are you a stranger despite these multiple years?

"what is there to do? it's a friday night and there's nothing worthwhile in our sights."
beside me sits an empty passenger's seat.
but I still feel you as faintly as I feel the buildings below this overpass,
countless times I have seen their lights and exteriors.
but never have I attempted to step foot in, to claim them as a part of me.
can't I be a part of you? to trace the blueprints
to fix any of the paint chips.
however I am a mere driver, no trained professional at mending.

one day, I will cease to be a transporter of just your body.
one day, I will see what is truly contained inside of the tiny forms below.
to make sense and make this real.
but for now, it is a lowely friday night and my body screams for a bed alone.

Last night, I was "woken" up by my aunt at midnight because I was screaming/whimpering/making strange noises. I say woken with quotations because I thought I was in a dream. Anyway, I had a fever of 102+ and my body was attempting to break the fever, I suppose, because I was violently shaking. The fact that I had a fan on didn't help, but I was shaking too hard to be able to turn it off. It was terrible. But my aunt came in and turned it off and held me until I stopped shaking. Whenever I'm sick, I regret to say, I act like I am around 3 years old. Anyway, by noon I finally had gotten rid of the fever and all.
But my mom is home now.
and I'm not really allowed to be near her because if I get her sick, she might die.
sometimes, it's really hard to know that your mother might not even see you complete your junior year in high school.
I try not to think of it.

metaphorically, could you see then?

imagine this;
the ocean is so beautiful.
but this boat is too weak to hold back from sinking in.
yet the waves are insisting to thrash the form around,
fish screaming for no more invaders.
a confused captain.
a frightened shark nibbling at the failed propeller
just because what else is there to do?

invision this;
il y a du vent. (it is windy)
this kid clings to a sliver of yarn.
but the kite is too jumbled to do anything else but pull.
upward and outward, it flails with the wind,
not meaning to lick the clouds.
an unraveling.
fingers loosen the grip, thoughts to cease the strain
but it'll either snap or float away.

foresee this;
a classroom full of books.
various subjects and knowledge.
but even the computer will not give me an answer.
how shall this heart venture from its B to your A,
the switch does nothing.
a few flickers.
the lightbulb shivers from being so far from the other
but it'll glow either way.

I was never a story teller
but I cannot help but see the parallel of this to you & i.

so love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal.

I forgot the password to this.

I wonder if I'll even use this to actually..blog.

Hm. I prefer vlogs to be frank. Perhaps because it's easier for everyone else, for the human race has declined in their passion for reading.

anyway, yeah, I have this thing called PhlashYo! and you can check it out at www.youtube.com/phlashyo because, I know you want to?
Maybe?



But I suppose I can say a few things.

Pre-Calculus is not my best friend.

I bought a pair of shoes that costed 80 dollars.
Which is how much my other three kicks cost in total.
But so worth it, after all..they're Tegan and Sara shoes. Sara's to be specific;

I can't wait for UPS to deliver them to me.
Plus, I don't have any pairs of white shoes. (But even if all I had were white shoes, I'd still buy them)

I haven't been to IYG for a few weeks and I really miss all of the cutefaces that became my pals there ): hopefully I'll get to go this week. Unless I have to stay late at Domino's.
It's such a boring job. But I get paid for doing nothing, so it's okay.

I've been writing more poetry because I've been talking to John more and he keeps showing me his poems and it's really gotten me to start writing again...just so I can show him mine.

My car's been making strange, bus engine-like, noises lately. D: It's not the smooth operator it used to be. But it's only been a year, so that can't be good. But then again...I've been driving a lot. Oops.

Tonight Blink 182, as a band, is going to be on the Grammys to present an award. Which is lovely. But I probably will miss it because I'll either be asleep or completely forget. It doesn't matter, since it'll be somewhere on the internet anyway.

Since I told Chicka about all the horrendous grammar and format mistakes in the FINAL drafts for Harb for our last issue (she saw them too, considering she goes through them to give out grades haha), we're doing a "LOL THIS HOW YOU WRITE, LAMER" day this week. But a lot of people on staff have given me glares, because it led to Chicka being all "grr" and telling people that if they format a quote wrong (ie: "I like biscuits" said Ashley Dye, 11 instead of the proper "I like biscuits" Ashley Dye, junior, said.) they're going to get a zero on their story.
But whatever, if they had to go through all of the stories and see so many mistakes like that, they'd shoot their brains out too.


I am so bored, sometimes.

Nose Bleeds.

For some reason, for the past few weeks, I have had the most intense urge to have my nose broken.

Whenever I get tired or bored, I start to hear things. I live in many lucid dreams during the daytime.
Recently, these "dreams" have been centered around a fight. I can feel someone's fist smashing against my nose, I can feel the cracking, I can feel the blood pouring out and the pain that follows. The noises are often, the sound that a boxer makes when their glove comes in contact with their opponent's body. It's not a loud crack or anything. It's a nice and dull punch.
I feel this so deeply that my body will spasm from a deep tremor in my chest.
Is this a reflection of my self-hate?
Is this a reflection of my boredom?
Is this a reflection of my psychological troubles?
Who knows.
All I know is that I've been craving the pain and the anger that flares from a fight.

Not that I'm an outwardly violent person or anything.

Five Senses.

I woke up today with the complete intention to forget about all of my preconceived notions of the five senses and live abstractly today.
In this, I will attempt to say what it felt like....and most likely fail.

My mind had been off somewhere else during work. My words slipped and trembled, lispfully I fucked up saying many orders back to customers. However, they were all correct. Just the communication lacked clarity.
When I got home, I felt the urgency to call her, thanks to promptings from my good ol' pal.
But I couldn't even remember the nickname I had given her on my phone. By the time I found it in the contacts, my vision was flipped upside down.
I felt a strong tug that struggled from the pit of my stomach and up through my esophagus.
My phone fell to the floor.
"Maybe this is with drawl from your medication.."
Violent shivers took control of my body. My insides turn on each other, it was now a game of "whoever lives, wins".
I am still fairly convinced they all lost.
Somehow managing to crawl onto the bed, I let myself sink into the mattress I have been laying on for fourteen years. My eyelids felt heavy so I let them give way to gravity and darkness consumed me.
But it wasn't darkness I've been familiar with.
It was more than a lack of light.
Oddly enough, I liked this.
Every breath I took was an extension of my surroundings.
I felt the floor's heartbeat, I felt the wall's natural patterns, I felt the sheet's rhythm.


I might still have a fever.
I don't care much.
Today was a blur.

Dear wall,

(footnote: this is for a small series I am writing)


Dear wall,
It's a good thing you are completely fixable.
A quick jog down to the hardware store, a few hours spent smoothing your surface, and no one will ever tell the difference.
But I will.

When my skin sunk deep inside you, past the plaster, past the padding, I felt an emptiness.
All I ever wanted was something to grasp at, to yank at, to crudely snatch and tear at.
To replace my own insides. But I guess you can't fill yourself with another's lack.
You were my last hope.
Everything around me has failed, no matter how many times I attempted to glue it back together.
I just needed connectivity.

I put the photo back in its frame.
I put the shelf against your off-white surface.
I repaired the glass of the window.
I kept covering everything up until it was unnoticeable to anyone. But me.

Five months ago, my smile was genuine.
Five months ago, my blood only flowed within my veins and arteries.
Five months ago, my memories were intact.

I won't kill for this,
the vessel.