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| Tuesday, April 24th, 2007 | | |
Posted on April 24, 2007 @ 3:09 pm
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le 24 avril.
j-walk list for le 24 avril. *3:2 ratio *left hand wins *south park discussion in first block *algebra test next block *french test après ça *i have to remember how to conjugate boire *je bois, tu bois, il/elle/on boit, nous bouvons, vous bouvez, ils/elles bouvient *hoover called dave chappelle a genius *i think i spelled his name wrong *i hope we don't do exit slips in english *i don't see why people get offended so easily *just chill out for once *first block smells funky *i want to write something [meaningful] *i can't remember the subjunctive *fight club was an excellent movie *i kept being all "wrong" *rachel mentioned grey's anatomy *jennifer watches the disney channel *i need to find out when yearbooks go on sale *pomade makes my hair feel gross *avi's hair is everywhere *i want to go to a spa *i wonder who would [want to] go with me *i need to get the stone in my ring replaced *i wonder if ticketmaster wil take my ticket back *this is a really pretty pink *i want to dye my hair *i want to go shopping *i only make little mistakes in math *so i'm failing my algebra test pretty much *all i ever do is make little mistakes *good for nothing *letdown *little mistakes *stupid mistakes *it's at school now *please don't fall *you can break when you get home i am society's number one loser apologies are being mailed as we speak i count the bricks to pass the time 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... waiting for you to come to my rescue "some of our biggest heroes were losers" only this time i'll come back with "but they had talent" 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11... broken speakers left over excuses day late announcements i've missed another event put some music to your words 12, 13, 14... cords snake from every direction we rely on materialistic beings tangible things if you can't touch it, you don't want it fuck love 15, 16, 17, 18, 19... everything everywhere's offering help pretending to know pretending to care shed some false tears for you gain your trust 20, 21, 22... calculate the amount of time it'll take to get your secrets on the internet on the news in the paper predators and prey we're the weaker beings 23, 24, 25, 26... parasites on our friends hosts to our enemies competing for the same thing wanting nothing but to be ourselves creativity is nothing unless you express it 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32... lists of strenghts hidden weaknesses spoken secrets you write in code painted pictures of emotions don't share with anyone karma what comes around it goes around dripping blood isn't the answer nor swallowing pills nooses and chairs aren't close falling tears wash it away jumping from subject to subject, that's me messy scrawl and bright colours mixed up words and confused expressions what more could you ask for if you wanted the truth? Current Music: everything we had-theacademyis... |
| Saturday, April 14th, 2007 | | |
Posted on April 14, 2007 @ 5:22 pm
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Handcuffs. By Danielle.
Ryan was laying there, naked, exposed, vulnerable. His hands were tied to the headboard. Brendon was perched over him, his honey eyes devouring every inch of Ryan hey could get at. He wanted to grab the younger boy by his hair and crash their lips together, but the more he struggled the more his wrists seemed to burn.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself baby,” Brendon said leaning down to nip at the skin beneath Ryan’s ear causing the older boy to whimper.
“Brend,” Ryan moaned his hips twitching up against Brendon as the younger boy bit at his collarbone.
“Shh,” Brendon breathed kissing Ryan lightly, the older boy trying to follow his lips as they parted. When did he get so fucking needy? Brendon slid down Ryan’s body, but instead of touching the whimpering boy beneath him, his hand searched for something underneath the bed.
“Bren—“ Ryan began but his breath hitched when he saw what was in the younger boy’s hand. Since when does Brendon have whipped cream under his bed? Smirking Brendon parted Ryan’s lips placing a line of the fluffy mix along his bottom lip. Ryan trying not to lick it off, soon enough Brendon was taking care of that for him, sucking on Ryan’s bottom lip, already trailing cream along his neck. Slowly Brendon moved down Ryan’s slender form with his teeth and tongue.
By the time he made it to the inside of Ryan’s thigh the smaller boy was shaking and whimpering, fighting even more against the restraints, his hips more than just twitching.
Without warning or stretching Brendon slid into Ryan who cried out as tears stung at his eyes with the sudden force of Brendon inside him. The younger boy kissed away tht tears as he began to move inside of Ryan. Thrusting with Brendon, Ryan wanted so fucking bad to reach out and touch him.
Reaching down Brendon wrapped his slender fingers around Ryan and he came instantly, shaking and moaning Brendon’s name. A few thrusts later and Brendon was coming as well while Ryan lapped up the sticky mess on his hand.
Collapsing next to Ryan, Brendon reached up and untied the older boy running his fingers over the raw skin, which would probably bruise. Ryan didn’t care, he wrapped his arms around Brendon’s waist burying his face in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. He had never missed touching Brendon so much. |
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Posted on April 14, 2007 @ 5:00 pm
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rycer. by danielle.
Ryan lay in his backyard wrapped around Spencer. Head on his chest, fingers interlocked. How this turned into the best thing in his life is a long story that starts with childhood memories of spending every moment together.
Their nightly stargazing started at 7.
At 10 Ryan heard something that (gave him an excuse) startled him and he grabbed Spencer’s hand. With a smile and a blush, every night they would hold hands.
At 14 Ryan was (needy) cold and laid his head on Spencer’s chest. Spencer wrapped and arm around his shoulder, and this was their new position.
At 16 Ryan was completely wrapped around this girl’s finger, but he still would lie in the dying grass and hold Spencer’s hand, no longer curling up next to him.
At 17 Spencer got jealous, he missed the closeness they had, and Ryan was so engulfed in his girlfriend that he felt completely disconnected. Ryan lay alone and cried.
At 18 Ryan’s heart was broken and Spencer held him through the shaking sobs, the same ones he had cried those nights he was all alone. When Ryan looked up into his best friend’s sparkling blue eyes he knew Spencer would lean down and press their lips together. He didn’t mind though, because he loved his best friend more than anyone.
That same year, Ryan kissed Brendon. It wasn’t the same. Spencer’s eyes would fill with hurt every time he saw them together. Ryan spent a month crying.
Now, he had Spencer and his arms were wrapped around the younger boy’s waist as if Ryan were afraid that he would float away with the light breeze was he to let go. Spencer lifted Ryan’s chin and placed a soft kiss to his lips.
“I love you Spencer.” Ryan has waited 19 years to say it. Spencer’s face lit up and he kissed Ryan again.
“I love you too Ryan.” |
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Posted on April 14, 2007 @ 4:59 pm
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rykett. by danielle.
