September 29, 2005 (person)
Return to September 29, 2005 (person)
|An ode to those who steal my heart.
Your affinity for shirts with slogans like "I used to be schizophrenic, but we're okay now" and "you laugh because I'm different; I laugh because you're all the same" sends waves of revulsion through my body, as I imagine holding you and feeling so overwhelmingly warm and at peace.
Your failed attempts at justifying cutting happy faces, pot leaves, and ICP iconography into your wrists with sharp objects as a method of dealing with "depression" is a clash of the titans; my gag reflex against my nonsensical obsession with you.
Your awkward interactions with my friends and others makes me smile a weak, awkward smile in my heart of hearts, while observing you trying to seem "super crazy" or "freakish" by saying offsetting things such as "I like dead things."
Your hair, which is an amalgamation of four thousand different colors, is a riotous vomit of hues inside my daydreams of us in a movie theatre. Your fingernails are caked with black nail polish, which has since started to crumble, just like my heart when I look at your pictures on the internet.
You are destined for failure, and you will probably end up pregnant by your junior year of high school.
Your previous relationships have always been abusive (according to what you tell me), and you are convinced that you can never "love" again, and I grin sheepishly, knowing you're going to forget about all of that when we're sharing a kiss.
I can see through your pretenses, and your facade of despair. You are mediocre. You are uninteresting, and are about as intelligent as a bag of hair.