i'm in love with emma watson

i hate the smell of my own skin.
wanting to just get lost in drugs or sleep- whichever promises sound sweeter to me
not in a hateful way
just in a hopeful way
want to live in movie scenes and catchy hooks in the best songs
explode out of some small room in some small house in some small town in some small state
- where none of it matters or makes sense
i'm just dying on a day to day basis with no cure
would kill all the innocent just to be able to explode into your mind
feel like obsessing just to be able to get back to obsessing
i need new faces
new smiles
new memories
because the same faces and old smiles and uninteresting memories don't mean shit to me
"i could use somebody".........
i want to make the sounds that make my heart beat as hard as it does right now listening to my nightly soundtracks
this is what desperation looks like.
feels like.
smells like.
i really just want to be noticed by everyone in the world. this is my admitting i am a narcissist and meaning it
-hey, first step is admitting the problem right?
none of it made sense, but then again it never did.
still searching for the answers to questions i can't form into words.
help me.

mirror mirror on the wall

its awkward when you realize someone deleted you out of their life.
kinda ironic because i do it all the time.
but when you realize that it was done, and you are pretty sure you did nothing wrong....
again, kinda ironic because i do it all the time.
and you think and think and wonder where you went wrong and fucked whatever up...
its getting less ironic because i do it all the time.
until you realize that you are just as shitty as they all said you are and you feel better.
because its really not ironic, its just you being you.

broken backs and beaten souls

its old fingerprints on warm glasses (half full/ half empty)
the pounding ache of the same morning sun (each day)
its the same look you get from the clock every afternoon
just another drive home
look up at the sky for once and cry out "bring me home"
i'll start running now.
its wishful dead eyes that stay glued to moving pictures of far away places that promise better everythings
borrowed and used breaths that lift these legs and arms everyday
running on reserve
what happens when it runs out......
just realizing now that all the punches i threw were at myself
falling in love was really just falling out of touch
falling for you was just falling to the bottom
this view of watching you leave is too familiar
and happens way too often.
"you can't save them all"
knowing she thinks of me less and less.....
been roaming around far too long
forgot what i was searching for
rather roam with one hand holding yours
trace the outlines of your voice but really- i don't know the first thing about this