You enter the house with its loud music and it’s dim lights, clusters of people filtering in and out, and the smell of liquor drifting a mile down the street. You pull on the hem of the small t-shirt clinging to your thin frame and saunter past the groups of people, each of them giving their own sick smile or glare of disapproval. Each stride you take is filled with confidence though, because you own this place.
“Hey babe” that’s Will, your boyfriend, kissing your cheek, missing your lips, and wrapping an arm around your small waist. It’s his party, his house, his street, hell he probably owns all of Chicago. Not that you mind. He’s gorgeous, and as much as he’s drunk you know he loves you. So you put up with his parties and his I own everything persona everyone treats him with. His drunken flirtatiousness is really the only reason you’re here, to keep him in check. Hey, it’s yours anyway. “Want a drink?”
“Can I get a tall glass of you” He knows you don’t drink, so you say the all too overused and rather corny line before pulling him in to a kiss. It doesn’t matter though because he smiles and sets down his drink to cup your face in his slender fingers.
“BILL!” A familiar voice comes from behind you and Will reluctantly pulls away hitting Brendon in the back of the head for drinking his liquor. Brendon sputters and coughs, choking on the fluid still running down his throat before regaining his composure and glaring at Will. “Hey Ry, I didn’t know you were who Bill was…”
You glare at him wrapping your arms around Will’s neck. So what if you’re possessive? He so implied Will kisses other boys like that, and you are definitely not ok with that. That’s a discussion for later though, when Will can stand without you.
Now you’re wandering through seas of people in Will’s massive house, the older boy flaunting you to anyone who’ll shoot a passing glance. You know where he’s going, you know how this all plays out, it’s just like every other night. You play along anyways pretending like the trek up the staircase is unfamiliar, asking where he’s taking you.
Soon enough you were pulling off his clothes and biting at his collarbone, because drunken Will is not too capable of anything but getting his cock into your ass. With that being said, you push a naked Will into the shower and cut on the water. He’s trying to swallow your tongue, and your coating his cock in the only lubrication you could find, his expensive shampoo. Not that Will minds, he’s moaning in your mouth. As soon as you’re done he throws you against the wall, and shit it stung but now he’s inside you and the pain melts away as he sloppily thrusts into you. You’re clawing at the tiled walls moaning and trying not to drown yourself in the steady flow of water beating down on you. As your stomach ties it’s self in familiar knots, Will’s slender fingers reach around and stroke you messily. With a cry you come all over his hand, tightening around Will as you feel him come inside you.
Breathing heavily you stay leaned against the wall as Will pulls out of you and kisses your cheek brushing sopping wet hair from your face. He whispers something that sounds like I love you, but you don’t get your hopes up and pull him into a kiss before sliding out of the shower and redressing.
You lead the way back downstairs, after doing your hair of course, and Will gets another beer. You sit in the enormous living room on Will’s lap; taking sips of his drink while he’s busy talking animatedly to someone. You love watching him be the life of the party, you love being his arm candy, you love being envied, and you love your life and Will. |
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Posted on April 14, 2007 @ 4:57 pm
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rykett. by danielle.
I guess you might have noticed how much I’ve been secluded lately. I guess you think you did something wrong. I guess this is all my fault. It doesn’t make it hurt less that ten minutes ago your small frame was against mine and now, you’re gone. For good. Maybe it was the songs I was writing, maybe I did something to upset you. Either way, I’m all alone, and I don’t like it.
I miss the smell of vanilla in my sheets, and your warm chocolate eyes, and your soft auburn hair, I was always brushing those damn bangs out of your eyes. I miss the way you taste and the way your arms were always wrapped around me and the way your fingers fit perfectly with mine. What about all your promises?
Your name tastes bitter in my mouth as I call Mike. He’ll know what to do, he’ll know what to say. Was I opening up to him more than you? Are you jealous? This really is all my fault. Mike assures me it’s not, but I know. I was blocking out the one person who I needed, and filling it with words and riffs and best friends who will never mean as much to me.
I hang up the phone and pull on a jacket. I know exactly where you are, and I know exactly what you’re doing, and I know all too well what will make you smile. Starting down the cold Chicago streets I stop and buy flowers, and I’ve messed up so many times they know me there and they know just as well as I do what will make it all better.
And there you are. Sitting on the park bench, with your knees to your chest, staring lifelessly at the frozen over lake, watching the ducks waddle across the ice. I sit next to your shaking form and put the flowers between us. You don’t look over.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly shoving my hands into my pockets. You still don’t say anything. “Ry, I know I messed up, but—“ “No, no buts. Every time we go through the same motions and that’s all we are anymore Will. It’s just motions and routines and comfort. We’re too afraid to leave each other because it’s like moving to a new city, we just don’t want to relocate,” you snap as more tears ran down your porcelain face, big black tears running along your smooth cheeks.
“That’s not true”
“Yes it is Will! How can you say you fucking love me when every other week we’re sitting on this bench and you’re buying me flowers?”
“George Ryan Ross! Don’t ever tell me I don’t love you,” I say taking your face in my hand and you pull away sniffling. “Please baby, tell me what I’m doing—“
“I told you, it’s not the same. We just go through routines, there’s nothing there”
You’re throwing daggers at my heart, you just don’t know it, and you’re hitting it. Hard. Over and over you’re jabbing that knife called your words into me. It fucking burns, and it’s my turn to sit in silence.
“I think you’re just…really preoccupied right now with the record and everything so…maybe it would just be best if we took a little break,” you say quietly as more tears escape those pretty little eyes of yours.
“If you think that’s what it is…I can always—“
“No, I don’t want to get in the way of your music”
“You’re pretty much deciding where the record is going from here,” I point out not to be harsh but the words come out rough. It’s true though, I can’t lie to paper and if you leave me then that paper is going to become my best friend.
“Well, I guess everyone can expect a somber sophomore release from the academy fucking is,” you say, bitterly standing. I grab your hand and pull you to my lips and you sink into my lap and then you’re sobbing into my shoulder. “I’m s-sorry. I j-just can’t stand how d-disconnected I feel from y-you. I-I should understand, b-but I j-just feel excluded”
“Shh,” I coo in your ear, stroking that silky mess of hair out of your watery eyes. “I know I’ve been distant, I promise I’ll be better. Just don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”
“I promise” You sniffle, barely audile and I smile kissing your forehead.
