Get the fuck out, now.

It's not cool when you stand behind me while I'm on the computer, playing loud games that sound like bowlingpinscollidingwithbowlingballs.
It's not cool when you stand there, when I already have a headache.
It's especially not cool because you made our brother NOT PLAY THAT SAME DAMN GAME because YOU had a headache.

You, my friend, are a hypocrite. 


AND I'M STARTING TO GET UPSET!


Just a little, so get the fuck out.
Now.

(No, seriously. I'm not even kidding. This is worse than having a mule kick your head out of spite periodically for three days straight.)

Common Realities

When we used to race down the staircase on our butts. Rug burn all up and down our calves from the carpet.

When we'd sneak into the spare-room (your NOW bedroom) to play barbies and beanie babies.

When we'd repeat certain words or gestures, pretending they were secret code for something, and pretending we actually understood them.

When we spent countless hours trying to actually make up secret codes. 


When we take long walks together, talking about everything that's on our minds, but knowing that's not everything on each other's minds.

When someone says or does something stupid, and we give each other that little smile....

We have common realities,
common grounds,
that we both seem to walk on.

It's never been a question of whose space, or whose thoughts.
We just seem to be there. 


I'm so glad I have you Here, Tiana.
I love you.

There. I said it.

"All of these noisy people, these noisy people.
All of these noisy people.
I can't stand
I can't stand
All of these noisy people."

I'm too dizzy for this.

Too dizzy, tired, and I just don't care.

It'd be silly to think I care.

But at the same time, I care so much it's breaking my heart. 
There. I said it.

You should know who you are.

There are three people I have questions for regarding last night.

Longer, deeper, and much, much more blood.

Am I feeling enough pain, now?
Am I bleeding enough, now?
Do I even have a chance a being thin, now?

Cut off all the ropes, and let me fall.

I wonder.

I wonder if I killed myself, would anyone cry? Or even miss me, really.
I wonder if people think about me. Ever.
I wonder if people leave school wondering why I didn't dare say one word.
I wonder if they ever question my foggy state.
I wonder if anyanyanyone wonders about me.

I wonder if they'd miss me if I were dead.


Now, the problem is, I highly doubt anyone would.
Highly, highly doubt it.

No one would miss me, or cry. No one thinks about me, no one considers my words. Or rather, my silence.
No one considers anything I have said.
And I'm sure...

so, so sure I've certainly said enough for a warning.

No one should be surprised.

Truth

I'll tell you this much.

I could care less, or more, about everything.
But I have every right
to hate myself.

Sunken, undercover.

That's awfully funny.

I think, you thought, for even a moment, that you understand me. 
That's really, truly, awfully funny.

There's nothing to understand, understand?
There's nothing to get, because I am no one. 
There's nothing
absolutely
absolutely
nothing
Here.

I am sunken ships you can no longer see,
hidden underwater,
as if someone drowned me.
And seaweed, and algae covers
and fish, no longer lovers.
I am in darkness, underwater.
Undercover.
And I am cold. 
But here,
here there is nothing,
no one.

Here I am alone,
so I do not exist.

Here, I am here.
But the schools of fish, of sheep,
they avoid me, walk past me,
veer away, ignore, forget about me.

I'm drowning, drowned.
Just the skeleton of a ship.
Just the skeleton, the sailors are gone.

Sunken, underwater-undercover.

It's awfully funny, to even assume you understand this analogy. 

The fight

Tie a rope
around your wrist.
While it chokes
You insist.
I am blood,
and lines I stutter.
I'm nothing more,
I'm just a cutter.
But pain is black
and bruises too.
I know I'm fat
I'm telling you.
So help me starve
each word I say
Tie them up
and hide them away.
And then it's silence,
and then it's cold.
From here, we're quiet.
From here, we're controlled.
Careful cuts
and careful cups
Of waterwaterwater
now you're telling US!
So you say to stop
to see the world.
But no one tried
to see this girl. 
While she held back
her words, her thoughts,
others drew swords
with which they fought.
They gave her darkness
they gave her fear.
So this is why
you just can't hear--


--hear her words,
they're calling out.
She's wrought with pain
from all your SHOUTS
Now you don't see
the lines so red
with string, with blood.
It's all we have.

We hide behind
these masks so white
and hide in dark,
we hide from light.
With rods inside
that hold us up
we must confide
or else we stop.

Now words grow small
and skin, and bones.
We're getting thin,
while throwing stones.
But stones are lies
and lies are short.
We're running out,
straight through the door.
As we pass through
the monsters gawk.
Making faces
with which they mock.

We're fake,
plastic
fools,
who want one thing.
But if it costs us
our life,
we will be thin. 

Drowning

Hold me down, and I will choke.
I will drown, I will be soaked.
Hold me down, let out the air.
Things are fine, here.

FUCKFUCKFUCK
LIESLIESLIES.


Hold me down.
I'll sit silent.
Let out my breath,
my breath,
my air.
Cover my mouth,
my eyes,
my ears.

I'll stay still,
while you choke the life out of me.
Drown me, go ahead.

I dare you. 

Things are FINE! :] Ish.

So I'm hiding,

From reality.

And it's notgoingtofindme.
Because today,
I hid under my covers in darkness.

And no one talked to me.
Not even one word was uttered,
so things are fine.

But things aren't really fine, just not terrible.

Or at least not yet.

Red string

Of course I replaced it. Who would I be without it?

But my grandmother...she asked me if I was wearing it because of this religion.
This religion, that seems to wear red bracelets.
I said no, I'd never heard of it.

Should I have told her, my quest is just as noble as any?
Should I have told her why I was really wearing it?

Mistakes

You know the saying, "We all make mistakes"?
Well it's true.
So true, in fact, it's honest. But it's pointless, because everything's MY FAULT anyway.
No one else really makes mistakes, no.
Just me.

Just. Me.

Happy!

Obviously I'm fooling someone.

Disarm

Disarm, disarm. 

Put your weapons, your hatred, down. 

And walk

away. 

Disarm yourself, 

and stop waging war on the world. 

Ah, friendship. What lovely things you have brought me -.-

She was talking to me today. Something about wanting to rip her veins out. Something about wanting to dig so deep there's nothing left but shreds and blood.
Something, but all I could think was, "am I the only one who is happy?"
And then I laughed out loud, because I'm not happy. 
And I told her. I told her that, no, she doesn't want that. She wants to make her last months in England count, make them fun, and then start again.

I told her, "at least wait until I can talk to you in person. At least live until then."
She promised.
She promised she would.
So she has to.

And then the two of us can be happy, together. Just like how it used to be, only ten times better.
Ten times better, but.
Not really.