I'm Burning Every Bridge That I've Crossed, To Find Some Beautiful Place to Get Lost

Today marks the
First Day
Of change.
But, I wonder,
How can a tiny, orange and white capsule
Change my life,
My brain,
My functioning?

Its 7:05.
I get on the bus.
I feel the urge to study everyone around me.
The Asian girl sleeping, the kid I smoke with but never got to talk to, the preppy girl with a big poof of hair on her head, the elderly woman who wishes she took a different route.
I get off the bus.
I go to the cafeteria to get in some social time before school.
I have 10 minutes...
I can't stop talking.
"I feel so high right now."
"Did you just wake and bake?"
"Nah, Vyvanse."
"Shit, man, I take the same stuff!"
All day, I keep telling everyone how great it feels.
I can't shut up.
English-History comes around, I've raised my hand 5 times in one period.
The norm for me in E.H. is 5 times a week.
Its lunch time...
My boyfriend hasn't said much to me but, today,
I don't care.
I don't care, I don't care, I don't want to care.

Its 5 days later.
I have no will power.
My brain can no longer formulate my once-creative lines.
My daydreaming has not stopped; I feel the
Need to daydream more often.
I want to step outside of the class,
Step outside of the school,
and step into someone else's world.
I want to feel,
I want to be madly in love with
Everything I do,
Everything I touch.
Its as if I've vomited all over my aunt's rug, and I'm
Crying because I want to fix it.
But my life is not a finely-woven oversized cloth to
Cover ugly pieces of a house you didn't design; its not something to
Step on.

Be Forever With My Poison Arms Around You.

Someone's always coming around here, trailing some new kill
Says I've seen your picture on a hundred dollar bill
And what's a game of chance to you, to him is one of real skill
So glad to meet you
Angeles

Picking up the ticket shows, there's money to be made
Go on and lose the gamble, that's the history of the trade
And you add up all the cards left to play to zero
And sign up with evil
Angeles
Don't start me trying now
'Cos I'm all over it
Angeles

I could make you satisfied in everything you do
All your secret wishes could right now be coming true
And be forever with my poison arms around you
No one's gonna fool around with us
No one's gonna fool around with us
So glad to meet you
Angeles

-Angeles by Elliott Smith.-

JUST A NOTE:
I'm tragically in love with Elliott Smith.
You'll be seeing lots of his lyrics on this page.
Whenever I post his lyrics, it usually means the lyrics somehow portray what I'm going through or I'm just madly fascinated by the phrases.
In this case, I'm going through a bit of this.

Stretched && Piled Faux Distressed Letters.

here's where I disappeared
where I fell off the pier
and to be rescued I did wait
I watched waterbugs skate
as they draw figure eights as they draw
from the bottom of the lake as they draw
I watched waterbugs skate as they draw
bottom of the lake I watched the waterbugs skate

memories like mohair sweaters
stretched and piled faux distressed letters
moose's horns and figure eights
white plastic bags in search of mates
what suffocates the land
in the memory of garbage can
memory of garbage can

you can't be found when the bell rings
you weren't there that day for the naming of things

-The Naming of Things by Andrew Bird.-

Thank God Its Fatal.

If I didn't love you so much,
I wouldn't care to the extent that I do.
But its tucked away.
I don't show how much I care...
It makes me involuntarily
Vulnerable.
My eyes don't see it,
His eyes don't see it,
My brain doesn't see it,
His brain sees it.
My heart sees it,
His heart doesn't.
The months we once wore each others' smiles
Upon our lips
Have faded.
I finally opened my heart to you,
But I'm cutting it off again.
Distance.
Do you feel the distance?

Something is Not Right With Me; I'm Trying Not to Let It Show.

Trying to wrap up my many thoughts, there goes the siren again.
Right now, its real; its physical.
Everyday, its real; its mental.
My wrists sting from Friday night's mental breakdown.
My body aches, recovering from the soft red pills shoved down my pulsing throat.
I'm itching.
Anger has no synonym when its swelling up inside of me.
Everyday is a day to endure.
I feel more when I want to feel less.
I care more when I want to be apathetic.
There is no quick-fix in this fast-paced life,
But let me know when you find one.

An Ordinary Day.

These ramblings are useless.
These days are numbered.
These thoughts have no meaning, but they exist.