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Posted on April 14, 2007 @ 4:55 pm
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jon/patrick; jon/beckett. by danielle.
Will sits on the curb in the rain. He’s drunk, a lot drunker than he ever wanted to be. Pete had taken him out though and Jon was stumbling after him, because he was just SUCH a great friend. The older boy almost falls over Will before sitting next to him sloppily draping an arm around the smaller boy’s shoulders.
“What’srong?” Jon slurs leaning dangerously close to Will’s face, and maybe it’s the streetlights and maybe it’s the liquor but god does he look beautiful this close up. Will never does tell him what’s wrong because their lips are moving against each other and their hands are wandering over clothed skin.
Jon pulls away and mutters something that sounds like follow me so he does. Will follows Jon all the way back to the bus, and to the bunks. He follows Jon’s fingers as they remove his shirt and he follows Jon’s lips as they attach themselves to his collarbone, and he’s taking the lead by stripping Jon of his clothes as well.
Now they’re naked and drunk and vulnerable and Jon’s fingers are in Will’s ass and he doesn’t care, because he’s in fucking love with it, and he’s a slut and he will gloat to Pete in the morning about how he got fucked by Jon Walker last night because he was a fucking douche bag and broke up with him.
The next morning Will wakes up alone, sore and curled up under a blanket with tears dried on his face. He pulls on some clothes and ventures out into the bus, everything is normal, everyone is acting normal. Mike smiles as Will sits next to him on the couch, but seeing the condition the younger boy is in he knows to wrap an arm around him and let Will lay his head on his friend’s shoulder.
Jon is pacing the length of the lounge on his own bus. He has a hangover the size of fucking Texas and he has to tell Patrick that he slept with Will. Because word gets around fast on tour and he doesn’t want someone else telling his boyfriend that he cheated on him. That was just going to get him in more trouble. He’s waiting for Patrick to wake up, he’s waiting for Pete to come ask him about last night, he’s waiting for Andy to ask him what’s wrong. Jon is waiting for anything at all.
“Hey babe,” Patrick says finally slinking out into the lounge, sitting next to Jon and burying his face in the younger boy’s shoulder.
“P-patty, I have to tell you something,” Jon says after a minute of silence as he chews his lip nervously. Patrick looks up at him with a raised eyebrow and Jon sighs. “I got really drunk last night…and I slept with Will.”
“What?” Patrick asks disbelievingly. The look on his face is enough to make Jon want to curl up in a ball and die. “Y-you…No, this is a sick joke r-right?”
“I’m sorry,” Jon says sincerely and tears are brimming those powdery blue eyes. Patrick gets up and leaves. Jon sighs again and waits some more, Pete will follow not far behind to joke him about it and then get all serious-best-friend-if-you-don’t-go-apologize-I’m-bashing-your-face-in.
A week goes by and Patrick hasn’t spoke to Jon, and Will has been all over him, and he’s been denying that gorgeous boy because he just wants his Patty back. Pete never threatened him, he can’t get over the fact Will replaced him so quickly. So he’s been sulking, as has Jon, and Patrick, and Will. The entire tour is either in an emotional slump or trying to get their friends out of one. Finally Jon gives up on giving Patrick space, and goes up to him after dinner.
“Hey, can we talk?” Jon asks staring at his feet. Patrick doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t run away so Jon continues. “I’m really sorry about Will, I never meant to hurt you. I wasn’t thinking and I was drunk. I know that’s no excuse but he kissed me and I just didn’t stop him”
Patrick doesn’t say anything he just leans up and kisses Jon. Jon smiles and takes his hand and they go back to the bus. |
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Posted on April 14, 2007 @ 4:52 pm
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ryden. by danielle.
Ryan lay on the couch staring at the ceiling. Everyone else had gone out, and being the recluse he was, Ryan stayed on the bus, alone, to stare at the ceiling. Soon enough Brendon would stumble in and they would do dirty things, but that wouldn’t be for another hour or so. It was a confusing relationship that Ryan thought about entirely too much on nights like this.
“Hey babe, what’re you doing all alone?” Brendon asked, crawling a top of Ryan. Who hadn’t heard him come in, and was quite surprised he didn’t smell so strongly of liquor.
“Shouldn’t you still be out? We don’t have rough sex until your words run together,” Ryan asked as Brendon kissed and sucked at his neck, making the room feel a lot hotter than before.
“I want to remember it this time” Brendon whispered in Ryan’s ear ghosting warm breath over his moist neck making him shiver. Lacing his fingers in Brendon’s hair Ryan pulled him into a kiss. They were a mess of tongues as Ryan pulled off Brendon’s shirt and began to kiss down his neck. Brendon bit his lip, making a noise, and tugging at the hem of Ryan’s shirt. The older boy raised his hips and a soft moan finally slipped from Brendon’s lips as Ryan rid himself of his shirt. Pulling Brendon into another lusty kiss, Ryan continued to roll his hips up creating friction between their growing erections.
“Ryyyy,” Brendon moaned fumbling with the older boy’s belt as Ryan attacked his collarbone. “Fuck…I want inside you”
Ryan quickly undid his belt and discarded his jeans, Brendon doing the same. Mounting Brendon, who was now the one sprawled out of the couch, Ryan hovered over him for a minutes looking up to see Brendon watching him hungrily.
“Do you want me?” Ryan breathed making his way up Brendon’s chest, biting and sucking the sensitive skin.
“Fuck…yes,” Brendon managed to reply. He was always at a loss for words other than Fuck in a situation like this.
“How?”
“Shit Ry…” Brendon breathed (sexually) frustrated the older boy was playing with him.
“Tell me” Ryan instructed running a hand along Brendon’s inner thigh making him shake.
“I want you…fuck, just ride me”
Smiling Ryan aligned himself with Brendon’s cock and slid down painfully slow, just to torture Brendon, who was moaning loudly like the fucking whore he is. Adjusting to the all too familiar feel of Brendon inside of him, Ryan shifted so that he could begin moving up and down. Slowly at first, but speeding up as he got into rhythm, Brendon holding his hips and thrusting upward in time with Ryan.
“Touch me,” Ryan instructed as Brendon shook beneath him. Reaching for Ryan’s cock Brendon managed to wrap his fingers around him before cumming inside of the older boy. Riding out Brendon’s orgasm as the younger boy jacked him off Ryan was spilling all over Brendon’s hand a minute later. Ryan collapsed on Brendon’s chest as the younger boy lapped up the sticky fluid on his hand, god that’s fucking hot. “So, how was your first sober fuck?”
