and the eagerness of going outside, feeling the rain, escaping the shelter to be free. That wanting of freedom is still relevant too. It’s the reason for the music, it’s the reason for lost innocence, it’s the reason there’s a devil. I didn’t always tell you the whole story, I’m just hoping that you assume it’s everything you’ve ever felt and more. It’s a black and white choice, with a yes or no answer. It’s not knowing what to say when all you do is feel and yet always get the answer wrong. It's emotion against emotion. Chain reaction then repeat repeat of anxious tendencies, it’s the stages of Katie’s anxiety and disorders. It’s in circles right now, spiraling yet staying still. Worst part is: I miss the village of rock bottom and once you've checked in, you'll never leave.
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TooLateI'mDriftingAway [Aug. 4th, 2008|01:28 pm]
[Current Mood | exhausted]
[Current Music |Muse - Space Dementia]


Your music corresponds to the movement, to the place, to the picture. Subject: Paranoia. Problem: Not having one. Solution: Self made chaos. My eyes are bright red; amount of saliva in my mouth has reached a deathly dehydration limit. I want to feel ice cold water washing my eyes to white again; I want it to drown out the problems, make little light bubbles while creating tiny white lies; “everything is going to be alright”. Baths become a movement closer, to letting yourself just drown. Problem: Katie almost did. Solution: Being rescued by a dream, a memory from a happy place, yet just a figment of my imagination. Saviors come in all different shapes and sizes. Words that become the pinnacle of praise, people who become a reason to believe again. Lying in an ice cold bathtub was a perfect way to envision heaven. There are shinning lights above water while you’re staring up from underneath it. It’s like being in an ocean, witnessing greatness, discovering rays of sunlight casing flares of blinding brilliance to widen pupils of burning infliction. Hurting doesn’t matter when sharp thin needles are bleeding out your harsh reality. It’s like vacation to a far away cloud, its weakened paranoia when fear has shattered. It’s beauty when big pictures are built. I’m just comprehension of world’s worst and greatest experiences, this perception says: It’s a death and a resurrection. Dare to take your chances, self conscious falling into dreams, flushing sleepless nights and unwanted nightmares away. It’s everything I could ever want, ever need. It’s the problem, and the solution.
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Oh Ophelia, where art thou? It’s like a piece of your despair has coveted my soul, as if you’re within me, the beautiful and chilling suicide dancing in my mind; sending brain waves that will always make my decisions contradicting. I am paranoid. Last breathes that create flowing bubbles of the last song, music to the heart. A pale cold face in the dark, you are just the words that have contradicted me, you are just the savior that has chosen to forsaken me. A small masterpiece of art lost in the ocean.
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Inspiration in odd and holy places [Jul. 30th, 2008|10:37 am]
[Current Mood | apathetic]
[Current Music |Clap Your Hands Say Yeah - Satan Said Dance]


It’s there, quickly noted right in the center folds of your diary, “Club 24 does have its punishments” which is right above the list that strictly goes against everything that I never want to be associated with again. I’m a video fast forwarding then paused. Weight goes up and down, drops in slow motion then the fast forward button is hit yet again. I’m just a slave to the scale, a walking zombie without energy. Today I got a funny thought in my head at the best time I could receive such witty anecdotes from a tortured friend. It’s like having your story tweaked and changed just a bit, but the basics and the images are still all the same. This is why my novel got so far. To why I stopped is still a grand mystery to all of us. The thing I just wanted to highlight and underline from a traumatic event such has suicide attempts is that you either end up dead or stuck in that moment. You either die at that moment or wait for the memories to eat you alive. Satan runs in your veins but you keep telling yourself that the angels are holding you, guiding and watching your disgraceful ways. I’d like to believe in good and evil in more than just metaphors and adjectives to create a powerful affect that will be relatable to everyone but, I just don’t. It’s just like religion; it’s complicated. Everyone has a kid will fake despise something until they grow up and realize what the hell they hate so much. Example: I’ve easily become everything I used to glare at, at the TV. I would only glare because I didn’t understand a thing. If there is a God I’d just like to say that he fucked me up for a reason. Understanding is one of the best gifts that can ever be given. I talk to my ignorant family and the reason to why I was such a hateful kid is clear but still these people aren’t kids. They’ve got the mind equip like one unfortunately, understanding is not a virtue they use very often. Neither is rationality or wisdom sadly. Experiences give birth to feelings, awaken the evil sometimes, and cages in the good. I am the phoenix born from the ashes of ignorance and insecurity; but I guess some things never change.
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Note to self: When you’re an author you can create a million characters out of one single mind, and that’s when you realize…I can be anybody who I want to be, I know every line to say. I understand every tragedy and soak up every emotion I can to correspond to that dying soul. You’re only as witty as the last critic you create in your head. So keep giving birth to the insane and then we’ve still got a fucking story. It's all in my mind, just about ready to fucking explode. That was a warning not a metaphor.
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You’re just dark sick comedy and ironic outcomes [Jul. 23rd, 2008|09:38 am]
[Current Mood | nauseated]
[Current Music |R.E.M - It's the End of the World]


