"if we throw this life away will we ever have to live again- say no and i'm all yours, say yes and i'll still fucking pull. tell the boys i'll see them soon. your lips were the softest yet. north, east, south and west- i gave you my very best..."

the dangerous lives of fall out boys-
sleep. wake. read. hot. girls. hot. sleep. practice. hot. practice. sleep. breathe.

why is it you will never have better friends and worse enemies than you did when you were 13 and 14?
every summer day is the last.

lately i have been having peter pan afternoons with my mom. they consist of us making lunch and wathcing movies and walking the dogs cookies and stuff. lately i've been thinking that i am van wilder. i am ferris bueller. i am even that guy from slackers with the gap between his teeth. i am every boy that never wants to grow-up. lately i have been thinking that things weren't supposed to turn out this way. lately i have been thinking about how i need a wendy way more than i need the lost boys. lately i have been thinking about you.

i wanted to ask my mom what happens when summer evenings aren't enough- when alcoholic night skies hurt too much to breath.

but i don't think i would like the answer.

this city doesn't feel big enough for the two of us
but i'm sending you secret messages while you sleep
and i'm writing words to make you fall in love with me

i'm hiding out in my bedroom.
the headphones are sending my ears a message, i hope they get it.
"there's no lesson to be learned. except to never fall in love again."

i think i have abandonment issues.
either that or everyone i like keeps leaving.

i am so fucked right now. i want to be sedated. i want to be medicated and forgotten. throw away the fucking key. my stomach is telling my head that i miss you- thats how fucking slow i am- it makes sure to throw-up a couple of times just so i get the point though. i want to cut up my face or wash it in acid- i want to be ugly. but not just ugly, i want to be an ugly person who used to be pretty. i'm sorry i'm such a drag but right now the thought of you playing solitaire is making me feel so fucking lonely.

i wish i could peel back my skin so you could see who i really am. you'd probably hate me as much as i hate my self right now but at least you'd know. i hate these wordssdfsaddgsf

"the only thing you can be totally assured of is that one day everyone you meet and everything they love will be dead and in the ground."

this town has got me so down.
i've got to get out.

talking to you makes everything worse.
everything.

everytime i have a knife she has a gun.

it's so predictable.

my self-sabotage complex has a persecution complex. it feels like it is getting too much unnecessary attention. it's my birthday- celebrate every fucking failure, relive every wasted moment. i was gonna cut my wrists and tie a bow around them- that would really be the best present. the card would say "don't open until you're all alone". it's a good thing i'm a coward or you would be celebrating my birthday in the coroner's office. my complexes have complexes. that makes me laugh. a real kodak moment. when you realize all of your best days are behind you.

i bet joan of arc had the worst persecution complex ever.
and i miss you.