be the misa misa in my crazy death note be the misa misa to my light yagami he told me he told me he related to L more but i know i know the evil within him the evil within me plowing into me from behind injecting his soul into my blood and me loving loving loving screaming for each moment of it for more more more hit me harder harder till i bleed i’m the misa misa to your light yagami write me a death note
For Light/B1/Dark Helmet/trashbag boy. I see you. 👀
I didn’t want to see him but he was there and everyone was dying – she was dying and I couldn’t do anything about it i wanted to get her away from me but that made her angry but her face was wallpaper sanded and her skin hung as it clung to what was left of her bones i hadn’t seen her in years but now my job to take care of her to be there for her but i didn’t even really remember her name but the face remembered her face the what it was before face i didn’t know the new face and he was going to be there too and i didn’t want to go but i did i just wanted to figure out where it went wrong where it went wrong and the world coming in and going and going and trying to hold on floating through scenes and decrepitated houses with mold and old wood beyond redemption houses white people love to save until it cost them money and as long as they don’t have to live in them live in them like that with the empty rooms and decrepit wood and the killer in the halls and doors not locking and wondering why he’s coming for me but knowing that he is and that i have to save her even though i don’t want to don’t like her but love her not that don’t like her a scared to death of her because she’s terrifying with her skin in bags her bones ready to be free to move on to leave without her and her eyeballs peering out in terror of the leaving of what she knows is yet to come
but i sat in front of him floated by him hoped and yet hoped he would yet wouldn’t see me because want to be seen but don’t know how to react how to respond how to reach out where we went wrong because because because he’s been gone now for a while never gave him my new number because i had to get a new number or i didn’t but i did had to get rid of him not him the one in front of me but the other him the one with the octo arms grabbing back and now searching for me so sporadically and yet consistent the emails and emails the emails why doesn’t block work on him how much money does one need to stalk someone who doesn’t want to be seen seen by him and the knowing that he is looking and looking and looking
i don’t remember the show at all a lot of lights floating on the stage some kind of game some kind of highschool thing or something old something supposed to enjoy supposed to enjoy but not feeling it and wonder if i’m the only one who doesn’t get it so just sit there in a giant magenta hat hiding from him in a world of black and white and mostly magenta accents and bright yellow lights
i thought it was fine that i’d gotten by away unseen and it was sad because so aware of him of his presence behind me they want me in the room they’re coming for my life for my eggs to make babies with three because she’s old and she’s withered but the one i need the one who i thought could save me won’t come she just looks at me from his arms and grimaces and they dance as they float into the hurricane air the air of the storm building or built or over but she’s always there looking on at me from above judging judging judging
there’s a fence a tall fence a fence around a field that not supposed to go into but have to have to jump float between the houses from houses from houses until i get to the decrepit house where i’m late for that i’m supposed to be at now but can’t seem to get things moving forward can’t do anything more than try to float to jump float kick into the right direction and not backwards though the wind pulls it pulls and the leaves are tangling in my face
and he calls to me he calls to me should i pretend to not remember his name? i’m half way in the fence and half way out and he’s aduacity he’s sent the two women on ahead the women i don’t know but assume are his they must be his this is denial talking okay fine they were his women there at the show with him one on each arm one with a hat like mine but older both older than me i look like the little kid the naive little child that i am with him he’s got those sad eyes but when he smiles he smiles last saw him in an instagram pic not his he’s not on social media of course he’s not on social media he’s too cool but not not above it or below it just operating in a different zone and different level neither higher or lower and frustrating level for kids for the kid i am compared to him i’m a kid just a silly little kid who who somewhere hidden liked him denial again denail again and again i liked him i thought there were there with him the potential of we but he didn’t see or he did
why did he never text me back?
i still don’t know was i too high or was no is he too old too old to try again for the we with a baby i understand i want to think but denial i don’t and now he’s calling i don’t go to him i just look around and pretend not to see him searching for ‘someone’ who called my name i know his voice i know it’s him but i don’t want to look at him immediately don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much i hang on hang on to him to his every word to his every moment every moment he’s been gone but not he’s been there still been there all along just me i’m the one who left stopped showing up stopped going to see him got shy got ashamed
why didn’t he text me back?