I’ve got hundreds of scars but this one in my mind is the darkest of all. Dehydration; you son of a bitch! I guess you never realize what goes on when the lights are all turned off and I’ve learned….you don’t want to fucking know, take it from me.

I’ve got an older sister who’s got a guy that she still promises to marry and another guy who lives long distance but that she is obviously in love with. When I was 3 middle of night dehydration was completely relevant almost every god damn single night. I would wake up my brother and drag him to fetch me something until I stopped crying. Since my eating habits have changed things have been going back to there normal ways, minus the whole brother thing. Last night I was having a nightmare about doomsday. You know the theory that the world is going to end on December 21, 2012. Well I had a dream that it was the 20th of that year and we were all waiting what might be the end of the world. But I woke up thirsty. You see, the one time I remember waking up when I was 3 and why I woke up my brother was because my parents weren’t in there bed. So my brother and I walked down stairs and found them, naked. Thank god I can’t remember specific parts I just remember that I felt uncomfortable and no longer thirsty. I asked for water too, I never drank water…I can remember being very confused with my father’s body type though. Anyways, I’m in my bed back in the year 2008 when I awake to hear my OLDER sister moaning. I share a room with two older sisters. One is conservative and about her “morals” the other is average when it comes to academics and loves to get drunk and party. At first I’m pissed, sister won’t stop yelling in her sleep and I’m trying to see how the world will end or if it’ll end at all, but still terrified at my dream and the thought of dying. So I wake up both relieved and disappointed. Then I start getting really confused, my sister starts to say full sentences…she yelled “I can’t get it out!” I froze and questioned my hearing capacity. Did she just say…then she yelled “I can’t reach it!” I glare and wondered what kind of dream she’s was having. In my head: It’s just a coincidence, go back to sleep…but she kept moaning until I thought she was almost in pain. So I lift a pillow off my head in the darkest of the night and she says “there” and starts talking normal…on the phone. Soon asking “did you like that? I pictured myself kissing and thrusting you” then I filled in the blanks. Threw the pillow back over my head realizing what a predicament I had just gotten myself into by just waking up. I am three years old again, drowning noise with my ears feeling oddly uncomfortable. I thought over and over…Go back to sleep…please. This reality is worse than end times Ugh. Please smother me with that pillow.

So she keeps talking, even with the movement of my pillow. I’m screaming in my head. HOW COULD SHE WITH ME AND MY SISTER SLEEPING, IN THE SAME ROOM? Puke, puke, puke. Which dude is she even doing this to? “Oh John you’re so bad” Puke puke puke. He was the guy that was fucking both her and his girlfriend at the same time a while back. He was the guy who hit on my other sister on myspace. He was the guy who made her reply with “I want to satisfy you” Cringe, puke, barf. Then I moved some more and she kept saying things like “I feel uncomfortable, that’s enough for tonight. We could fantasize tomorrow. I’ll make it up to you, don’t be mad.” I was also waiting for her to bark and call him master. She hung up then but he called back and she picked up right away to reply with more disturbing replies. As my mouth dries up some more, I try to swallow back saliva and flem while the words sperm come to mind. Yuck, swallow, barf. All because of them, mostly her but him. This is the guy who’s cheated on her on countless occasions and here she is willingly moaning risking the chance at getting caught; this dark scarred secret still hanging above me like all those dark clouds. Go. To. Sleep! This girl is the hypocrite who talks about self respect when she doesn’t have any. This girl called herself a virgin and a feminist…umm interesting choice of lies don’t you think? This phone call makes me burst into laughter than causes me to want to disown my sister. How’s that for a dark comedy nightmare?