“Amazing” Brendon replied wrapping his arms around Ryan. Maybe Brendon didn’t make any sense, but Ryan abso-fucking-loutely loved him. |
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Posted on April 14, 2007 @ 4:49 pm
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brenathan, by danielle.
Brendon climbed into Jon’s bunk right on cue, as Jon was beginning to worry if he had done something wrong. Without a word their lips were crashed together and Brendon was sliding Jon out of his boxers. They had learned the rules of bunk sex early on thanks to Ryan bringing “home” a new boy every night. The biggest problem was not everyone is as flexible as a slut like him. As of late Jon had been deprived of much of anything.
Brendon’s fingers moved to Jon’s erection stroking it lightly at firs to make the older boy squirm. Smirking he wrapped those slender fingers around Jon, stroking and tugging. His lips catching the moans Jon couldn’t hold. Placing a finger to Jon’s swollen lips Brendon slid down towards the older boy’s still erect cock.
Knowing what was coming mad Jon shiver. Holding his hips, Brendon ran his tongue along the shaft, sucking in the head for only a second. Once again Jon was squirming with anticipation. The most important [art of bunk sex was not to get caught which was always Jon’s hardest battle.
Sickeningly slow Brendon took all of Jon into his mouth. Jon hoped he wouldn’t bite through his lip as Brendon began bobbing on his cock, scrapping his teeth along all the right places. Jon liked it rough and he liked leaving bruises and he liked “feeling it” a week later.
Threading his fingers through Brendon’s hair he forced the younger boy down on him. Sheer experience kept him from chocking. With a shudder and a growl Jon came and Brendon swallowed, leaning up to kiss the older boy.
Redressing Jon, Brendon kissed him one last time and climbed out of the bunk. In an hour Jon would fall asleep and when he awoke the next morning Brendon would be curled around him. If it was a good day Ryan would make a disgusted face and say that they get to sleep in real beds, then he would smirk and go occupy Spencer until Brendon crawled out of the bed around noon, Jon on his tail.
If that ain’t love then I don’t know what love it.
yes, it is short. |
| Friday, April 13th, 2007 | | |
Posted on April 13, 2007 @ 6:33 pm
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You wake up to beeps and flashes. You try to talk, but there’s something shoved down your throat. You settle for turning your head and seeing him sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair. He’s playing his Gameboy. You can guess that it’s more than likely some new Mario game.
You wonder how long he’s been sitting there, but you can’t talk. You wonder if Ryan and Jon have been visiting. Your mind automatically wonders if he’d been fucking Jon in the hospital. You quickly decide wondering is just as bad as wishing.
He must’ve seen you stir, or he can hear your thoughts. He’s beside you, holding your hand. You look up at his eyes, and he’s been crying. He probably doesn’t want you to know, but you can tell.
He must think you deserve to know what you did to yourself— to everyone— because he opens his mouth to speak. “You took a shitload of Zack’s pain medicine. You know, the kind they gave him when he had his knee operation? And well, if I hadn’t found you when I did, you’d be dead. Come to think of it, the doctor said you should be dead. He’s shocked you survived.”
Your eyes are wide. He saved you? The man that caused everything, he saved you?
“It gets worse.” He’s still talking, “The doctor said he’d have to send you to a shrink. He also said to cancel the rest of the tour, you’d need that. I told him you didn’t need a shrink, we have Ryan. He insisted, though.”
If it’s possible, you feel yourself falling even more in love. You nod to show you understand, and he’s practically beaming. “He says that you can leave in a few days, if you feel all right. Ryan and Jon, they’re at an interview. I said I’d stay with you.” he begins to blush.
You smile and squeeze his hand. Your eyes say something different, though. They’re asking about Jon, and you wish they wouldn’t.
He seems to get it. “He knows what happened. I told him I couldn’t have a boyfriend right now. He understands.”
You promptly choke on the tube, doing who knows what, that’s down your throat.
“Don’t worry, the band is fine. He’s with Beckett.”
You feel your heart rate returning to normal, and you wish you could sigh without it hurting.
“So, I bet you want to know what all’s happened. You’ve been asleep for a week. Not in a coma, though. Ryan’s been blaming himself, saying he shouldn’t have left you alone. He’s taking it the hardest. I made him go to the interview. It means he had to take a shower.”
His words are comfort, even if they aren’t the nicest. Before you know it, you’re sleeping again.
“Shut up! Let him sleep,” someone snaps.
“Sorry,” someone else whispers.
Not that it matters, you’re already awake. You open your eyes and yawn. It hurts a bit, but you notice the missing tube. You open your mouth to talk, but nothing comes out.
“Guys! Spencer’s awake!” Ryan squeals. “Oh god, did we wake you up? I’m so sorry.”
You attempt to calm him down without moving too much. Once he’s calm, you point to your water. You’re hoping it’ll help your voice. Ryan hands it to you, and you drink it.
“You guys didn’t wake me up,” you croak. Your voice is hoarse from a week without use. It stings, too.
“Oh, okay.” Ryan practically collapses on you. “Oh Spence, if I hadn’t left you then things would be all right!”
You pat his back soothingly. “It’s not your fault. Don’t you dare blame yourself.”
“But, I left you.”
“And if you hadn’t, I would’ve done it later. I’m the one to blame.”
Ryan looked up at you. “Why?”
“I-I-I don’t know. I’m so confused. I don’t remember, either.” You look around and realize everyone but the two of you has left.
“It’s all right, you’re allowed to be confused. You just can’t scare us like that again.”
“I’m sorry, Ry.” You hold his hand, it’s not like your muscles will let you do much else.
You two sit there in comfortable silence until everyone else comes back. By then, visiting hours are over, and Brendon’s announced he’s staying the night (‘Like a sleepover,’ he says).
“Bren? You said you saved me?” you begin.
He makes his way over to your bed and sits down. “Yeah.”
“Thank you. It means a lot.”
He smiles at you. “No problem. I’m glad I was able to help for once.”
You push his ‘for once’ comment out of your mind. “Hey, do you want to stay in here with me? I know those chairs can’t be comfortable,” you offer tentatively.
His smile grows. “I’d like that. It can be like a real sleep over!”
You make room for him in the cramped hospital bed. “Comfy?” you ask. Your legs are on top of his, and your arm is above his head.
He laughs and rolls over to face you. “Now I am.”
