So much more I have to say...
Lack of consequence
Has got me making decisions
Based upon truth or dare decision making
Quirks. I have them. Leave them alone. I adore mine, they're not impeding my existence in any way. Everyone knows I get rid of things that impede me.
You should take it as a compliment you've made it this far.
I don't believe you know me
Although you know my name
I don't believe the faults I have
Are only mine to blame
I don't believe in magic
It's only in the mind
I don't believe I'd love somebody
Just to pass the time
Neil, I miss you. Please call me. I need to make you laugh that deep laughing of yours. And I need to ask you about your dominant side.
I don't believe that beauty
Will ever be replaced
I don't believe a masterpiece
Could ever match your face
The joker's always smiling
In every hand that's dealt
I dont believe that when you die
Your presence isn't felt
Slurry.
I'm made of pebble-sized things. More dense than rock, more complex than a memory palace.They shift, throw their own weight, and there I go after them. They move me. I have currents within my streams of blood. I am moved and moving, folded and unfolding.
I'm feeling crazy. I'm feeling lustful. Dirty. Trite. Plain. Coveted.
Coquettish. Feminine. Used. Wanted. Inverted. Desired. Taken. Taken apart.
I can feel every line when my shirt moves across my back. Every inch of marred skin. I want to bleed again. I eye the x-acto knife in the pen holder.
This isn't the first time, this isn't the last time.
But I believe in you
3.23.2005
3.17.2005
On the way down they saw a lot they don't remember
And if you asked them how
They couldn't say how they got there
And if you want them now
You could just pull on the lever
And say I'm hung up on gravity
You move your mouth and you start to talk
You close your eyes and then lose the thought
What's mine is mine
And what's yours you probably got
And we all fall
I hate myself.
I hate this job. I hate this school. I hate this apartment. I hate the walk. I hate the drive. I hate the claustrophobia. I hate being sick. I hate it when he gets drunk. I hate Steve for throwing away some of my most prized possessions. I hate you for not calling. I hate you FOR calling.
On the way down they saw a lot they don't remember
And if you asked them how
They'd say that gravity's how they got there
And if you want them now
You could just pull on the lever
And say I'm hung up on this decade
I want to walk away from everything right on down to the edge of Puget Sound and walk into the water like it's nothing. Like I'm nothing, we're all nothing and I could just walk away from you, could just leave it all like that.
What's mine is mine
And what's yours
And we all always fall
And we fall
And if you asked them how
They couldn't say how they got there
And if you want them now
You could just pull on the lever
And say I'm hung up on gravity
You move your mouth and you start to talk
You close your eyes and then lose the thought
What's mine is mine
And what's yours you probably got
And we all fall
I hate myself.
I hate this job. I hate this school. I hate this apartment. I hate the walk. I hate the drive. I hate the claustrophobia. I hate being sick. I hate it when he gets drunk. I hate Steve for throwing away some of my most prized possessions. I hate you for not calling. I hate you FOR calling.
On the way down they saw a lot they don't remember
And if you asked them how
They'd say that gravity's how they got there
And if you want them now
You could just pull on the lever
And say I'm hung up on this decade
I want to walk away from everything right on down to the edge of Puget Sound and walk into the water like it's nothing. Like I'm nothing, we're all nothing and I could just walk away from you, could just leave it all like that.
What's mine is mine
And what's yours
And we all always fall
And we fall
3.14.2005
Lackluster.
I'm a mess.
Surefire disappointment up ahead
Let me say that first, so that when it stops making sense and you start wondering where this, like all the rest of it, is going, you can look back up to that first sentence, and say, "Well, that explains some, at least. Given that she never explains anything, and almost never says anything explicitly that we're able to comprehend wholly."
Oh, noose
Tied myself in
Tied myself too tight
You see, I would like to make sense. I would like to make so much sense, you have you ask yourself why you were expecting to have to ask questions. I would like to breathe eat and shit sense. I imagine being a rational creature with logic and credibility but I am made of none of these things and the best part is I know you all love it the less of these things that I have. Just sit back and absorb all of it, because I'm about to dump a whole load of unsense.
He called.
HE.
But I still can't focus on anything
(I say, I don't think you're quite getting this. You say to me, of course we're not, we never quite get it. But keep talking, because we love listening.)
HIM.
Ash.
Very few of you know who I mean when I say that. Even fewer, in fact only two of you know what happened Saturday night. And exactly none of you know, period. You don't know my side. You don't know the whole story, you couldn't put any two pieces together if I asked you to.
