Light Bulb - Alvin Schwartz Style
If I could do anything exceptionally well I’d do it all the time. I’d fake my smile and make pretend that I’m fine. Go through the motions just to get by. Give what’s expected, a well told lie. After awhile it all just starts to get old. And my will it breaks, under the pressure it folds. Time starts soon, to take its toll. Unsettling my mind, unsettling my soul. I’ve grown quite weary from the mundane routine. With brick-tied ankles, sinking faster than any ship that you’ve seen. Hitting rock bottom doesn’t hurt as bad you thought. When the journey towards it, wasn’t something you fought.
I wish I had someone to talk to everyday. And I don’t mean someone to just text. I want to have conversation that actually means something. Not your typical, “Hey” “How are you” “I’m good” meaningless bullshit. I want to actually talk about how I feel, what’s going on in my life, what’s going on in their life. Someone to get advice from, someone to give advice to. Someone to actually be there for me rather than someone to act like they’re there for me. I want them to know every detail, every thought, I’ve had. I want to be that comfortable with someone that there is no filter to what I say, and no matter what I say, they’re not judgmental. Because don’t get me wrong, I have a few good friends but they don’t know everything. It’s probably asking for too much, I don’t know.
(Source: joelalick.tumblr.com )
I feel this overwhelming sense of yearning when I look at you.
I wish I had our bath/bed playlist. We’d listen to it on repeat while just sitting in the bath, smoking cigarettes and just relaxing. Your tub was small but we fit perfectly. You’d lay back with head your on my chest, I’d wrap my arms around you, intertwine my fingers in yours, kiss your cheek and your forehead. I’d never get uncomfortable.
Then you’d turn sideways and sit in that silly cross-legged way you’d always do. I’d laugh and call you a dork and you’d say, “I know” and then giggle. I’d sit there and just think about how cute you were, how I loved being with you and spending time with you. You were my favorite. We just fit and got along so well.
After the water would go down a little because your tub was broken, and the bubbles weren’t too thick anymore we’d get up, rinse off. That always turned into kissing, and then a little more. We’d make our way to the bed and not even worry about drying off. I couldn’t wait to lay you down and feel my body against yours. I liked how we’d change pace from playful and fun, to sensual and passionate. Your kiss made me feel like I was drunk. I loved it and you’d tell me I was a dork for saying that. We’d laugh and then say I love you.
With the playlist just repeating we’d turn the fan on, lay down and wrap ourselves up in each other. Your favorite when we’d cuddle was right between my arm and chest. “The Nook” as we called it. Shortly after I’d hear you breathing differently and know that you were sleeping. I’d ask if you passed out and you’d say no. I’d laugh because I knew you were. I kiss you, tell you I love you, and you’d do the same. You’d go right back into your nook, and fall fast asleep. Knowing that we were together after not seeing each other for the long periods we’d go, cuddling in your bed, so comfortable and warm was the best feeling ever. I’d quickly drift into what was easily the best sleep I ever get.
I don’t think I’ll ever resent anyone more than you, you fucking piece of shit. Fuck your lies you tell so well. Pulling the wool over sheep’s eyes, putting me in my own personal hell. Does it bother you at all when you leave us alone, after all all these years you’re true colors have finally shown. You’re not trying to do well and change your ways, you’ve resorted back to your “good old days”. I will never follow in the same steps of the path you’ve lead. I will make my own fucking way til’ the day I’m dead. I hope the guilt just eats you alive, being different from you is my only strive. I can’t wait for the day I leave you for good, I’ve always told myself that I probably should. Twenty one years and it’s gotten old, releasing myself from your stranglehold. And when I’m gone I won’t miss you bit, because you’ll always be a god damned drug addict, piece of shit.
Worrying. Constant Worrying. I don’t know where it got so bad, but it’s getting old. My thoughts being consumed of constant worries is taking it’s toll. I wish I could figure a way to rid myself of this burden, and I hate the typical “just relax, don’t worry, or just stop carrying” responses because they really don’t work. I guess they could sometimes, only temporarily. Then the worries just come right back, like a life sucking parasite.
the saddest songs you know aren’t as blue as your mood.
So today I was on an elevator and this was the conversation.
- random old dude: what are those things in your ears?
- me: They're called plugs.
- random old dude: Oh, I never seen those in my life.
- random black dude: Yeah, it's the new goth thing.
- Hi, I'm goth. ok.