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*Reaches for pillow and screams* AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!
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Goodnight moon. [Jul. 19th, 2008|10:35 am]
[Current Mood | anxious]
[Current Music |Led Zeppelin - Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You]


Guilt seeps inside of me everyday, anxiety sits and squeezes out stomach pains. You are anger when the deep seas wash over me, coveting the brightness of sweet skies of morning light. It’s summer time, living harder than high tide sitting next to the ocean, my eyes raining an overcast of delight. Shaking when boiling suns make wincing children’s pupils close, when icy snow makes hearts freeze colder than a thermostat. Babe my emotions are escalating hotter than the intensity of the atmosphere. It’s a full moon; watch me change from innocent dancing queen to raging wreck from dysfunction creating destruction. I could never write enough words to make you understand. You’ve just gotta feel it. I wasn’t so messed up, I just gave myself a reason to be depressed once I realized I had every resource that I could ever use to benefit me, to bring to my advantage. There was no story just a boring future ahead; this is black and white Americanized suffocation. My depression was created from my lack of real problems you see. That is when I introduced myself to self inflicted pain. Found out it hurts more people than myself. But I’m still the only one blamed for it anyways. No complains, but there’s still no way in stopping something that’s already been started. I am silence and screaming insides. I have no self control but lie to spare everyone else’s feelings. It’s selfish to hurt myself, its causing more self inflicted damage not to. I lose either way. Suicidal thoughts make my mind static, it’ll shut Katie up, it’ll stop my hurting and continue there’s. I live for everyone else but myself now, that fact hurts more than anything else. To feel terrible and not be able to say a thing to save someone else's life when I’M THE ONE WHO NEEDS TO BE FUCKING SAVED. Who the fuck do you think has it worse? Where the fuck have YOU been? Who the fuck are YOU to tell me that I can't express how I feel? One day they’re all going to know how much it hurts, if they just the keep the sun bubbling, if they just keep there hearts frozen. They will learn when the self destruction becomes too major to cover up and pretend that silence is all calm, that it is all shining. Because on my side the sun doesn't shine, all I see is black. Don't act like I haven't said it before, like you haven't read through it hanging on to every word. How about you read through the fucking lines! This is why I came to be like this. Get it through you're fucking head, I can't say these words without anger being yelled from them. I'm mad becaue I've always gotta hold back.

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Fix me I'm broken. You see a girl down and all you do is kick her; stomachaches, you're just an earthquake that won't stop breaking the girl. Just stop, please stop. You are cruelty when love is sin. You are temptation when relapsing is pain. I am the sinner when saints are cruel. I am pain when temptations lure me in. You’ll never know a day in my shoes. What’s worse is when you do and you back down. You’re weak. Step up! Step up to me. Snicker, snicker. I must really scare you. Push, push. Sometimes you need a little destruction, a little poison, and a little rock bottom, to see a better day. I'm not your religion and I am not your mentor if you think otherwise. So make up your mind. Indecision is the one thing that really pisses me off. Lights are dark, time and name nonexistent, what are you going to do, when the weather is all you've got?
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I am your psychotherapy...minus the therapy. [Jul. 15th, 2008|07:56 pm]
[Current Mood | amused]
[Current Music |The Black Keys - Psychotic Girl]