He called me on my cell phone. I don't have a landline, why would I have a landline. My phone, my beautiful Nokia 6800 was sitting on the tops of a shelf of books and it rang for half a second and I stared at it. I didn't recognize the number. 425, which meant it was up north somewhere, anywhere from the outskirts of North Seattle to Everett, really. And who the fuck do I know up there.
I'm looking for books, and I've found many, three so far in fact. I've found my three and looking for a fourth, a Bukowski. And it rings again only now it's not stopping. It's not stopping, and the woman next to me looks at it sitting there on the tops of the books and it's the same area code and number, perhaps, I didn't memorize the number. And I hesitate, because the last thing I want to deal with is someone whom I've forgotten the number of or never cared to put in my contacts list (and believe you me, EVERYONE I would ever care to get ahold of is in my contacts list).
I hesitated.
(Here, let me hand you the foreshadowing on a plate. A ceramic one, I guess. We don't have china here.)
PAUSE.
See, right now, I'm half-deaf (ears are full of fluid, thanks to being sick), and listening to my MUSIC, and trying to discern through this who Josiah's talking to, and in my paranoid schizo state I am having the following one-sider in my head: IT'S HIM IT'S HIM HE'S TALKING TO ASH AND THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT ME AND HE'S EXPLAINING WHY I AM HOW I AM IT'S HIM AND HE'LL KNOW MORE IT'S HIM IT'S HIM THEY'RE ASKING WHEN WE'RE COMING OVER AGAIN IT'S HIM IT'S HIM OH GOD without any punctuation, emphasis on the paranoid, and then I catch a snip and I think he's talking to a relative.
But you can never be too sure.
Back to the story, hmm?
(I can feel Neil's titillation as he reads this.)
So I hesitated.
And then I answered it.
Someone said hello back.
In my head: Is this... James? What, did he move again. I never got his new number. Hm.
And then, like the sound of God's hands smacking together, sudden realization.
It's him.
Oh shit
This was NOT in the planbook. I never realized how much control I had over my surroundings until he called.
Time and life shook hands and said goodbye
(Please refer to the first sentence now, as things are about to get thick.)
I painfully limp through a conversation full of, are you okay, yeah, you sound kinda ______, i'm fine, can i talk to you, silence, why are you quiet, i'm in a book store, oh sorry, silence, well, i was about to pay, can you call me after, maybe, think about it, silence, silence.
YOU WERE NOT SUPPOSED TO CALL.
So don't drink the water
Don't you breathe the air
I breeze through payment, walk straight to the Starbucks on the other side of Olive because I want to throw my stomach up. Grande raspberry mocha, what I would be getting at Bauhaus if I were closer and felt like walking six more blocks to Melrose.
People stare. I must've lost the color in my face again.
You're the spotlight, girl
I need coffee to placate the raging demon in my torso. It's hungry, it woke up and it's PISSED.
I ask them for a pen. I write on errant receipts.
He's not supposed to be calling me. I have some semblance of control over this and now all of that is gone. And now I have to scribble this out with my shitty shaking handwriting with the misplaced swoops and loops and curves. The raspberry hits first. I hate that. Why why WHY WHY was he calling me. WHY. Seriously. And why is it that I have to justify my reaction with my own morbid obsessions dealing with control. Who the FUCK does this besides me. Whom. I would really like to know, that I might meet them and slap a huge red mark into their disposition and demand they relinquish the shared portion of this fuckedupedness.
I bet you anything she put the raspberry on top because she forgot. It's not safe here. It's not safe in Lynnwood anymore. I am Losing Control over this. LOSING CONTROL. Oh but hello this is what you wanted isn't it. YOU WANTED TO LOSE ALL OF YOUR PRECIOUS FUCKING CONTROL.
We were aiming for the moon
We were shooting at the stars
What a mess.
What a god damned mess.
If he calls again, I'm not going to answer.
My thin waxy receipts with my blue words all over them, I can't help it. I didn't have my bag with me. I was petrified wood in that chair, welded to the seat and the window was letting the cold air outside through and into my very MARROW.
Oh God Oh God Oh God my heart has made a home in my throat, Sartre's Nausea in the back of my spine.
I can feel it welling again. Waxing. Expanding.
I've had this nausea for days now. The smells, the tastes, the touches, EVERYTHING about that was wrong in my head. Everything.