He wraps his arms around your and goes to sleep. |
| Thursday, April 12th, 2007 | | |
Posted on April 12, 2007 @ 5:42 pm
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Sometimes you just want your best friend back. You’re tired of him blowing you off for his new boyfriend. You understand that there are awkward silences when you hang out now, but who doesn’t have those? You’re just tired of him blowing you off. Your phone rings, and shockingly it’s him. He never was one to return your calls. “Hey man,” you say when you answer. “Yeah, hey. I’m just calling you back. What’s up Becks?” He sounds distracted, and you feel less important by the second. “Oh, well I just wanted to see how things were going with your tour.” That’s usually all you get—small talk. “Things are great! How’s it going with you?” You just wish he’d try to hang out with you, seeing as how the show’s in Chicago tonight. ‘Just sitting around at home. So, I hear there’s a show in Chicago tonight.” “Yeah! It’ll be great being back home.” “Do you want to go get coffee or something? You know, catch up on everything.” “That’d be great!” He seems excited, so you’re excited. “So I’ll see you at Starbucks in an hour?” “That works. I’ve got to go, boyfriend calls.” He hangs up. You sigh and put your phone down, hoping that his latest boyfriend won’t be joining you. You’re pacing your house, well apartment, wondering what’s gotten into him. He didn’t used to put his boyfriend in front of you. He didn’t used to forget to call. You keep asking yourself where your reliable best friend went. Not even ten minutes later, you’re on your way to meet him at Starbucks and your mood is improved. You can’t wait to catch up on everything. Maybe he’ll even take pictures of/with you like he used to. He’s half an hour late. You’re wondering if fans held him up, or he just forgot. You pull out your phone and call. “Jon?” you say. “Becks? Hey. Uhm, I’m with the band visiting Dylan, think I could call you back?” “Yeah, I’ve just been waiting at Starbucks for you for half an hour,” you reply. “Oh, sorry. I forgot to call and tell you I couldn’t make it. Brendon wanted to see Dylan; you know how boyfriends can be. Oh shit, I’ll call you back.” He hangs up. You almost throw your phone, but you think better of it. Instead, you sigh and start thinking. ’I make plans to break plans’ suits your best friend quite nicely, you think. Jon never does call you back. |
| Wednesday, April 11th, 2007 | | |
Posted on April 11, 2007 @ 11:57 pm
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You turn away quickly, hoping he didn’t notice the look of longing on your face; the look in your eyes whenever you see them together. You didn’t mean to fall this hard; come to think of it, you didn’t mean to fall at all.
You try to concentrate on the words and beats flowing through your headphones. Yes, you still have huge headphones. You dislike the earbuds; ‘you can never hear all the emotions put into the song,’ you claim.
You stumble over your feet, trying to get away from his smiles and affectionate touches. You just wish they were for you, and this is tearing you apart. You can’t let anyone know, this isn’t supposed to be the way you fall in love.
You’re hoping this is just a crush, just a phase. You don’ want to make things awkward.
“Spencer?” someone says.
You turn around. It was in between songs, so you could actually hear. “Yeah?” you reply. Your voice sounds scratchy, like you’d been crying. But you weren’t crying or anything.
“You alright?” Your band mate sits down beside you.
“Yeah, I’m peachy.” You’re snapping and you don’t mean to.
“Spence, what happened to being friends all those years? Let me help.” He seems genuinely concerned. You sigh. “I don’t know what’s wrong, seriously.” You have no idea how to explain it to him, is the thing.
You feel like a useless rag. You’re used to being able to tell Ryan Ross anything. You don’t like being left speechless by emotions you can’t understand. You’re not used to things like this.
“I understand. I’ll be here when you figure it out though, you know that.” Ryan pulls you into a friendly hug.
You nod because you don’t trust your voice. You’re full of so many emotions you might as well have a vagina. This is one of those times when you wish you were half as creative as your best friend.
“Thanks Ry.”
Ryan stands up and heads back to the smiles and affection you can’t stand. It’s times like these that you wish you could go back to when you were yourself. You know everyone else misses it, too.
You change the song until you find something that suits your mood. You wish you didn’t have a show tonight. You wish you could drown in music, instead of distancing yourself. Your increasing amounts of wishing makes you want to shoot yourself. You weren’t one to be fond of greed.
Someone comes up and taps your shoulder. You jump about a mile, and then turn around. You wish your band mates would just call. You’re so much more suave over the phone.
“Spence, it’s time for sound check. We can’t play without a drummer.” It’s Jon, Mr. Lucky himself.
You nod and stand up. Your knees creak, and you curse yourself for not eating properly. “I guess you do need a drummer, don’t you?” You’re trying to keep the crabbiness to a minimum.
Jon smiles warmly at you and offers you his hand. You decline and shove your own hands into your pockets. You wish you weren’t so standoff-ish lately. Jon Walker is really nice, except that he spends his time fucking the one you’re in love with.
You get back to the stage, and everyone treats you as if you have the plague. You make a mental note to be nicer and swiftly take your place behind the gorgeous drumset you’re so proud to call your own.
You’re almost able to forget most of your emotions. Then, he decides he’s going to make Jon a part of his little act instead of Ryan. You’re not the only one shocked. Ryan misses his cue to start playing again. Jon’s all smiles and miniscule amounts of affection. It’s just a bit of hands barely touching, and your blood is boiling.
You’ve never been this jealous before. You haven’t seen Ryan so confused. He’s looking at you, apparently you missed a beat. Your face is turning as red as that stupid vest Ryan used to wear.
Sound check ends and you run off to the dressing room. You just need to get away from all this again. You need to figure out how to keep your composure. You’re sure Ryan has some sort of idea. He’s observant like that.
You consider drinking away your problems, but that just leaves you vulnerable and uncoordinated. You might let something slip. You think you could try writing like Ryan does, but if anyone finds it, you’re doomed to a lifetime of ridicule and awkward silences.
Before you know it, the tears fall. They fall hot and fast, drenching everything in sight. You wish they wouldn’t; your band mates might walk in. This is the last thing you want them to see. You’re trying to wipe them away faster than they can fall, and you’re failing miserably.
You hear the door open, and you think your life is ending. You always were over dramatic.
“Shhh, it’s alright.” Ryan’s thing arms wrap around you.
“N-n-no it’s not. Do you know what’s wrong?” You look up at your best friend.
He nods, and you cry harder. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Spence. You can’t help it.”