With a hair flip and wink Katie becomes alive through the reflecting glass. She keeps running her fingers through her hair, biting her lips, and tearing up with every sleepless yawn; you're just my guilty conscience. Regrets; they dissolve in your brain faster than my alka seltzer in water. Picture this; eyes an inch away from a full clear glass cup, eyes bulging and staring while white dust degenerates in a pool of cold awaiting poison. Katie doses off in every other place but her bed. She eyes this cup of inevitability that will only make this stomachache churn more of obnoxious defeat. I admit it, Katie kicks, and I don't know whether she's happy or pissed. You'd think someone with such awareness to the pointlessness of this situation would back off but her only real goal in life is to successfully crawl underneath my skin. She wins. Lazy hands drift under my pillows, but my mind is still whispering guilty pleasures, now playing pictures of perfect daydreams. It's everything you want, everything you can't stand seeing yet again. My sickness is more mental, it's always been. I think my weakness then proceed to fall apart. It's all apart of the plan. These dark dreams are happiness in a playback. I wish I didn't have to give in; but she just has that affect on you.
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You just have to admit once tough gets fucking unbearable. It is a little exciting, don't you think? I'm not like everyone else, and I'm not ashamed like I should be. I've got scars underneath my dress; it makes the secrets taste sourer, more bittersweet, more hot; shhhhh I won't tell a single soul. Giggles fill my lungs, but all I really want is to shut up. God damn I love it so much. I've got a mark on my lower back, that silky long hind; so delicate yet so intricate. Picture those lips; cut up, peeled corners, dry centers. You may taste the patient. I've got itching wrists, doubting thoughts, and foretold tragic "accidents". Unapologetic attitudes for defects and embarrassed panics for every word admitted. I've got a mental profile that fits the unwell, the psychotic; it makes every motion abnormal, makes me unlike any other. I've got nervous breakdowns and high pitched evil laughter. I tell myself not to press the space button but I keep going anyway. I've got thoughts...you'd never be able to admit to yourself; yet alone to anyone else. Secret: You make me laugh. They all make me laugh. You don't know where I've been. I can win and lose this battle at the same time. I am this battle. I am this story, and coincidently I'm the only one with a pen to write it all down. Boy, I can make you die...oh yes I can make you feel free. Snicker, snicker. I hate my own guts but I can still make you believe. Chuckle, chuckle. You don't know who is talking here. Giggle, giggle. I'll give you a hint: Churn, churn. She's beating herself up right now. Taste, taste. And it feels so good. Ha. Ha.
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You are the savior but I am a fuck up [Jul. 14th, 2008|07:33 pm]
[Current Mood | anxious]
[Current Music |Soundgarden - Black Hole Sun]


50 percent of the things I narrate in my head I actually write down. The other 50 percent is a good mixture of mangled thoughts while staring at the TV with my friends who are commenting on how fat playboy playmates are. Or made when I’m in the upstairs girl’s bathroom staring at the many mirrors, caved in ceilings, unflushed toilets and ripped out tiles. I guess you’re environment reflects your mind. This run down place is my brain. I recycle my thoughts in a brown paper bag. Throw them in this trash dump of mental defects. Warning: This disease produces many sighs of apathetic digestion of this world of simplicity. This uninteresting life; the only reason I think of good lines to write, the only reason I create alter egos that are beautiful and everything I want to be. I’m the only one that can hear these cruel remarks and see this antagonizing devil. She appears when I cry and she’s the reason why I shut up. You’ll never feel as high as she always is. Nothing gets to someone who isn’t real, just a dream of perfection, that perfect moment. I’ll never be her. Sometimes she speaks for me though, when I speak money, egos, and boys. But she can’t cut the vulnerable thoughts to shreds like I’ve wished. My other side has washed away my self esteem, because of this she is no longer my superhero. She couldn't stop this invisible monster from taking over my life. Look in the mirror; if you fake your own reflection, you’re one step closer to becoming the invisible me, the other side. She is caving in quicker than these ceilings, if this place was my head it’d be crashed down and burned to the ground.
If this place was my palace I’d turn it to gold. Now let’s turn these two great personalities into two great paragraphs of literature…
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I feel like a new born who was insulated from the world and just breaking out.
I feel like a turkey locked in an oven with the heat turned all the way up.
I am the dawning of finally a fuck up worth looking up to.
I am a wreck that is the welcome mat you whip your dirty shoes
on and admits: I deserve every last stomp.
I think the worst and hope by god that each adventure hurts. You’ll always want to believe these words I speak: I can be your heroin, just much cheaper baby.
I think of past memories that haunt my brain and make me afraid of every single person taking another step up the stairs to my realm of thinking. You’ll never understand.
I'll never know why anyone would want to get rid of me. I’m all Katie wants, and I’m everything she will ever need.
I'll never know the meaning of such existence to think a bunch of thoughts that will never be spoken, to live a dream, create pain and motionless wind. I am a current washing over. I am two people that don't get each other.
I am the savior you are the fuck up. I am the fuck up you are the savior. Take another little piece of my life, think you know it all but you better think twice.
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I could write fountains of insults, with splashes of confidence [Jul. 12th, 2008|09:46 pm]
[Current Mood | crazy]
[Current Music |Travis - Eyes]