I had the safe word on the tip of my tongue, but how can anyone be poetic with a stranger's cock in their mouth.
I can't believe I chose a safe word I can't bear to speak.
I cried my eyes dry. I begged to be taken home. I am made of glass.
Too shy to use her own safe word.
I don't deserve any of this.
So surprised she stares out form her display case
So I endured it. Why? Because it's what I've done my entire life.
I relapsed.
I'm a mess.
I'm a mess.
Surefire disappointment up ahead
Let me say that first, so that when it stops making sense and you start wondering where this, like all the rest of it, is going, you can look back up to that first sentence, and say, "Well, that explains some, at least. Given that she never explains anything, and almost never says anything explicitly that we're able to comprehend wholly."
Oh, noose
Tied myself in
Tied myself too tight
You see, I would like to make sense. I would like to make so much sense, you have you ask yourself why you were expecting to have to ask questions. I would like to breathe eat and shit sense. I imagine being a rational creature with logic and credibility but I am made of none of these things and the best part is I know you all love it the less of these things that I have. Just sit back and absorb all of it, because I'm about to dump a whole load of unsense.
He called.
HE.
But I still can't focus on anything
(I say, I don't think you're quite getting this. You say to me, of course we're not, we never quite get it. But keep talking, because we love listening.)
HIM.
Ash.
Very few of you know who I mean when I say that. Even fewer, in fact only two of you know what happened Saturday night. And exactly none of you know, period. You don't know my side. You don't know the whole story, you couldn't put any two pieces together if I asked you to.
He called me on my cell phone. I don't have a landline, why would I have a landline. My phone, my beautiful Nokia 6800 was sitting on the tops of a shelf of books and it rang for half a second and I stared at it. I didn't recognize the number. 425, which meant it was up north somewhere, anywhere from the outskirts of North Seattle to Everett, really. And who the fuck do I know up there.
I'm looking for books, and I've found many, three so far in fact. I've found my three and looking for a fourth, a Bukowski. And it rings again only now it's not stopping. It's not stopping, and the woman next to me looks at it sitting there on the tops of the books and it's the same area code and number, perhaps, I didn't memorize the number. And I hesitate, because the last thing I want to deal with is someone whom I've forgotten the number of or never cared to put in my contacts list (and believe you me, EVERYONE I would ever care to get ahold of is in my contacts list).
I hesitated.
(Here, let me hand you the foreshadowing on a plate. A ceramic one, I guess. We don't have china here.)
PAUSE.
See, right now, I'm half-deaf (ears are full of fluid, thanks to being sick), and listening to my MUSIC, and trying to discern through this who Josiah's talking to, and in my paranoid schizo state I am having the following one-sider in my head: IT'S HIM IT'S HIM HE'S TALKING TO ASH AND THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT ME AND HE'S EXPLAINING WHY I AM HOW I AM IT'S HIM AND HE'LL KNOW MORE IT'S HIM IT'S HIM THEY'RE ASKING WHEN WE'RE COMING OVER AGAIN IT'S HIM IT'S HIM OH GOD without any punctuation, emphasis on the paranoid, and then I catch a snip and I think he's talking to a relative.
But you can never be too sure.
Back to the story, hmm?
(I can feel Neil's titillation as he reads this.)
So I hesitated.
And then I answered it.
Someone said hello back.
In my head: Is this... James? What, did he move again. I never got his new number. Hm.
And then, like the sound of God's hands smacking together, sudden realization.
It's him.
Oh shit
This was NOT in the planbook. I never realized how much control I had over my surroundings until he called.
Time and life shook hands and said goodbye
(Please refer to the first sentence now, as things are about to get thick.)
I painfully limp through a conversation full of, are you okay, yeah, you sound kinda ______, i'm fine, can i talk to you, silence, why are you quiet, i'm in a book store, oh sorry, silence, well, i was about to pay, can you call me after, maybe, think about it, silence, silence.
YOU WERE NOT SUPPOSED TO CALL.
So don't drink the water
Don't you breathe the air
I breeze through payment, walk straight to the Starbucks on the other side of Olive because I want to throw my stomach up. Grande raspberry mocha, what I would be getting at Bauhaus if I were closer and felt like walking six more blocks to Melrose.
People stare. I must've lost the color in my face again.
You're the spotlight, girl
I need coffee to placate the raging demon in my torso. It's hungry, it woke up and it's PISSED.
