waste; because nothing ever mattered.

Everything tonight feels incredibly strange. My apartment feels like somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere outside my window something is burning because it smells like fire. My fingers also smell like perfume, but it isn't mine. Everytime you wake up next to me I swear it will never happen again, but it does, and I don't understand what you don't see. My birthday seems like a blip-like it never even took place. I'm listening to the in ear park album and I can't tell if it simply compliments my mood or is a catalyst for how insane I feel. And I should be watching hours of lynda illustrator tutorials but I can't concentrate. I can't stop thinking about where you are each minute and what you're thinking. This all becomes increasingly more consuming and i'm terrified of what that might mean. And my mother made me a chair. And I keep finding these great old pictures of children. (old makes me think of nostalgia and that is a term I now care nothing for whatsoever and maybe even as far as hate) And i'm a liar (but you already knew that, didn't you?) I feel exceedingly ill at ease.




And in the morning comes, you don't need to be so honest.
I cursed these legs I walked on.
No one does it like you. I tried so hard.
But no one does it like you.
But I tried so hard.
I tried so hard.