for so i blame myself

lying to yourself doesn't make it any easier.

i suppose my heart's already been taken away but that isn't going to stop me from getting a heart attack before the end of the weekend. I'm no longer even close to being remotely aspirational to whatever remaining consistency there is between my words and what i do. i could be underestimating my head here.

and if you have a mind and it's thinking about watching Watchmen, don't do it.

this silence is killing me too....

dear God of a thousand names.

Please take me to London this summer.
I love you.

Thank You.

xoxo, little t <3

gotta get away from here

i find i can no longer manage. being in company or without. or even just being.
it is as if the only existing trace of my living importance is in this lonesome virtualism.
look, but i'm not even here.

this is a terrible condition with only enough room for one.
no place for co-existence. for faith for liking or even love.

makes my misery now feel like something out of an alaskan love song.

You hope for a thoughtful person who would come along to enable your delusions so that your pain could be briefly forgotten. but what would it make you?

my back hurts and i just want to cry.

somewhere, there are partying pantsies floating..

too prideful. too clever. neither. either.

we touched.

i mean, he touched me on the bared side of my shoulders. on valentine's day. i know. but i could've fainted then and there. and i would if we touched again.

i'll be going out with the cute (and unfortunately available) wnjz this sunday, but only because i really do not know what else i could do to put myself out of this misery wanting EC.

EC's become my daily ritual suicide. i could throw myself out my window now, but because i'm living on the first storey i'd probably just bruise my bum.

your hair's looking nice, your skin's looking radiant, you've started looking better in pictures than you usually do. you're no longer fat and OH BOY WHAT MUSCLES YOU HAVE NOW.
you're looking so fine now i just want to bite myself and bleed.

not good, t.

it's valentine's day today.
i want to stay home and drink a gallon of milk and not laugh for a day and cry.

we carry on, naturally.

but what else would i do except that?
who's listening to me? my walls, my curtains, or the air.
places i once were i am no more.
this growing space, the ailing connection, so faintly forlorn, so lonely.

hello?
hello?
can you hear me?