the nature of the regime

it's strange, and then, not so strange.
we're all at our happiest when we're down.
he's praying for a problem -
just so he can say he's got them.
the best stories are the ones with the most tragic endings.
disney never quite got it right.

fuckedup&lookingup

generally

i see the world in papercuts and slow motion.
not a pretty girl. just a sad song that we can never quite remember all the words to.
a face you can't quite recall.
the name you think you might have once heard.
i try and catch the clock at 11:11, just to pray to a god i don't believe in to save this/me/the world.
television shows the minds of our generation destroyed by madness and too many insurance commercials.
maybe they're two of the same.

i guess all i wanted to say today was thank you.
for holding my hand too tight.
for ensuring i always watch my back.
for being the blood under my fingernails.

WE are what we've been waiting for.

still here.

a working class hero is something to be

your mouth is a cannon, set to fire in my direction.
this is all just practice for you.
strange. this bitch is used to be beaten down -
words go past the line. you know how to shake me up.

i only ever cry over the man i lost -
not the words the one who is left throws into my chest.
this fire is too hot to touch without getting burnt.
they all learn.
eventually.

i hate knock, knock jokes

i'm sorry, you're a long way from home.
that candle will only take you so far -
it's burning at both ends, and your time is almost up.

knock, knock.
"who's there?"
"fate."

i am not a pretty girl

today was a good day.
maybe.
i like watching my phone ring.
i collect missed calls like you collect lovers.
sorry, darling, i wasn't made to be broken (by you).

some day, everything i say will make sense.
that day i'll be dead and gone, and this'll just be the ramblings of a girl never really known by anyone.
not even herself.

i have the world's smallest violin sat on my shoulder.
and i play it fabulously.
yo.

my head feels safe in this place

home is where ever i can shut my eyes without flashes of nightmares.
i'm still searching.
johnny, i'm sorry. i promise i can't change.
a flamboyant emergency.
this attention whore put a bullet in her head on the ballroom floor.
tell me, how does it feel to be perfect?
to know that tomorrow will always be better?
to achieve everything you set your heart on?
to hear keys in front doors and not feel your heart skip one beat too many?

nothing scares me more than knowing i brought this on myself.
help.

fuck 'morality'

i'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.