i died
and on the third day i rose again and life still
kinda sucked and i was still pretty sad about
all the stuff i was sad about the end
psa to my ~50 some followers lol: from now on, i will
be posting my writing here: sobsohard.tumblr.com
daps <8 !! :) :)
thinking about you made me sad so i wrote this
i thought about you today.
it has been eight weeks since i stopped
‘fucking with your heart’ and four days
since i last hacked into your facebook account
to see who you were messaging. if i were god
i would kill myself and just let the world be,
but it would probably still suck, and
i would probably still exist somehow, since
i would be god and the person i am right now
would continue being shitty.
sometimes you text me at two in the morning
so we can fuck to find a scapegoat
that makes us both feel okay
about being shitty people.
(and when i say ‘sometimes’
i actually only mean ‘that one time’, but it’s too
hard to accept that letting me go
has been easy for you,
so i tell myself otherwise instead,
and act like you still love me and like i’m
still happy and not this disposable mess)
but to be honest, i like it way more
when you call saying something about how
you ‘may or may not have decapitated
your writer’s block’ or ‘i think
you’re as sad as me.’
SEEING JEFF MANGUM TONIGHT
biding my time in brooklyn for a few nights
if anyone wants to be awkward and meet up
and smoke and get coffee or drinks or something
just message me
sometimes i feel things
i’m going to start apologizing for having
real human emotions; i think it’s necessary
to announce how i am feeling at every
single moment of my life. right now i am
neutral.
it is strange that i am able to feel
unaffected by my existence,
by my being nothing.
i am nothing.
earlier today my grandmother apologized
for crying about her husband being dead.
“i’m sorry that i’m crying,” she said.
“i am uncomfortable,” i said.
a poem i wrote instead of thinking about you after i hung up on you for telling me to stop fucking with your heart
crowds like overflowing bathtubs of selfishness
and i created this or chased for this and then
found her instead of four months was all we had
in the summer where cold feet stepped between
railroad ties of glass and sweat but you turned us
into demands failing to overdose on intimacy
in the hallways of old high schools we used to
forget we were walking through as lonely as infants
eating lunchtime and cellular sex until fucking
some black dumb blast of disillusion
had our heads falling off from coming
too much for her own good
death = sleep forever
i would never kill myself in the privacy of pills—a door closed
with music playing, my head pressed into a pillow [thinking something calm];
my family would never notice or just assume i was asleep.
three days
i turned my phone off for three days in an attempt
to avoid you and your pain which consequently always
ends up being my pain and my avoidance of
everyone that isn’t you.
day two you emailed me asking about our plans
for the following day and why my phone was turned off
and i didn’t respond because when i asked you out i was
feeling especially social and that night my depression
returned in full force and i felt sad and like myself again
and decided that seeing anyone would just
end up being stressful.
day three i reached out to katherine through twitter and
she invited me over to take methylone with her and her
friend emma who had blue eyes and was turning
twenty one at midnight.
the bar was full of lonely people drinking multi-colored things and
laughing and talking, pretending not to be lonely and i wondered
if i was one of them too and then thought about going to the bathroom
to call you but realized they don’t have payphones in bars anymore
so i ordered another drink instead and asked emma if i could kiss her
and she said that’d be alright.
honesty
you are not the girl of my dreams;
some pornstar dwells there, and
that will never change.
listen closely
you are entirely worthless,
get the fuck up and do something.
you’re wasting away; so quit sulking.
this is a mic check for the masses. every
dream’s a pipe-dream, and from here on out,
not a single thing will ever be handed to you.
start a fire, or set yourself on fire—any attention
is good attention, or something like that; everything
you want will never be in reach unless you fucking try.
so make a spectacle of yourself in an effort to be happy,
step on as many toes as possible—it’s good they know you’re
there—and most of all, find happiness in anything,
because if you don’t, no one else will.