he’s asking what happened after i finally look at but not right at him he’s wearing a magenta top with jeans and a sports coat like the kind linus wants to make eventually
i don’t want to don’t want to write this moment don’t want to remember the moment the heart skip the wonder why the floor hurts so bad on my hips my shoulder collapsing under me don’t want to see him to acknowledge the power denial the hurt the hurt he caused and is causing me a frist friend a frist chance but he but he
why didn’t he text me?
text me back… something the shirt is silly it’s blatent and sexy in a female way it’s the top of the dress Porsha Williams wore with Phaedra in the vacation it shows that undeniable that the women were with him and he not with me not on his mind doesn’t i know
why he didn’t text me.
the rebuttal to his hey hey are you pretending not to remember me? the rebuttle
why did you never text me?
text me back just left me hanging and hanging and now have a new number a new track but don’t want it but do because need it it’s necessary and yet what would he say sa
“You talked about Tom too much.”
so you see? it’s him. him until the end until the waking the murder the slaughter the men the men he says talked talking but what about the jokes remembered in the morning and the weed his weed we smoked
denial the potential why because he’s old? no because i’m a child.
dedicated to Jason. I miss you. and Yes. I still remember your name, your face, and your accents. Maybe someday we’ll see if there’s more.
i wanna run until my body withers away
until the ache in my soul goes away
until the pain in my somache is gone
until the muscel spasms stop
until my heart ceases to be
until i’m no longer me
they don’t tell you this, but sometimes all you can do is run. it’s not an act of shame yes it is a loss of control but it’s a loss of something greater the loss of believing that those around you will understand and accept you for who and where you are.
when you’ve done all you can do. to try and love them. to love them. to be there to be what they want to answer their “try me’s” when you say they won’t understand after staring blankly at them and their lies of ‘i understand’ followed by their own life story that has nothing to do with you and who you are and what you’re going through
that’s when you gotta run. it’s not a running away. it’s a getting to a physical space of what you know to spiritually be true. that you are alone and no one sees you. no one can help. and really, they don’t want to. don’t want you. want *you*
she’s not crazy
she’s just the only one who truly knows
how alone they are
there are ghost in this house.ghost of unnamable horror. they drift about like nothing is wrong. one is dying one is not. they’re beautiful the public says they have money the colleagues say look how far they’ve come how far they stepped back how much one has lost one faster than the other stepping into a hole only pal-bearers should fill but not yet
“God I’m so jealous of how skinny she is!” “I know same! That’s like my dream body.”
the clock down the hall.
Doll Parts because that’s what expected of the female body. To fit into an idea – not just body types beyond that there are all KINDS of dolls remember – but the ideal of legs without blemishes and shakes and firm arms of perfect mathematical proportions. And sure, Courtney at 5’10” literally had a carbon breathing copy of a doll body… the only flaw in it that actually made her more sexy because it showed that she was the magical doll brought to life are her veins.
but there are two kinds of dolls.
the beautiful perfect dolls.
and then the scary dolls
the one left on the floor of a haunted house the kinds that boys bring girls too to feel macho to have the excuse to hold her hold her hold her tight the sweat of your hands dripping off on to her contaminating her sully sully don’t be sullen, doll don’t cry
kept on display and laughed at merely a trophy in the case or a terrifying dream erased $5000 drops to $5.50 three dollars if you’re lucky in a car wondering why
you didn’t go to law school
and there is joy in the breaking for them joy in reflecting on the memories of when she was new when she was fresh when she was something to collect and the best part about dolls is there’s always a new model and fish can die on plastic legs
daughters aren’t safe that doesn’t solve it ‘oh everyone is someone’s duahter’ exactly sicko and ever girl born wanting dolls becoming one
but men fuck dolls
and money fucks men
when the money runs out and the meds aren’t hard enough
the ache will come
and your heart will die.
PRESENTING THE LATEST MODEL
Why don’t we love ourselves like we love our shoes?
My converse… these are shoes that have been places and seen things and carry on…. in my opinion they look more beautiful now that they are worn…. the stains and cracks….
Understandable to be sad when they get too worn. Too old.
But don’t start hating them… continue to love them and want them to last just a little bit longer… till finally you have to let them go.