I ask them for a pen. I write on errant receipts.
He's not supposed to be calling me. I have some semblance of control over this and now all of that is gone. And now I have to scribble this out with my shitty shaking handwriting with the misplaced swoops and loops and curves. The raspberry hits first. I hate that. Why why WHY WHY was he calling me. WHY. Seriously. And why is it that I have to justify my reaction with my own morbid obsessions dealing with control. Who the FUCK does this besides me. Whom. I would really like to know, that I might meet them and slap a huge red mark into their disposition and demand they relinquish the shared portion of this fuckedupedness.
I bet you anything she put the raspberry on top because she forgot. It's not safe here. It's not safe in Lynnwood anymore. I am Losing Control over this. LOSING CONTROL. Oh but hello this is what you wanted isn't it. YOU WANTED TO LOSE ALL OF YOUR PRECIOUS FUCKING CONTROL.
We were aiming for the moon
We were shooting at the stars
What a mess.
What a god damned mess.
If he calls again, I'm not going to answer.
My thin waxy receipts with my blue words all over them, I can't help it. I didn't have my bag with me. I was petrified wood in that chair, welded to the seat and the window was letting the cold air outside through and into my very MARROW.
Oh God Oh God Oh God my heart has made a home in my throat, Sartre's Nausea in the back of my spine.
I can feel it welling again. Waxing. Expanding.
I've had this nausea for days now. The smells, the tastes, the touches, EVERYTHING about that was wrong in my head. Everything.
I had the safe word on the tip of my tongue, but how can anyone be poetic with a stranger's cock in their mouth.
I can't believe I chose a safe word I can't bear to speak.
I cried my eyes dry. I begged to be taken home. I am made of glass.
Too shy to use her own safe word.
I don't deserve any of this.
So surprised she stares out form her display case
So I endured it. Why? Because it's what I've done my entire life.
I relapsed.
I'm a mess.
3.11.2005
I just had this conversation with my brother.
Sawa: so taisa will be home before 10:30, and i'll be back at noon
Geist: okay. is he going to sleep or is he actually going to be back, like awake.
Sawa: no, we're sleeping over there.
Geist: okay.
Sawa: he'll be awake.
Geist: I made her cum tonight, and my hand smells like her.
Sawa: ...
Geist: haha "..." is fucking right.
Sawa: i am torn between pride and revolt.
Geist: what, it was just my hand.
Sawa: pleasing the ladies.. but he's my brother.. but he knows what he's doing.. but he's my BROTHER
Geist: XD
Sawa: so this gives me free reign to talk about how i gave josiah a blowjob today and bit his ribs and let him come in my mouth? come on now >_o
Geist: x.x *dies*
Sawa: SEE?!
Geist: I DIDNT GO INTO DETAIL, I SAID 2 THINGS. YOU LET YOUR IMAGINATION RUN WILD
Sawa: "Geist: and my hand smells like her"
Geist: K
Sawa: THAT'S ENOUGH
Geist: fine. my bad. haha he came in your mouth.
Sawa: so taisa will be home before 10:30, and i'll be back at noon
Geist: okay. is he going to sleep or is he actually going to be back, like awake.
Sawa: no, we're sleeping over there.
Geist: okay.
Sawa: he'll be awake.
Geist: I made her cum tonight, and my hand smells like her.
Sawa: ...
Geist: haha "..." is fucking right.
Sawa: i am torn between pride and revolt.
Geist: what, it was just my hand.
Sawa: pleasing the ladies.. but he's my brother.. but he knows what he's doing.. but he's my BROTHER
Geist: XD
Sawa: so this gives me free reign to talk about how i gave josiah a blowjob today and bit his ribs and let him come in my mouth? come on now >_o
Geist: x.x *dies*
Sawa: SEE?!
Geist: I DIDNT GO INTO DETAIL, I SAID 2 THINGS. YOU LET YOUR IMAGINATION RUN WILD
Sawa: "Geist: and my hand smells like her"
Geist: K
Sawa: THAT'S ENOUGH
Geist: fine. my bad. haha he came in your mouth.
3.09.2005
Soll Es Das Gewesen Sein?
I wanna take you on a roller coaster
What have I gotten myself into.
WHAT.
HAVE I DONE.
Wanna push it right over the line
I feel like my palms are bleeding. I feel like they're pouring over the keys and all I can do is keep typing, tak tak tak. How pious.
This He is really pissing me off.
