i cannot stop writing.

words keep pouring out, spurting tall tales in a brief attempt to flatten and disregard the space beneath them. &i don't believe in miracles, but for some stupid reason.. i believe in you.

flashback.

two summers ago. a memory not quite like any i've had before. it was raining and we were screaming and it was all fun, all fine, all nice. i pointed to a dictionary and said to you, "i dare you to define me." and you said, baby that's not possible. and i guess i knew that was coming, i guess i knew you never knew me. and what i wanted was not romance, it was a trip to the hospital in the back of yr car.. internally bleeding from a broken heart. and i don't mean to sound so fucking vulnerable, but at least i know what my weaknesses are.

you don't. you are just a little boy trapped in a devoted romantic's body. i would feel sorry for you, but i think that would just relinquish any thoughts of future acceptability that i may still harbour.

what's it going to be, boy? my heart, yr hammer? you can't shatter me more than i already am. the laws of physics prevent this &i prevent myself from falling harder &faster

and the more i write
the more nonsense i portray.

KTHNXBYE!

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