friday nights are the worst
I’ve noticed a pattern. Friday nights are the worst. Because here I am in an empty kitchen for the umpteenth time. Because electricity can kill you, and theres something so dead about the beam of a fluorescent lightbulb. Have you ever wondered if you were one of those ones, those ones who should have just withered away a long time ago? I’m sorry that 9 months later I can’t fit into that beautiful dress you bought me. I’ve worked past the flesh and the bone, and now my own heart is deteriorating. Forgive me, but I’m tired. Because music doesn’t take me to the places it used to. My bed isn’t as warm. I keep turning my right hand over, to keep the future in tact. Since a palm reader once told me ‘you have a marvelous future coming, the pain will soon give back.’ Born at the pacific, knowing the atlantic is where I belong. Will I ever get there? How can I see? Night upon night it hurts. Aren’t these years supposed to be fun? Soon im going to rip the flowers out of my hair, but petals wont be the only things in my hands. I’ve grown so accustomed to this that I know the smell before the rain. I sing in sorrow, laugh in pain. You told me that I didn’t have a chance because I’m just like everyone else. I’m sorry for being human. And how fucking ironic that I can help everyone who crosses my path yet be denied the title. And how ironic that I can help all but myself.
We all bleed. We all cry. And for the past months I have flown, as nothing but ruby river.
To all who have wronged me, I am a zombie.
Goodnight.
12:15