“I’m so confused.” Your sobs are making both of you shake now.
“Do you want me to go? I know that sounds bad, but the Spence I used to know would kick me out.”
If he thought that would make you feel better, he was wrong. “Yeah, p-please.”
He hugged you one more time, gave you a few more pathetic reassurances of ‘it’ll be all right,’ and left.
You were all along again, rocking back and forth. Your irrational self was in overdrive. You stumble over to where your bags are and pull out bottles. You have no idea who they belong to, or why they’re even there. You don’t even know what you’re doing anymore. You’re on autopilot, grabbing a bottle of water and swallowing God-knows-how-many pills. You stumble back to the couch and wait.
The room starts spinning, and your body’s going numb. You can’t remember your name or which way is up, but you know that you’ve changed your mind. You want him to save you. You don’t make it two feet before passing out.
Apparently he heard you. He was coming to check on you. You’ve got everyone worried. He sees you laying there, screams, and checks for a pulse. It’s barely there.
His tears wash over your body, and he kisses you softly. He hopes this’ll bring you back long enough to get help.
i know the ending's a little weak, but i was on a roll and i wasn't about to stop.
|
| Sunday, April 1st, 2007 | | |
Posted on April 01, 2007 @ 12:02 am
| |
expanding open wounds.
when you should be sewing them back up.
but don't.
they're better left wide open.
some infections can be good.
bacterium is healthy in some cases.
i'm trying to find the right words to say the things that i can never explain.
the things you'll never comprehend.
the necessity i have for this.
for you.
our relationship is akward.
hard.
complex.
like one of those corn mazes.
sorry, i'm trying to be funny.
this is serious.
the first text message i have saved on my phone:
"yay ha i like making you vibrate :-)"
september 5, 6h51 am.
we used to talk before school. early mornings and late nights.
i'm remembering good times.
getting out of old habits, just for you.
during school, september 7, 12h42. i know i was in biology.
"i love you kat."
and i know you still do. and you know i love you, too.
at the dmv, i was freaking out. god knows how nervous i was.
"kay good luck. you'll do fine. <3"
you were right, as usual. i did do fine. i drove home tonight, and i drove to the restaurant.
god knows where you were, i think you were at some modeling thing someone made you go to?
"aw you make me vibrate like whoa."
september 9, 1h42 pm. it makes me laugh.
remembering all this brings back more memories.
we're going to ballroom dance, you're teaching me.
you were all excited about it.
september 9, 2h20
"aw you're making me smile =/"
i don't know what i did, but i hope this makes you smile, too.
i'm running out of good ideas.
i'm running out of options.
so i'm getting creative.
i was worried about something apparently.
"i know it does. ily so don't worry."
i love how you use apostrophes when you're texting.
it makes me laugh.
but i'm pretty sure i stopped worrying just because you told me to.
"hahahahaha lesbian =/"
we talk so much smack about avi,
but we love her so.
i don't know why that one's saved,
except for that it makes me laugh.
we were at the hush sound show. it was jon's 21st birthday, and all i could think about was "he can drink now, yeaaaaaaah!"
"i spy spencer guy"
the way you have that ryhming makes me laugh.
i'm pretty sure i went off looking for spencer guy.
september 20, 3h29 pm
"panic is spencer ryan jon and brendon not one of them not two of them ALL OF THEM that bothers me so much"
i love how you started ranting about that.
because it meant i could rant about it and not feel like a [total] idiot.
remember the time you couldn't go to barnes and noble, so i lied for you?
october 1, 3h42
"the gay/lesbian sectoin has good erotica =/"
i wanted to laugh hXc in the store.
and then i tried to go look for that "good erotica" you said was there.
you'll have to find it for me. :o
i was at the doctor's office.
"ha it takes forever to get drugs."
i'm pretty sure if people saw that, and didn't know where i was.
they'd think i was looking for illegal drugs.
our conversations are so akwardly funny.
then, i make you become addicted to, i mean fall in love with grey's anatomy.
"ha bad sex causes the bigger problems."
we're pretty rad if i do say so myself.
you went to get your hair dyed, and i begged for my phone.
"yaay new omg i just got attacked by something!"
i was weak. but then again, i was like "omgsh, wtf was it?"
"idk a leaf or something."
once again, that made my day.
i'll leave out our french conversations.
i save my best ones for remembering.
when i'm down.
so when i do have my phone, it makes me smile.
you should remember the pillows at nordstrom.
in the bathroom.
we'll have millions of them in our NYC apartment.
everyone'll be jealous [of our hot sex].
i hope this did something,
brought back good memories.
it's all i have for now.
i'm trying to piece myself back together,
so you're not...i don't know the word for it.
i guess so you don't have to go out of your way to try to piece me back together anymore.
because i don't know if you're running out of ideas or what.
but you seem to be needing to remember good times. Current Music: all nereids beware. chiodosssss. |
| Thursday, March 29th, 2007 | | |
Posted on March 29, 2007 @ 4:40 pm
| |
pour toi.
don't expect this to be the kind of story that goes and then, and then, and then.
what happens here will have more of that fashion magaizine feel, a vogue or a glamour magazine ghaos with page numbers on every second or fifth or thrid page. perfume cards falling out, and full-page naked women coming out of nowhere to sell your make-up.
don't look for a contents page, buried magazine-style twenty pages back from the front. don't expect to find anything right off. there isn't a real pattern to anything, either. stories will start and then, three paragraphs later:
jump to page whatever.
then, jump back.
jump to the time we ran across brambleton. we wanted twinkies for spencer and ryan. "they're too skinny."
now go to the time we went to see cute is what we aim for, the first time, and there were maybe 100 people. we watched shaant from the balcony and made fun of him. we fell in love with boys like girls [except paul] and all time low.
now jump to the time we first met.
go to how we just seemed to get along great from the start.
jump to all the times you leave me and come back.
jump to valentine's day 2006, i was on the phone with you during the whole concert. i tried calling you when i met spencer. i threw a huge fit in front of him when i couldn't get you, i bet you didn't know that. i was stomping and everything. i bet he thought i was crazy.
jump back to when we met him in june. you couldn't hold the camera you were so shaky.
jump to now, you've left me once again. so i'm writing this to remind you of all the good times. you'll have this incase it gets too bad.
jump to the butch walker show. and the old people dancing. and sara finding the boysex, that i ended up reading later that night.
go back to fall out boy in may where you skipped everyone in line to come up and stand with me.
