"Writing in your diary while you're talking, you've managed to let conversations slip through the pages. Hands smudged with ink, and your head is in two places at once. Leather bound and withering away, losing interest from seeing it every single day. Don't you want something new? Though you've invested so much into what you've made. You know it would last if you let it, you just don't like how it looks. So what's more important to you now-a-days? You have a split, so will you separate the binding? You use it to feel whole again, and it starts to crack, with the worst timing. This one's glowing, and you're looking. Everyone knows it, but they've all used it. To ignore the hearse, and give in to what they'll say, is it worth it? I have my way with words and when it's read, they know. If it's read too much, then they don't read enough. Do I take the understanding or aesthetics, do I want contempt or discredit?"
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
"Car shut off, now I can't go home. Push it from behind, down the side of the road. It's a quarter past two and just below freezing, clouds of disappointment surround my breathing. Why can't I get a break? How long will this take? Will I be poor for the rest of my life, or will I relive every mistake. Maybe it's what I'm not, and now I have to pay. I wish you were in the backseat, so I could have my way. I'm cold and my phone just died, looks like I won't be talking to you tonight."