TURN YOUR MUSIC DOWN, YOU FUCK.
Wanna push it right over the line
Disjointed.
I feel dislocated.
I feel transmutated.
She said that I might want to think about playing with form. I told her that I'd rather turn everything into a story.
I told Jade my story, my Monday story and my Tuesday story, and all she could do was gape, or at least that how I envisioned her face. Her muscles slack. I wonder what would've happened had she found herself among the sugar on the kitchen floor.
The line that you draw when you draw me near
So he makes me take a nap, and I get too hot and overheat and feel sick. We wake up much past when he said he'd get me up, because he fell asleep with me, and as snuggly as that was, I didn't even want to sleep in the first place because I'm trying to get myself back to normal schedule and not wanting to nap in the midde of work every day.
I wa
I wa
I wa
I wa
For some reason, he gets pissy because I say (light as I can manage, because he's always telling me how harsh I'm speaking when I'm not), "Are we going to go?" after I'm ready and he's sitting there reading something for Warcraft. He shits a brick, I tell him I don't want to go with him (because he's being pissy), and he says something, and then I just say I don't want to go at all. If I had left then with him, we wouldn't have stopped squabbling. If I had left without him, I would've gotten the usual "you can't leave because i won't let you," or maybe the "fine, do what you want, but i'll be livid for no reason."
So I stayed.
I wanna leave you far behind
I wanna take you on a roller coaster
What have I gotten myself into.
WHAT.
HAVE I DONE.
Wanna push it right over the line
I feel like my palms are bleeding. I feel like they're pouring over the keys and all I can do is keep typing, tak tak tak. How pious.
TURN YOUR MUSIC DOWN, YOU FUCK.
Wanna push it right over the line
Disjointed.
I feel dislocated.
I feel transmutated.
She said that I might want to think about playing with form. I told her that I'd rather turn everything into a story.
I told Jade my story, my Monday story and my Tuesday story, and all she could do was gape, or at least that how I envisioned her face. Her muscles slack. I wonder what would've happened had she found herself among the sugar on the kitchen floor.
The line that you draw when you draw me near
So he makes me take a nap, and I get too hot and overheat and feel sick. We wake up much past when he said he'd get me up, because he fell asleep with me, and as snuggly as that was, I didn't even want to sleep in the first place because I'm trying to get myself back to normal schedule and not wanting to nap in the midde of work every day.
I wa
I wa
I wa
I wa
For some reason, he gets pissy because I say (light as I can manage, because he's always telling me how harsh I'm speaking when I'm not), "Are we going to go?" after I'm ready and he's sitting there reading something for Warcraft. He shits a brick, I tell him I don't want to go with him (because he's being pissy), and he says something, and then I just say I don't want to go at all. If I had left then with him, we wouldn't have stopped squabbling. If I had left without him, I would've gotten the usual "you can't leave because i won't let you," or maybe the "fine, do what you want, but i'll be livid for no reason."
So I stayed.
I wanna leave you far behind
3.07.2005
I can feel the veins in my eyes popping.
Here's my poetry final. If anyone CARES.
(Not I, said the cat.)
Kumo no Su
Black-yellow spider
Spinning a web between my
Cold parted fingers
Small House
In a small town
Responsibility thickly laid
Dignity stripped away
By a professional asshole
Games to replace parenting
And judgment forced
Where none should be made
A deceptive view
From the back porch
Body preservative
Packaged in cans
Drunk with fervor
All around him
As he tries to make
A world for himself
A Falling Out
Awaken to scalpels biting into skin
They open you wide with their hands
Remove your heart and
Lay a blade in its place
Bring you back together with
Twin rows of holes and black thread
A violated and strengthless body left to
Lick stitched wounds with a dry tongue
We Are Machines
Rows of heads
Neat clean paper with messy stained hands
Pens that scratch and sniff blue lines
Bunched fingers into fists
Line after line after line
As the language falls apart through our fingers
Empty skies above the ceiling
Flower-encrusted trees and daffodils in grass
And they sit there in the room
In their plastic chairs
In their inorganic existence
As the language falls apart through their fingers
The City
Staring up into expansion
Insomnia my self-inflicted gift
Sucking on corn syrup flavored plastic
Lighting matches off the edge of my rage
Synthetic sounds from the speakers
Bassline is my leaded heartbeat
Scraping the hours away
That wasn't too painful, was it?
I should really be in class, shouldn't I.
Here's my poetry final. If anyone CARES.