go back to meeting ryan ross. go back to giving him the twinkies "i just ate breakfast."
go forward a few hours during that day. ge to zack coming out and giving me spencer's drumstick. and then you eat some.
go back months. to when we were talking. something about something along the lines of we're best friends.
skip forward to recently, how we're going to go to new york city together. we'll be together, best friends, fourty years from now.
jump to arguing over chislett and who gets "thnks fr th mmrs"
go back to june 25, 2006. the meet and greet. with ben. we still don't have our picture for that. remember me and ben jumping around like teenies.
fastforward maybe ten-fifteen minutes. we gave ryan a complex. he won't hug fans anymore. and we still don't have that picture.
go to tuesday, we were playing that game. and you were correcting letsdisco.
go to some random time when you fixed me, you made me smile.
jump to warped tour, when i had god knows how many people call you because you couldn't be there. and then i left, because i was pissed at william beckett. and we're going to get revenge together may 23, 2007.
jump to the cobra starship show, where i slutty danced for you. and you made sure mechelle and candace would take care of me. and i had gabe call you.
jump to another date when i had some other rockstar call you.
go to another rockstar calling you.
and come back to now, when i'm writing this. my stomach's in knots. i'm hoping you'll like this. or at least it'll have some meaning. or maybe it'll show you that i value our friendship enough to take the time to reminise (sp) enough to try to put this in "invisible monsters" form and not some shitty thrown together form like i would've done for anyone else. if i decided to put this together for anyone else.  |
| Tuesday, March 27th, 2007 | | |
Posted on March 27, 2007 @ 3:46 pm
| |
i wish i could write it half as good as i could feel it.
my stomach's in my throat today. it looks like it's decided to take a turn. i don't know if it's for the worst. i wear sunglasses to cover up the only way you can see through me. i'm trying not to be as much of a letdown as i have been. my heart's throbbing, out of pain. i don't know what's causing it. i've been waiting for it to pass. it hasn't happened yet. i'm holding a rope that's too thin. i don't know how to express this. all i know is that instead of falling into place, the puzzle is falling apart. |
| Monday, March 26th, 2007 | | |
Posted on March 26, 2007 @ 4:57 pm
| |
I think you're great, too.
Jon Walker was sitting in the pathetic excuse for a “living room” they had on their bus. He was just sitting there, minding his own business. He’d even made coffee. He was enjoying his well earned silence, one of his favourite past times. That treasured, well earned silence, it went away when Ryan and Brendon entered the “room.” “Seriously Bren, you’re going to have to clean up that lounge. Your clothes are all over,” Ryan complained. “Those aren’t all mine! And can’t you help?” Brendon whined. Sometimes jon thought Brendon was two. “No, I have somewhere to be.” Jon walker missed his precious silence. He cleared his throat to let the two know he was there. It didn’t work. “Where, Cobra Starship’s bus?” “Yeah, so?” “Can’t you wait until I’m done? We can both go together!” Brendon was begging now. “Fine, be quick.” Ryan sat down opposite Jon. Brendon ran off, and almost tripped. “We interrupted you again, didn’t we?” Ryan asked, staring into Jon’s eyes. “It’s fine.” “You don’t like it.” Jon hated how Ryan could see through him. “I’m alright, don’t worry.” “Okay…” Ryan kept watching Jon. It was beginning to creep him out. “Where’s Spencer?” “Sleeping, I think. He stayed up late talking to what’s her face.” Ryan was too busy watching Jon to bother with names. “Oh.” Jon didn’t like Spencer’s girlfriend, he couldn’t tell Spencer, though. “What are you thinking?” Jon drank some coffee first, giving him time to think of an appropriate response. He took a deep breath. “How lucky all of us are. We’ve made it a long way. Mostly you guys, but still…” Ryan smiled. “We have come far, haven’t we?” “Yeah, I get to see the world and I have so many pictures it isn’t funny.” He smiled when he thought about his pictures. “How do you take such good pictures?” “I don’t know, how do you write such amazing lyrics?” Ryan was turning pink, much to Jon’s amazement. “They aren’t that great.” The bassist’s eyes got big. “Not that great?! They’re amazing!” “Not as great as you,” Ryan mumbled. “What? I couldn’t hear you.” Ryan sighed and he knew that Jon Walker wouldn’t leave him alone until he knew. He could lie, but then he’d feel bad. “I said…not as great as you.” The petit guitarist waited for a response. Jon smiled. “Really? I don’t think it’s true. What makes me so great?” Ryan couldn’t tell if Jon was mocking him or not. He didn’t think that was the case. Jon Walker’s too nice for that. “Well…you’re always real laid back, like when Bren and I run in and interrupt you. You always seem to know how to keep everything together, your photographs are amazing, you have the most gorgeous eyes, you’re the only one of us that can pull off not shaving, and I love how you’re always in flip flops even when it’s co—” Jon was moving closer. He cut Ryan off, inches away from his face. “You know what; I think you’re great, too.” And Jon Walker kissed him. |
| |
Posted on March 26, 2007 @ 3:26 pm
| |
For as long as you can remember, and probably before that, you’ve had a crush on Spencer. He’s always there for you, so you’re the perfect couple, right? You’ve figured out that there’s a slight problem, Spencer likes girls, and well, you’re not a girl. You’re trying to figure out a way around your very unfortunate problem. You’ve decided against getting a vagina (too much work, and you like your penis), so the only other possible thing you could do is turn Spencer your brains and amazing looks. You’ve decided to take Spencer shopping. All gay men love shopping, or at least you do. You figure you’ll get Spencer to turn gay by taking him with you. You try to get him to try on “girly” clothes, and he laughs and tells you he’s a man, with a penis. You decide that since that isn’t working, you’ll have to reel him in with your amazingly good looks. This plan, you bet, is foolproof. You two are in Nordstrom, and you head for the juniors’ department. They have the best clothes, you tell Spencer. He rolls his eyes. You have about twenty different shits/pants/whatever’s, and you tell Spencer to wait while you try them on. You promise you’ll show him so he can help you pick. Spencer mutters something about wanting some liquor. You’ve showed Spencer three different outfits, and maybe, just maybe he’s getting into it. He asks you to turn around so he can see it all. Then, he asks you to walk like you’re on a runway. You laugh, and play along. You go back into the dressing room, and you pull out the shirt that has so many buttons it looks deadly. You yell for Spencer to help, even though you can work the shirt just fine. He comes to help. This plan seems to be working better. Spencer takes one look at the article of clothing and asks if it’s even a shirt. You tell him it is, and take off the shirt that you’re wearing. You ask him to help. Spencer’s pulling the shirt on you, and his face is two inches from yours. You say his name quietly so he has to look up. You start sweating. You’re nervous. His eyes are just gorgeous. He asks you what’s up. He says you’re practically drooling. You come back to earth. You tell Spencer you have a secret. He tells you to spill it now. You close the gap between the two of you by kissing him. You expect him to pull away, but he kisses you back. You pull away when the need for air becomes too great. You’re blushing, and he is too. You mention that you thought he only liked girls. Spencer grins and says that you’re the exception. He grabs your hand and you two leave, forgetting about the clothes. Current Music: you're crashing, but you're no wave. fall out boy. |
| Sunday, March 25th, 2007 | | |
Posted on March 25, 2007 @ 6:51 pm
| |
using these two hands, ten fingers, to try to show you myself.
