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Ik heb net shirts van oude liefdes verknipt om papilotten van te fabriceren.. Hoe ongesteld wil je me hebben?

Er zijn half leuke feestjes met dikwijls leuke mensen, niet om naar toe te gaan, maar om al te zijn. Er is geen geld wat
wel uitgegeven moet worden en er moeten -hijs- meer sigaretten gebietst worden. Er moet worden gelachen, gedronken, uit
nekken geluld en niet enthousiast gedanst worden. Zin in! Geile kutzin in.

Neen. Ik zit thuis, alleen, wat op zich al een rariteit is. Ik ben nooit thuis en zij altijd. Ik heb net gedouched, want
als ik dan toch tijd zit te verdragen kan ik me net zo goed verzorgen. Af en toe kijk ik in de spiegel, baal ik van wat ik
zie, neem ik een pose aan zodat het licht me streelt en ik weer gerustgesteld ben. Hou mijn buik in, bekijk mijn kont.
Zak weer in en grijp fronsend naar nog een sigaret, nog een raar-maar-reuze-interessant-zeewier-met-wasabi-smaak chipje of
nog een blikje Cola Light. Ik heb er nog maar een. Nog maar een mooi, lang, wit kankerstokje, wat betekent dat ik zo ga
slapen. Een bliepje, een smsje.

'Waar bennnnnn je dan?'

Zal ik liegen? Even overweeg ik het, ik weet dat ik daar niet meer geraak dus nou kan ik net zo goed met een of ander
onverslaanbaar verhaal komen. Fuck het.

'Dik en ongesteld, lamemetrust.'

Mijn onderbuik heeft net bepaald dat alle sociale omgangsvormen de rottende vinkentering kunnen krijgen, helemaal in z'n
eentje. Prrrima.

Lekker alleen zijn. Lekker tekenen (nog geen potlood aangeraakt), lezen (oja, boeken), huiswerk maken (haha, oh wow) en
andere huiskamer-toegankelijke manieren van zelfontwikkeling.

Ik kijk nog eens in die verrekte spiegel en concludeer dat er echt geen zak aan te ontwikkelen valt.

Topavond. Waar is die peuk.

.. and then the poor man asked me for my hand!

You have a record.

Straight from the battlefield, heed my whispered roars
I will not rest until you yield, my bloody mess all yours
I have no weapons designed to fight, no helmet for my mind
I'll have you just with what I am, no shield to hide behind.

I hope that it's enough, for I won't stop till it's done.
The outcome is all yours, it's your bare hand that holds the gun.
Shoot me and I'll die, soon, sometime, someday.
It might steal all my years but I will die anyway.

Like all things bad for me I'm addicted to the pain,
Yet like all things bad for you there is everything to gain.
Maybe this war of ours will have no end in sight
Or maybe we won't see it in the darkest depths of night.

Maybe I will scream and beg and kill and fuck you up,
I'll pursue relentlessly until you do ask me to stop.
Then I'll drop it all instantly, immediately, right away.
True battles are fought with two, the rest is just child's play.

And though I'd like to be, I fear I am no child,
Though more so than the rest, true, all my hairs are wild.
And maybe that's exactly why I feel this will go on,
A little girl's hope that one day her war is won.

Noelle.

Whatever I write won't come close
to properly portray
All the things I want to say
All the things I want to convey
I hope it isn't needed
But I'll write sweets anyway;

You're a girl unlike I've ever met
A friend unlike I've ever had
To rid my face of the sad
Something I won't, no, can't forget.

I can't ever do what you do for me
But I can fucking well try
I'll stand by you no matter what
And scare off any tear you cry

I'll be there for revenge
For corruption and child's play
I'll be there with you scavenging
Keeping wicked men at bay

For our ship needs no men to sail
We'll get there by ourselves
And when we're done with playing pirates
We'll just settle down as elves

We'll frolic in forests or at seas
That really don't matter none
What is truly of importance
Is that frolicking will be done

We'll find ways to keep things going
We'll find a way to make them fun
We'll find the men to mend our hearts
We'll settle somewhere in the sun

So that we can sit on our ranch's porch
With our fair share of lil' ones
And knit and think of all this now
When our younger years are gone

I don't know what lies ahead
How many miles still to go
Before we find our place to sleep
But our woods will be lit, fo sho'.

I've missed your big 3-0 gig
But I'll be there for the rest
Cause if you haven't noticed
I'll stick by you like the pest.

At last fucking finally
I'm done with the sickening sweet
Let's douse ourselves with vodka
And raid this city's streets.

There's grey between your black and white.

And you should know, for you're shrouded in it.

Stop watching with disdain
Start seeing, don't refrain
Don't let your mind blind your heart
For then nothing will remain

Stop thinking when you feel, you blistering cluster-fuck of rancune.

A little less alright than is okay.

You're a lovely place to hide.

A place to play hide and seek with nothing left to lose, all you ask in return is that my heart is yours to rule, if I can not even give you that then what are you but a mule for me to help carry all that sets me free, I dare not rest, I dare not breathe for you'll continue on, I cannot be what I though should as all I see are tests. A paranoia so cliché I can't trust in its truth, I can't believe it's stopping me from what I ought to do. Yet fault lies in the ought, the could, the would as in the time; if I am not convinced then who should care about my prime?
Wait for me, patiently, I have yet some struggles to survive, it's a long way til this cat'rpillar sprouts its wings with which to take the dive. From the skins of wasted years I'll rise high to the skies, you just wait and see and hope that day you're still alive.

Wheeeeeeeee.

I'm now just starting to realize..

and being free are different things.

It's my birthday party..

But you're probably not invited.