MRS. ONE-TWO-THREE PUNCH[drunk] (firesizzle) wrote in aroomofonesown,

I HATE LJ-CUTS... no one posts here anyway.

"Close your eyes, keep them closed."

"If I asked you to play with fire you would scoff and ask how ever did I become so stupid. And if I emulate the bubbles that form around your lip, you seem to understand how I have become so very bitter. And it's rotten. That a boy can make a man and that man will only kill. And it's horrid. To live your whole life as a baby girl with a pillow-case veil and a plastic wedding bouquet. It's just sad."

"Fuck the Treasury, and give me my money back."

"Put your damn money where your mouth is. For once in your life, take that grimy, green, little paper and shove it down your slimy, lying throat. Nice and easy now, slow and steady now. Don't choke. Don't cough. Don't say you can't breathe, I know this can't hurt. Not much, not at all.

You don't even deserve to be walking around with those pennies in your vest. Don't give me your two cents if you can't supply a voucher. A receipt. A time and date and signature signed on a note that you wrote "Forever Mine." And a day, or a year, the time you've spent was never wasted here. So, don't lie; pull out your deeds and live up to you purchase.

Well, fuck that and fuck the lot of you too. You don't know what you're saying can't give me decent financial aid-- so don't you dare tell me how I label and price the items in my cart. George couldn't cut the tree and you can't cut out the rest. Don't leave me out of this, your list is itemized, so why aren't I in your parcels?

I gave my body to the Mint and they made a waste of greed out of me. I'll wait in drawers with empty rings until you get your change for me. But you've got your credit cards and travelers checks, to hold out until you're back with the lonesome but gratifying plebeian mess we all live. I've got my net worth and inflation rates to ensure "we're" always "ours".

I've been sitting here for weeks now, and all the other bills have fluttered by. So take a number, order your piece of me , and push to the front of line. Yeah, that's right...Fuck the Treasury, and give me my money back.

"Your newest challenge, your biggest regret."

"I am running my hands along a brick-wall beast. I am running my hands over your body in my head, rolling and flopping you over and over again, looking for the hole where, when poked, you squirm and twist, groping for the spot that will make me just as missed."

"You've got the best eye for finding cracks to tear me apart"

"It only happens on Wednesday nights, it takes around three months to travel here; I send it back with new reason to be bitter. I am used to this routine, this coming and going and sending and loathing, so it is okay for me to tell you that I live for the solace in it's chaos. It and I, we are serene. If it shows up a day late or a day early it throws everyone's equilibrium to live a bit sideswept; I have just capsized clockwise in this pool of filth. My mind neither comes nor goes for an hour or two; I just sit and stare with crystalline static in my eyes. I am crumbling. With a dizzy surprise it takes its leave with haste and makes it's return as lackadaisical as fruit punch spiked for little bodies. It cannot thrive without me, but cannot bare to let me be. I can thrive without it, but somehow, I've got this maddening addiction to the time it rests inside me. We feel safe within eachother, and we are stuck on keeping our ways staid and habitual. It and I, we have an understanding."

"Restless... I swore you slept with me last night."

"They met on cement. Pay attention to that particular detail because it makes all of the difference, the medium on which a person has met.

You see the whimsical types, they meet on grass. They have laid in eachother's laps and braided dandelions in eachother's hair. Dandelions wilt slowly in tiny little increments people try to save by pressing themselves in between books. They try to preserve everything, the environment, their youth their peers in combat. Damn bunch of hippies don't realize thats their flower dry out and turn brown all the same, no matter how thick of a book you smash it into. So, the poetic, carefree relationship is just as pliable and moved as the grass in wind and so, they were not meant to last for long, this starstruck, heartfelt couple in the grass.

Those who meet through phone have got the less to lose. A mess of wires twists their faithfulness true to different tangents and new feelings. You're a whole new person riding on the one beautiful fallacy that you can create every pretense just because you can all but see the other. It is so much easier to lie when you cannot meet with anothers eyes. Through wires comes distance, and through distance comes longing and other people and the yearning to be soothed. And so, such a couple caught up in telephone spiderwebs often cannot align their steps, becuase there is always someone an areacode closer who can finish off where phone lust stops.

But to meet on cement...

When bourne on strength, one is bourne to an eternity.
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