Living on short-term solutions.
Jumping on buses, getting off buses, stumbling into streets, occasionally finding the right alley, getting lost, and sitting at the wrong train station.
Littlethingslittlethingslittlethings.
There aren't any ears to listen, no hands to grasp, no arms to fall into.
People who don't deserve anything sure do ask for a lot.
I could listen to Joy Division, stop showing up to class, hang myself from the ceiling, drink protein shakes, and "fight the good fight".
Or I could listen to The Smiths, put on my rings, finish all my work, drink like a fish and tell my mother I love her.
Stereotypical music is going to fuel all your little stereotypical problems.
There's so much Spanglish, vice, and thinking about touching. More than there ever was before. It's no longer detachment but I'm scared of what I gained. My nervous tic, my withdrawal, my anxiety has turned into a P-R-O-B-L-E-M. I need a beige sofa and a nice off-white room to talk to.
I wish I could see people as people and not images of people. But then those are my standards that I'm holding them up to. No one can get over those. Get over those and I can't handle you anymore.
I wish my imaginary friends would come back. They took such good care of me.
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