(Not I, said the cat.)
Kumo no Su
Black-yellow spider
Spinning a web between my
Cold parted fingers
Small House
In a small town
Responsibility thickly laid
Dignity stripped away
By a professional asshole
Games to replace parenting
And judgment forced
Where none should be made
A deceptive view
From the back porch
Body preservative
Packaged in cans
Drunk with fervor
All around him
As he tries to make
A world for himself
A Falling Out
Awaken to scalpels biting into skin
They open you wide with their hands
Remove your heart and
Lay a blade in its place
Bring you back together with
Twin rows of holes and black thread
A violated and strengthless body left to
Lick stitched wounds with a dry tongue
We Are Machines
Rows of heads
Neat clean paper with messy stained hands
Pens that scratch and sniff blue lines
Bunched fingers into fists
Line after line after line
As the language falls apart through our fingers
Empty skies above the ceiling
Flower-encrusted trees and daffodils in grass
And they sit there in the room
In their plastic chairs
In their inorganic existence
As the language falls apart through their fingers
The City
Staring up into expansion
Insomnia my self-inflicted gift
Sucking on corn syrup flavored plastic
Lighting matches off the edge of my rage
Synthetic sounds from the speakers
Bassline is my leaded heartbeat
Scraping the hours away
That wasn't too painful, was it?
I should really be in class, shouldn't I.
I know you're reading this. You've told me you do. I'm alright; you haven't heard from me much. I've been reluctant to communicate with the outside world because of the Sims 2 expansion still. We all should know how I am with my Sims.
I drug your ghost across the country
The music's leaked into my every step. My feet smack the ground and all I can hear is the beat of a song. I drip with prose. I'm made of melodies.
And it rose like thunder
Clapped under our hands
I want to grab people I walk past and just dance dance dance with them, turn them and let myself fall into the hum in my head, let it buzz and shake and split me open wide.
You're the good things
Yeah that's you
Yeah that's you
Yeah
I told him I think I'm Buddhist and he kind of laughed at me. Told me I shouldn't call myself something if I don't have to actively change myself to conform to it. Western thinking's shat all over his mind, but it's okay. I'm just beginning to pull my viewpoint back further myself.
We had our theist/atheist argument again, and I still thing it's stupid, still think he's stupid, but we move on. We'll come back to it again. It'll pick at me. We'll leave it again. Just another weathered statue in the memory palace, losing its features and losing its weight.
We both -- He and I -- are changing at different paces and still fumble with things like what's most important and how things should sound. I wish he was as forgiving as I am, maybe then I wouldn't feel like I need to be perfect sometimes. Always the jabs.
You're just making words up.
That sentence's grammar was horrible.
So pretentious sometimes.
Being lazy again.
Like bee stings, they are.
This bassline is my heartbeat.
Shiranai koto to mo ienai ga
Katabou katsuida oboe wa nai
Jiyuu o takaku kawasareta ki mo suru ga
Kokoro made yasuku utta oboe wa nai
I drug your ghost across the country
The music's leaked into my every step. My feet smack the ground and all I can hear is the beat of a song. I drip with prose. I'm made of melodies.
And it rose like thunder
Clapped under our hands
I want to grab people I walk past and just dance dance dance with them, turn them and let myself fall into the hum in my head, let it buzz and shake and split me open wide.
You're the good things
Yeah that's you
Yeah that's you
Yeah
I told him I think I'm Buddhist and he kind of laughed at me. Told me I shouldn't call myself something if I don't have to actively change myself to conform to it. Western thinking's shat all over his mind, but it's okay. I'm just beginning to pull my viewpoint back further myself.
We had our theist/atheist argument again, and I still thing it's stupid, still think he's stupid, but we move on. We'll come back to it again. It'll pick at me. We'll leave it again. Just another weathered statue in the memory palace, losing its features and losing its weight.
We both -- He and I -- are changing at different paces and still fumble with things like what's most important and how things should sound. I wish he was as forgiving as I am, maybe then I wouldn't feel like I need to be perfect sometimes. Always the jabs.
You're just making words up.
That sentence's grammar was horrible.
So pretentious sometimes.
Being lazy again.
Like bee stings, they are.
This bassline is my heartbeat.
Shiranai koto to mo ienai ga
Katabou katsuida oboe wa nai
Jiyuu o takaku kawasareta ki mo suru ga
Kokoro made yasuku utta oboe wa nai
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