Writing used to be easier, I would just pick an interesting topic to complain about and perfect and then that was that. But now living to expectation is a bit stressful. I have that feeling that I want to express in my head, but not on the tip of my fingers. I’m just not ready for the best series yet. I have to process these chaotic thoughts to be jumbled organization on paper, in print. But it isn’t there just yet. This anticipation is killing me. Impatience; you’re just words on the tip of my tongue, the biggest tease, the best writing I have to chase. What’s wrong with now? I have the writing document opened. But still, I’ve written the first chapter a million times, yet nothing quite good enough. Honestly, at this point I’m just waiting for a nonexistent moment. Katie wants to make it happen; she doesn’t have much time! You never know when you’re story is going to be over, I’ve got to express mine before extinction. The clock is ticking away. My thoughts are eating at my body. Steps making me shorter. Excess always denied.
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Music is always a big part of every feeling that I’ve got to write. That passion is in every melody, every harmony, every rhythm; then the words smooth perfectly. Almost that perfect nonexistent moment for a perfectionist. That’s another adjective you can use to describe me by the way, I won’t be offended if it’s true. I don’t like updating too frequently too, not even I can sink in my own writing that fast. But still I’m writing now. I thought of a good first line, now I’m stuck back here in front of another blank word document. Ugh. Expectance makes things unappealing. So I’d rather surprise my reader with a quick hidden message: I’ve been itching to write about my somewhat multiple personality disorder. As if you haven’t already seen it! All my writing is completely contradicting. It’s not because I’m just confused. It’s because I argue with myself while I’m typing. I disagree with everything I wrote just a minute ago and I'm better at defending the thing I'm against. I create alter egos to make the fire be shown, and I’m always 6 steps to almost dead. Step 1: Wake up. (In theory, everyone is dying slowly). Step 2: Hygiene in general. Shower, brush air, teeth, etc. Grooming just ages you quicker; how ironic. Step 3: Consume food. Or in my case avoid food and anyone at the table. Pick up the newspaper, act interested, switch over to a Chuck Palahniuk book. Times up. Step 4: Work, which consumes your energy forcing you to repeat the third step if you’re normal. Step 5: Socially be worshiped or bullied. It depends on which kind of person you are. Don’t feel bad if you’re under the list of unoriginal followers. Follower or leader; you’re still just built on theories made by past leaders anyways. Which makes us all followers in the end. Step 6: Sleep, toss and turn…lie awake for hours on end. Listen to music, doesn’t help until you start dreaming with your eyes opened; live in a world of dreams. Nothing is real. Nothing is worth it. But oh wait…that’s just my life. Indecision is the key to insanity folks. I once read a pamphlet that said whatever position you sleep in reflects what kind of person you are in life. I toss and turn, same with my thoughts. Diagnosis: I suck at life. Thoughts ramble and reside on this screen and will rot at the core of this fist shaped universe. I’d do anything to own a minute of perfection; that nonexistent moment. Everything I write has already been written just not in the same order. Alphabet; you’re just the wall of communication that I curse at everyday. I’d do anything for a world scrambled with no meaning, to create meaning. Oh wait…I have that already, don’t we all?
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Yes, another triumph for the hungry. [Jul. 12th, 2008|01:16 pm]
[Current Mood | indescribable]
[Current Music |Dido - Do You Have a Little Time]


