Often I find that I have to talk myself out of liking people so much...for my own sanity and for the sake of this pathetic, trembling organ in my chest. I must be cursed. Marlena came over, the inevitable happened...kinda don't wanna talk about it, but let's just say I'm starting to see a pattern. What a sick, lonely feeling. Sometimes I am emotional and I need to cut myself with a plastic boomerang.
For a while I thought no one liked me...well I was wrong. Apparently lot of girls like me. I'm just not dating material I guess. Is it because I'm psychotic? Cause if it is, I'll go back on medication...I'll even take the sheep's head out of the bath tub.
I continue to waste away the hours lusting after frivolous fripperies, fine knacks for ladies. By that I mean, a new pair of Docs.
I'm desperately in love with this dream I had. How terrible, intangible things I may never see again. I'd give anything for it to come true. Little dead dreams in boxes...paper, paper obsolete. Fuck my dreams...oddly conflicting tendenciesthey started out as nightmares, then went to elaborate lengths resolving everything happily. For example, in one dream I moved into a dorm room full of odditieshalf-finished walls, an enormous dusty storage closet (stacked with boxes labeled "lolita cosplay"??), twisty little staircases that led to other rooms where vaguely sinister people warned me to mind my own business as suspicious meat-processing machines whirred in the background. It was all very eerie and largely unpleasant. Yet somehow, once three of my five roommates had been killed off, it morphed into a cannibal love story... I started dating the wicked kitchen girl and together we squashed people up and made horrible food out of them. And what followed was a highly involved chronicle of our trials and tribulations among the meatgrinding machines. And hot cannibal sex. She was so beautiful..in that dirty, jaded sort of way. I don't expect anyone to understand. Or care for that matter. Blah, blah self deprecating this and that. You love it!
For a while I thought no one liked me...well I was wrong. Apparently lot of girls like me. I'm just not dating material I guess. Is it because I'm psychotic? Cause if it is, I'll go back on medication...I'll even take the sheep's head out of the bath tub.
I continue to waste away the hours lusting after frivolous fripperies, fine knacks for ladies. By that I mean, a new pair of Docs.
I'm desperately in love with this dream I had. How terrible, intangible things I may never see again. I'd give anything for it to come true. Little dead dreams in boxes...paper, paper obsolete. Fuck my dreams...oddly conflicting tendenciesthey started out as nightmares, then went to elaborate lengths resolving everything happily. For example, in one dream I moved into a dorm room full of odditieshalf-finished walls, an enormous dusty storage closet (stacked with boxes labeled "lolita cosplay"??), twisty little staircases that led to other rooms where vaguely sinister people warned me to mind my own business as suspicious meat-processing machines whirred in the background. It was all very eerie and largely unpleasant. Yet somehow, once three of my five roommates had been killed off, it morphed into a cannibal love story... I started dating the wicked kitchen girl and together we squashed people up and made horrible food out of them. And what followed was a highly involved chronicle of our trials and tribulations among the meatgrinding machines. And hot cannibal sex. She was so beautiful..in that dirty, jaded sort of way. I don't expect anyone to understand. Or care for that matter. Blah, blah self deprecating this and that. You love it!
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i can relate though...my pattern is that they disappear without a trace out of nowhere. i seem to only become attracted to emotionally broken women.