Psssht, unlike our conversation last night, I can delete this. Guess who has all the power now?
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
Spending the majority of the time at the Distracted Drivers lesson texting and talking because, secretly, we don't care if a pole is the last thing we're gonna see in life.
It's a Friday in April and the juxtaposition throughout the crowd is overwhelming. Half of them will be participating in underage drinking, a quarter will be going to the movies, and the rest are no-names in the category 'Miscellaneous'.
The speaker gives a constant reminder on how we can all die if we don't treat "our bodies correctly". Everybody falls silent.
Not because of the reality alert, but the U.S. has just bombed a third world country. We all got text messages about it.
I stare at the mouth of the speaker, the tongue hiding in the back of his throat emphasizing how shocking it was that we're all distracted.
I pay attention to how his face wrinkles when says Ridiculous!. After a minute of yelling, I pick up my book and leave the library.
"When you drink and drive tonight and you hit that car, your life will flash in front of your eyes and you'll be reminded that I was right all along!"
Life isn't going to flash in front of my eyes, instead it'll be an epilepsy warning written in strobe lights letting me know that what isn't meant to kill you will end up disappointing you in the end.
"Words say little to the mind compared to space thundering with images and crammed with sounds."
In my dream, I get five kisses on my neck. It brings back nostalgia from the day I first started spiritually self destructing.
You're at the top of your game, sweetie, the dream girl whispers into my ear, no need to fret. She looks like a celebrity I had a crush on once.
It marks a year, today, since I first learned I was good at something. Good at keeping a conversation, good at dwelling on things that won't be as important in the future, and great at deeming a good chunk of my life pointless.
Spoiler! :
Toxic girls and gasoline, I hate things in my dreams. I know I'm funny, smart, and clever, I just underestimate those qualities.
"Words say little to the mind compared to space thundering with images and crammed with sounds."
I said it was pathetic that you wanted to die as the future seemed bleak, but maybe you should just grow up.
I said you need to grow up because life is too long to spend in waiting rooms under hospital lights and not shutting up over pissy/whiney emotions straight from the serotonin.
I said you whine too much because punching pillows don't do you good no more, they're rage induced blog rants that no one will ever read and will be the death of you; a blood clot waiting to happen since you were 13.
I said you were too optimistic because you aren't better than me, every word you say is a reminder that we won't grow up even though we try to. We're faux adults at a young age. Face it, you don't have a plan, neither do I, but it'll all come down to who sheds more blood in the end.
I said I liked you in the beginning, but that's when I didn't know what to do. At this cross road I need to tell you to grow up. Not that you think so, however there's a difference between having a plan and actually going through with it.
I said you need to grow up because hope is overdue, but having balls aren't. With all that time you spent scolding at me, I can't say I hate your guts, but everything surrounding it.
"Words say little to the mind compared to space thundering with images and crammed with sounds."
6 YWS ate my poem yesterday, just realized now. Here it is.
A mannequin with red lipstick smeared on its face sits in a modern art museum. The world is cruel and ugly, dying is easy now is inscribed in its chest.
A fellow acquaintance describes the creation as "lit", I describe it as terrible. We sit there in awkward silence as the constant reminder flashes in our eyes.
"Words say little to the mind compared to space thundering with images and crammed with sounds."
Gender:
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