I haven’t felt like this in a while. Like the lights are always off, like the noise is always static, like the world is all my own sunken deep illusion. Insomnia; you’re just a figment, hallucination, never awake and never asleep. Chain reaction is continuous. Can’t sleep, can’t eat, being has never been so easy. White dry chipped off ceiling walls, I never sleep with my head straight up or I’ll feel anxious to peel it off. Thoughts can be useful, but all of mine are either insecure or pointless. When I do sleep I wake up and refrain to the same old day. Its quizzes in Bio, then bookwork, quick fake laughter with a friend, then dosing off in the middle of more bookwork…just one more review question I echo in my mind. When am I ever going to need to know this much about worms in daily life? Rub your head, whip your drool, and pull your hair from your face. This is all real, but all I see is shadows in a haze, words blurred. May I use the bathroom; I’ve been a good girl. The teacher says yes. The hallways look like stretched out, moving, long steps just to wash my face. Maybe not worth it. Fingers through hair, dust rubbed from eyes, delusional escalating with this food and sleep deprivation. Cough cough, wall close. Weak knees, going down. Hands held on a wall, head spinning in a white sealed teenage filthy dream of hallways, lockers, and shoes hitting the floor. Hard they thumped in ringing ears of just static. There’s a wall between the world’s sounds, and my head. I’m listening through, making out the words. There’s a window between the world’s view and my eyes. I’m seeing through but I can’t make up the people. These problems are fog and haze in my windows, static and bangs in my ears up against my walls. Not fair.
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Hand to my head, bible next to my bed, I still fear the darkness of sleeping a life, and dreaming a lie. Breathe your breaths of smoke; sit on the porch of your glamorous pool side view, sun in the face of sexuality, discourteousness, and plain old wealthiest; all with a big shaded hat and sunglasses. When did I reach such wondrous heights of danger. With no caution signs or warning signs to stop me, no way to get caught and yet I find playgrounds and predominate language more familiar, more save, more me. Experimentation becomes habit, addictions, and lifestyle. Do I really want to open that door? Katie’s not stable enough for the adventure, but she’s too prissy to pass on that kind of opportunity. This is my golden ticket to everything that was ever said to be altering yet sinful. Cold laughs, cruel pranks and still I’m stuck in a risky dilemma. In the end I have to take it since Katie has the last say, and she’ll never take the save root, even if it means living a life on the edge. You see; sinful, painful, rough rock bottom is always scary and never familiar. I am the harmed and I am the harmer. In the darkest hazes I’ll still find shade. That's how in the thickest clouds I’ll still find dreams. In the loudest cries I’ll hear static; and in the worst storms I’ll be blind. I am the story; complain about every problem, and still I create every single one of them and know how to escape from all them too. Nothing’s changed, yet I don’t feel the same.
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I suffer from apathetic abuse. [Jul. 10th, 2008|04:54 pm]
[Current Mood | crushed]
[Current Music |Radiohead - Exit Music For a Film]

Everyday it's the exact same thing. It’s the same shade of black. The same control lost. The same sheltered girl. Afraid of the people she doesn’t know. Dying for someone out there to notice, painting all the different colors, but all she sees is black. My foot’s asleep, the TVs on, my heart is beating fast; the music is giving birth to a character that wants her sanity back. You know the story; she’s said it everyday of her life, so now you just need to solve the puzzle on your own. She’s building a magic box of explanations, it will cover the who, what, why, when, and where if she ever does get the courage to fade into these walls of black screaming insults. It’s your entire fault. Blame; you’re just the gift that wasn’t even wrapped. I would have preferred it on Christmas day with a nice bow right around the colorful tree you knew I loved so much. There’s static in my headphones, there’s static in my headphones. You’re just electricity through water, rainbows of every figment of solid color already being shown. You’re a painting, I’m the painter. Perception is all I need to turn this world into a masterpiece. My mood is solemn so my world is black. My apologies, my self condolences, I sign this box with my ancient innocence sent away since childhood. You’ll now know the who, what, why, when, and where. There are a lot of those. Good luck it’s a treasure chest for the desperate. You should have given her color, control, and an out. It’s too late now though, since she’s already found one.
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We never know why we do the things we do, do we? [Jul. 4th, 2008|09:56 am]
[Current Mood | curious]
[Current Music |Led Zeppelin - Heartbreaker]


