Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sweetheart is written on top of my cup. I was everything before it was. Goth before you hit the 6th grade, Industrial before that's what it was called, Punk before it was reborn into your eyes. I had my first tattoo before you kids couldn't wait to turn 18. Piercing before I could walk down the block to have it done, before it was Safe and Sanitary, and something people did on their lunch hour. So now that everything has been taken away from me, after I've out grown it, out lived it, out done it, there's nothing left to do. Except be the person in my family that does not flip out. The person who's phone number is written in pencil, because it changes every 6 months. To tell you the truth, my Every Other Year Break Down is coming. This is the warning sign. I've heard rumors that being alone is the human condition. It's hard to swallow when your baby brother has grown faster than you. I think this is hard because I'm tired of moving, but it's all I want to do. Even here, I fit because no one fits, because everyone is transient, because everyone's lights are one, but no one is home. I've been here 6 months now. It's time to go. That's as long as I can hold my attention. It's fleeting. I'm sorry. This morning, avoiding looking at my face, I saw the skin on my chest, specifically, the hollow below my throat. I'll learn to appreciate all of the things you never see in order to make myself happy. 2:11 p.m. - 2003-06-28 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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