Pretty

People are really so simple. They can be so fucking simple, that by the time you realize that they really are what they are.. its too late to change anything.

I have a crush on a boy. I have a crush on another boy. I have another crush on another boy. I like having options, you know? A fallback. And when you're as awkward as I am.. even a twinge of prettiness amounts to nothing after a while.

Write like a teenage pro. You like someone and they don't notice you.
Blog number 113, remember? Don't you get tired of writing the same words?
Don't you find yourself a mess? There's a sale at Macy's. Find a dress and confirm yourself. Dimple here and there? Here. I'll stab it for you if you'll just shut up.


I hate beauty.
I'm in love with beauty.
I'd like to murder vanity in a cold and desperate fashion.
I want everyone to love for no reason at all.
I'm tired of reasons.
I'm tired of myself trying to find reasons.
I don't have any luck in finding mutual relations. That's all there is to it.
I'm tired of connections sucking all the life out of me, I'm tired of waiting to be satisfied. My wish being, that as cease to exist I will observe everyone, like some angelic creature slowly pushing on the inevitable without a hint of presence.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
I.

Haha! How I loathe the word I.

Problems,  problems. Everyone, everyone. Everyone has problems. The world, a giant pandemonic hellhole of sex and earned sweat, white pills and cringed muscles.. and I, being a wax bubble consumed inside of it.
I have a bible in one hand.
I have a fork of leftovers in my hair.
I have two of my best walking shoes.
I have a heart stir-fried in butter.
An application with lots of lines and letters in ink. A dirt shovel.

...
I.

I'm digging to china. Its far, but I have goals.. goals and a short attention span.
I hope to find the core of the earth while I work. I hope it burns me alive as I realize that my thoughts are mere skin tissue.

And who knows, maybe in the midst of such a burning substance I'll find someone pulling me out and asking why I'm acting like such a fucking idiot. And then as I do regain consciousness, I'll tell them I don't have a fucking clue as to why I do anything, for that matter. But thank you.
Thank you for giving me some rationality.