swim seams in cluttered
dreams, god in between
the light beams - no space
unkept by him, full to the
edges of the fabric
a carefully calculated scream
manipulated daydreams
all the bars are full at ten
past or before ten, sloshed
clocks, someone spiked
the punch again
("aren't we in a bar?")
I thought we left this place
a long time ago, but it's ten past ten
trying to remove a face
from a head, failing miserably
it's such a mess
the subject of my adorations
because I made too much of a mess
switching my own face in the progress
(I felt too mean
to leave him with nothing)
(and now, it seems,
I've been left with nothing)
I won't even see him again?
ten past ten, only in my delusions
do I think I can
warp ten past ten
to ten past nothing
it seems that
I want everything, god
I want everything
-
I'm gonna ramble for a bit, feel free to skip: I think I'm just done writing on wattpad, for like, ever. I've grown out of this place completely. I don't get the same enjoyment out of making stories on here, or editing photos for the covers(although, tbh, those were always pretty fun). all the connections I have on here have moved on. I feel like I'm living in a ghost town or something.
on another note, life has gotten better for me. exponentially better than where I was at during the beginning of paraphernalia(...basically suicidal), but also more stressful. it's kinda weird, though, because I find myself enjoying the stress. I want to see how much I can take.
I look forward to things now. it's taken me like five years to get that feeling. I hope everyone who reads my stupid poetry on this godforsaken, teenager angst riddled website feels that too, one day.
later skaters(possibly forever? maybe I'll publish another collection on here, because I don't have the heart to delete my acccount(yet)).