(the ryro journal is gone). i spend life writing notes to you that you'll never read. i spend days imagining me as someone else. wishing i was half as good at pretending and holding composure as you are. i'm steping out of my fantasies. dropping back to reality. trying to fool the world into thinking i have some form of coherency left. you have to lie to survive, right? my vocabulary is shrinking from being around your ignorance all the time. habits are hard to break. i use the minimal amount of expression so i can fool you all. i'm supposed to be a genius. i'm sorry i don't know left from right, let alone which way to go. my thoughts leave before i have a chance to remember. i wish my brain was half as decent as my hand. my tongue was half as skilled as when my fingers hit the keys. let it all out, your emotions can't take it. imagine what would happen if fate hand't kept you around. i could write my heart out for you and not earn a second glance. i'm so low down i hvae to break down to get myself noticed. i hate being dependant. i'm the equivalent of a leech. and probably more selfish. i'm the parasite that won't let go. hoping, just begging, things'll go right one time around. my sober thoughts don't run together. in fact, they dont' run at all. my lack of ideas takes me off my high. i'm trying to take my ideas seriously. i mean, you're not getting anywhere if you hold yourself back. give me reasons to go on.
FLASH.
give me pathetic excuses to turn into decent people.
FLASH.
i am nothing but a follower that wants to be a leader. my thirst for proof that i'm not a failure [100% of the time] makes me keep trying. my need to be something more keeps you hanging onto my every word. give me motive.
FLASH.
give me a way out safely.
FLASH.
i have hte ability to comprehend and then learn from you. i can study your words and use the styles. i guess that means i own nothing i say. give me the ability to twist your wods for my own use.
FLASH.
give me a way with words so you won't learn my secret.
FLASH.
i worship a book, only not really. i guess you could say i'm trying out this thing with metaphors. similies make too much sense. might as well say it right out. give me confusion.
FLASH.
give me complete and utter chaos.
FLASH. Current Music: silence. |
| Tuesday, March 20th, 2007 | | |
Posted on March 20, 2007 @ 2:10 pm
| |
confusion and trauma.
"it's back to the way things could've/should've/would've been--
betraya and broken hearts.
walking the thin line between pain/suffering and being alright.
waiting for people to show a little sympahty
from those who say they care.
it's not appearing now that i feel more alone.
so much for these kids that i thought i could trust.
long live loneliness.
i feel like i'm disappointing everyone with my life choices.
i could be better."
-the ryro journal, not that it means much of anything. |
| Friday, March 16th, 2007 | | |
Posted on March 16, 2007 @ 4:38 pm
| |
then end of your fantasy, let's move on to reality.
i am not sure what to make of my life right now,
if you can even call it a life anymore.
what's left of me is spiraling down,
at an unhealthy rate.
i am wishing i could do something worthwile.
i am wishing i could make things right.
i am wishing i could go back into the past and change what i've done.
but...i can't.
so i have to move on and try not to repeat any of my past actions.
i must forget the past.
“kat, you've been reading too much palahniuk. forget the past, and make something out of yourself.”
that's what i will do.
i will change and make things better,
instead of wishing i'd never done things.
a disaster at her finest.
turning into success.
making something out of nothing,
let's try to do that.
maybe we'll succeed?
no more pills,
no more pain.
we'll try to make something out of this world of letdowns.
we'll try to stay positive.
no one needs negativity.
save your health for when you'll need it.
spend your life living instead of dying.
try not to hurt the ones you love.
it'll all make your life better.
you'll forget the past.
you'll remember the future.
you'll make plans (they won't get broken).
you won't be scared of anything.
you'll live on top of the world.
that's where everyone wants to be.
you'll have made it, though.
i change pronouns too much, yes i know.
it's just the way things come out.
my brain's connected to my fingers.
nothing gets edited.
and i don't care about switching tenses or points of view.
you'll understand if you care enough.
and that's all that matters to me.
i can hide behind my mask,
and try to heal.
i can write these words,
and let it all out.
i'll get better.
i'll forget the past.
maybe i'll be a better person for it,
but who knows.
who cares?
i'll try not to.
that's my weakness.
i'll write letters instead of emails.
go back to before technology sapped the emotions out of everything.
things might mean something to you then. Current Music: panic! at the disco dvd, say whaaaa? |
| Tuesday, March 13th, 2007 | | |
Posted on March 13, 2007 @ 5:44 pm
| |
if you're going to rip me apart, might as well do it the right way
instead of making it take forever.
start with the things that mean most.
take away my friends,
my good ones.
get rid of all my contact with them.
then i will feel ignored,
and be paranoid.
well,
even more paranoid than usual.
then,
you have to take away my music.
my music makes me feel less lonely when i am ignored/alone.
after you're done getting rid of my music and my friends,
why don't you try my computer?
my computer has my way to my friends that are far away.
my computer has the way that i can type and listen to the keys and feel a little better instantly.
my computer has things i can read that can calm me.
after that,
you have to get rid of my chuck palahniuk books,
invisible monsters if you want specifics.
that book holds me together.
once that's taken care of,
take my camera.
then my dog,
yes my avi.
now that i have no dog and no camera,
i think i'm pretty much done for.
oh wait,
i have one more thing that can keep me sane:
pen and paper.
you might want to take that as well.
as long as i can write,
i have a feeling everything'll be okay.
you don't want that though, do you?
and that,
mes amis,
is how you tear me apart piece by piece.
the fun's already started. Current Music: "come what may"-moulin rouge |
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