sad story #4
I want to ask I don’t want to ask but I want to tell I don’t want to tell I need to show you I don’t need to do anything
life is really just a series of pressures and scenarios in which to embarrass oneself
I make my bones exposing myself
making bones
I have nothing to achieve from holding it
I have little to squander from embracing it
some apologist’s respect
I am trained for this
have it harnessed so sexy
sad story #8
am I special oh my god why do I always do this like torturing myself but I want to be validated in a sensitive way I mean I don’t need it to survive or even function or feel good but if you’re going to occupy like this I’d like to feel a similar impact because otherwise what’s the point. my affections are capitalist. writing this in a notebook in fat sweeping lettering but it looks clean and almost in lines almost like I have decent handwriting I guess I’m calm because what if this is only legible to myself but I am confident a stranger could find this notebook and read my every thought as if it were printed but maybe not I have terrible handwriting haha I write that in a letter to you or you write that in yours and I guess we’re both so self conscious or maybe it’s just me I guess it’s always just me but I really can’t tell. keep pressing that little button on the side to see if you’ve replied to the message I sent to you itself a reply to something you texted me writing we’re always talking about writing it’s like the only way we can talk about sex because they’re almost the same thing especially when it’s frustrating.
sitting on my feet. my cat is next to me and we’re listening to Turn on the Bright Lights. I loved this in high-school but now I associate it with another time in my life riding the bus trash bags full of clothes up steep streets and leaning forward to stay balanced to keep everything from falling out. it’s comforting in a grimy way. alone besides my cat and I don’t mind it I actually like it I mean I like being with friends but not all the time. like time to sit in bed or at my desk with my cat and it eats at me when I can’t have this like I wish I could quit my job.
but seriously or just anyone. like can you tell me but I don’t need you to say anything I just want to say it to you to kill it you don’t even have to look at me but I tend to do this with so many questions I want to say but don’t want to know the answers to. wonder if things were different like I wish I had given myself some time like at my desk or in my bed with my cat. Jesus Christ. sometimes I find myself in a near catatonic state I don’t know if that really is what it is but it’s kind of like that hot tub scene in Ferris Bueller and I just sit and can’t move not even my head or my hands and I think about doing something like standing up or rolling a spliff but not even that I am really just staring at some odd point on the wall like a picture of Al Pacino or the bottom blind in the row and I wish I had a plan.
in the bathroom I stand in front of the sink and look in the mirror open my mouth and grimace and notice something I ate in one of my bottom teeth did anyone else see this I pick up the green handled toothbrush and clean up looking around the bathroom looking at the pair of old underwear in the trash the ones with the birds that I bought in high-school that I kept way longer than I should more holes than fabric faint blood stains I can’t wear these or show them to anyone and they even feel dingy when I wear them so what’s the point. looking at my teeth again I think of a song lyric for an emo band and think about writing it down spit and leave the bathroom and look inside my notebook reading the last line I wrote and immediately forget what I wanted to write down.
walking on the beach insects buzzing in my eyes a dead raccoon something in the water that I think is an animal swimming or bobbing up and down but it really just a large rock the water splashes over broken glass in the sand the train tracks just to the left with the commuter train coming quick around the bend almost out of nowhere how I thought about parking on Carlotta street and calling it in my head the whole time mad Carlotta street how I almost instinctually walked toward the tracks just before the train to put out a cigarette how I thought about how if the train had caught me you might be sad for a little while but not long probably and I wouldn’t want you to be but I think I would want you to remember me.
