| [ |
music |
| |
babe i'm gonna leave you, led zeppelin |
] |
so this is what it comes to, me, my predictive self, and you and that glitzy girl who all our bigmouth friends tell me about. partly my own fault for wanting to know, and well i think to myself, SO WHAT? i fucked benji in his room in guelph and he made me come twice, two mindblowing times on that dick that never stops, so what if you're chasing this pretty girl around, touching her breasts on MDMA. you're like me, i suppose, trying to make your way around town, except the difference is that i have been astounded by your pretty body and the way your voice sounds when you tell me about your mother and her tough past growing up in wales, her dad a pimp and beating her up now and then. god am i just one of those people who romanticize everything? when there's really nothing? is all this just nothing?
the truth is i know that i am just mythologizing you like i do to certain people when i have been single and playing the field for a while, tired of the wet sex on nameless nights. you, who stuck around one morning to hold my head in your lap while i blew out mango flavoured smoke. i put on beirut for us, and we stayed there, late into the afternoon. that seemed like ages ago even though it was only last week. an overcast monday afternoon, or was it sunday? all the days run in together and it all becomes one continuous, tiring, long mess.
i feel like squeezing out some tears just to get the heaviness out of my chest but the oxycodone and hydrocodone will not permit me. i start to think i'm addicted.
i start to think about benji and how he delivered two otherwordly orgasms, even though at the time, i was so far removed from him, his bedroom, the freezing, dry guelph wind through the crack we opened for ventilation, the marilyn monroe poster on the wall, his mother's paintings of skeleton cats with their eyes removed. his gorgeous, plump little mother margaret, who always ends up having conversations with drunk guests of benji's at the house in lorne park.
how he always comes to pick me up from where ever i am, dropping me off late at night one time all the way from his house to toronto, so i could meet justin, like it was nothing. barely passing commerce but pulling 5 all nighters to get through it. but i mean what is this all?
i need substance, i guess that is what i am really searching for, and i thought i found it in max, but he's just another one looking after his own hunger, and aren't we all? who am i to get angry? jealousy is a human emotion and it dissipates eventually, into the rest of the haze of questions and answers in this existentialist search for __________________________.
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
autumns_child's Friends Page
sick
digg 
facebook 
reddit 
stumbleupon 
happy
