ithyle

I sure doubt you'll hear it. This is song number three and goodbye. Erin, you're burning my eyes. You wrote that you're leaving. I wish i could miss you this time. Los Angeles. No angel of mine. I want to buy you minutes. No, I want for the night that we met to go on forever instead. You keep living in still life. You live...
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Three days in my bed. She's gone to LA. She broke my confidence. She's so new to me, I stumble in tongues. The taste of sweaty moments, her scent in my lungs. And there she'll be, crushing in. It begins. Shadow my heartbeat and swallow my scribblings and I'm reinventing me.

Five days under my breath, "Is this a game she's playing? Something I'll regret?"...
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lacking confidence i appeal to your story, i'm drawn into this. unending hope becomes crushing disappointment. is this what it's like to be dead? balancing on the wire between birth and the ending. this i understand. so i press pen to paper. this is my letter. this is a crime scene.

there we were, standing around in the soft may light with fixed eyes and determined airs, open mouths and stutter steps. that sure inturrupted everything. "but, done is done.", that's what my father said. i've grown tired of catching every dirty look that's thrown my way. lessons learned and sinking hearts framed in dramatic departures.

marin county is fucking hot... i really don't think i like that much heat all at once. and also, i love how people get all wird if you post something that might offend... keep it cool, kids.

Journals are for Faggots.

i'm not going to do this much... go to
http://www.livejournal.com/users/ithyle