Dear diary

Waiting for what? Waitin for twat 8th grade me asks. Well, just waiting. I don't like to hurry but for when everything in me spills out and I need it now. I tried to buy a diary today. There were no coincidences today. There were no diaries at this shitty Art store, and I am on again off again, and the only thing I'm rushing home to is a different love in an unfeeling house. I finally shoved something inside my rotten little body. I've been quiet for days. Some might threaten, too quiet. I am shutting all of my holes: to breathing, eating, singing, shitting. I am a near empty glob of no exits, no entrances. Even my words have no place to go. That was my diary entry.

somewhere

I am a little beast in here, a beast for you 

babe.

who has fingered me? don't stop touching on me. don't use your words at me, leave your swoll fingers afar from. I'm grippable. take my city from me, push it out my holes, fill my brain with other-fluff, the stuffs of else. I already knew, read ahead in all the books of this. once I was at your house and we were fighting, I was in the bathroom and you put on fade into you by mazzy star and I started to weep. I thought it was an example I could grip, of you connecting to me. and you hadn't any idea I felt your playing this song to be a reaching out for me. I started to cry because it felt like we were in the same place for once in awhile. you were hearing & responding & sending it back out. but then you changed the song in the middle, and I looked at my tearface in the mirror and the illusion was spoiled. welcome back, I said to us. but always remember, to never understand should never be a surprise maker.

<no title> (2/24/13)

The cardigans! More on those sweaters... wait... what is that... it's like a sweater, but it's cut down the middle, or yours has holes now, and the scent is strong like me, and like old man

chasttity

 will I ever be as pure as you?

I have had sex with over five million people

I could name them all on

the worl'd

on the longest paper

I could write a continuous manuscript

on a roll of parchment,

but does that change it 

but doesn't that change it?

filled with all of the sorries

doing the let me explains

urging the hear, here's whies

switch ears, I'll give another

moral blunder

your pink holes

in your pink head

there is always a you, you

and it is about you

but

we like it when

the you changes

and you are you a new you

and the you doesn't hold

to the things about me, you know

and I hold to me

and you hold me like me

like the millions have held

like I'm held in the millions more