Anger; you’re just fuel, motivation, and drive. Follow the dotted line, these trends are sickening. I still do it anyway. Club 24 is in full effect 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I’ve lost the desire to chew anything other than gum and head rushes are enough to pass out in hot weather. Uncalled for dizziness occurs more often than ever. Haven’t been this skinny in months, though I’m out of it, I’m always falling asleep, and I can’t keep focus for more than an hour straight. Image; the one thing that gives sweetness its appeal right back. It’s been like this since childhood. Commercials, where you would see the image of a girl playing with a Barbie doll having the best time of her life. You wanted to fit that same happiness… the one that’s depicted on a cereal box, when you still know that nobody eats breakfast that enthusiastically anyways but you still find yourself buying the 2 for 1 of Cereal-Os. Naivety; you’re just my innocence sold to these cheap advertisements. Adolescent image; picture a girl skinny, red hot cherry lollipop in her mouth, nails painted black, wearing bracelets that you only wished you had, and a mouth full of demeaning words that just kept running rivers of clever remarks at every disrespectful douchebag that said something forcefully degrading. That my friends, is who I want to be…who I’ve been striving to be everyday that I get pushed around, everyday I feel ugly, everyday I fall silent, everyday I come short, everyday that is Club 24. Wishfully speaking; it’ll be worth it in the end, to fit the character, the image, the life of such poison, of such danger. I’m the only one that can fill that role, since I’m the only one who knows exactly what a person is thinking before it even leaves there mouth. Predictable; you’re just the adjective I use to describe every person I’ve ever met.
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Welcome to the playground, you’re life is like a merry go round, you just keep spinning in circles until you feel dizzy for the thrill. You want to do it because everyone else in the pictures is always smiling or joyfully screaming. You want that happiness and fun and boy do the misleading diversions always win. Just one taste is all you need to be curious about everything else. Danger is the predictable chain of the drugs, then sex, while listening to rock and roll. You’ll always try to fit the image that goes with the time. These tracks, this line, this chain of trends is fading, I think I’d rather start anarchy. Image; why even bother? I guess there's always a part of us that hopes that we might be just as happy as we've pictured. Image take two; I'd rather fit the role of beautiful disaster, happy yet depressed... that image always seems more realistic, more within my grasp. Curiosity; it makes you tamper with smoking hot predictable danger. It’s the story of my life, the trend that needs to die, the reason I need a new chapter. It starts now.
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Ego addition: I've created a fuck up, you've created a douchebag [Jun. 30th, 2008|04:22 pm]
[Current Mood | crazy]
[Current Music |Yellowcard - Lights and Sounds]


Give me that moment before the greatest time of your life. It’s always anticipated, it’s always a blood rush to the head. Take me straight to the top of that mountain, the climax, the edge of a perfect tilted angle and bring me straight back down, let me drop…hard and fast. Right now I have to feel it; he greets me with a smile, a lustful goodbye kiss. Oh you fix me baby, plug me in. Laugh with me and falling has never been so blissful. Every time I’m with you and do something wrong, I drop lower and still, it’s so fucking sweet. Every word that has left my mouth has been crueler, yet you’re the escape I’ve always wanted. Open this book, drop me faster than you can close it. Hurt me, I love the damage. Danger, you’re just the drug I’ve been asking for. The cure I’ve hungered for. You’re going to be mine baby. Oh boy this ride is the best. There it goes a couple of shit talkers, I could never just love you, and I could never just hate you. It’s always very much of both, hope you know your boundaries before you break the wrong ones. You’re so fucking predictable, you’ve got no gifts to bring just problems to cause. God damn you’re words are sour, I suck on them, spit them back out sweeter than ever before. You’re brutality is amazingly original, you’re the reason they look so pathetic, they all want to be as cocky and careless as you’ve been acting since the day you landed on earth. I dropped you here, now you just follow me.

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You give me that rushing feeling, intensifies absolutely everything you could ever experience, suddenly everything is exciting and vibrant. White walls become painted in ebony glorious tracks for everyday we’ve stayed stuck working double in dull crumbling shitty classrooms. We deserved more, we settled for less. Got through, got up with the help of such low fuck up intelligence. Just hear that music, it’s there for us, for that moment that we climbed up victorious, came up hand and hand. Went and fell back down, we climbed all the way up just to fall back down again. Anchored each other with problems and defects; adding mistakes and bad habits to each other’s lists. Rock bottom; we could afford the fall, that’s the difference between douchebags and people like you, we just can.
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You try to play cool. Like you just don’t care. But soon I’ll be playin’ in your underwear. [Jun. 27th, 2008|10:45 pm]
[Current Mood | devious]
[Current Music |Weezer - The Greatest Man That Ever Lived]


Bright scribbled swearing on plain bathroom stall walls, you stand in front of them, innocent expression on your face. These stalls playing the background at the moment contain more gossip than I could withhold, but this fact doesn’t matter an ounce at the moment, or the fact that there’s a “Niki sucks cock” rumor written in huge magic marker to the left of my shoulder. No, it didn’t matter at all since my back was turned. The day was a haze of my own obsession anyways, my own world of boredom covering up every insult with every new regret. The latest one was about to be given back to the toilet in front of me. Club 24 is your life, since you’re life never stops so doesn’t this. Vomit hits the water, throat hacks, stomach empties, insults evaporate…or at least the ones being yelled in my head. Insecurity, you’re just jealously in the form of sharpie outlines of insults and rumors on a dirty stall. This was a daily routine; picturing a beautiful image during a gruesome nightmare. Vomit bits floating in a pool of scrambled eggs, it was whole when you ate it. Picture in my mind is white clouds floating along blue skies on a “high”. I bring my face back to the surface, life is now gone, bright thoughts nonexistent playing on a sunny day of ironic mess ups, what a wonder and yet it’s all just the beginning of the havoc thats to come. Get already Bitches. (Especially Him)
For a change, a new body, a new face, a new attitude, a new place. That bastard thinks he’s so cool sitting on top of trash cans, making other plans. He’s got something coming, something he can’t handle. “So zip you’re pants and do the talking; I bet I can top every sarcastic comment you throw at me.” That dumb little shit tries to show me his dick again I’ll fucking cut it off. “You really don’t believe me, I’ll fucking show you.” Thin and dominating never came so fucking easy. That’s all you need to turn on a fifteen year old douchebag. Long slender legs that stay closed with a loud fucking mouth that stays opened. Class A shit talker that laughs a sweet laugh at every one of your lame stale jokes. Throws long layered hair back every time I want to show attitude after every insulting compliment that comes out of you’re useless mouth. There’s a difference between my words and yours buddy, mine count... they settle up in the air, whisper in your ears, make you nervious, stick to your brain. Act cool now but you don’t know what’s going to fucking hit you. This is my warning to you.
audrey kitching

Audrey kitching

Watch you’re back I’m coming bullet fast. Right now I hate you, I lust you, and can’t stand you. Hatred, you’re just something that I can’t have…for now. Lust; you're just the bate to reel all the other fishs in. Ball's in my court, I'll never let myself be just a fish to anyone else. Players will be players, douchebags will be douchebags; grow a fucking pair. You’ll need it after I’m through with you. I can use you for pleasure and throw you out like trash. Trust me, it’s not a first time for me sweetheart. I’m coming, and this time you better fucking believe it. Oh you cute ass boy, vomit is a low price to pay in return for your tears *wink* Damn this ego never gets old. HAHAHA.
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