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| I can breathe fresh air. |
| 02.06.05 (10:02 pm) [edit] |
God, so many times it feels like life is a series of memories that is being played out while I try my damnedest to narrate. Fuck you. I spelled it wrong. Trust me, tonight, you'll prolly find a lot of errors. This is me, too drunk to type properly and too fucked up to care.
The bar was bumping. Granted, it wasn't always like this. 15 minutes ago, you couldn't tell it would have a spurge of young lust. Haute. Trust me. It was. God damn. You should have seen this girl. Fuck. Christina was the hawtest I've ever seen her. She even got the haute joke. If I could just get her to get over him... nevermind... she just went to dance with a 35 year old asshat with no direction.
This is me, completely rejected.
We left. We talked about a lot of things. God, I would love this girl so much. She has no fucking clue. This would be it for me. The only reason I need. Really. But she's too fucked up on some asshole who doesn't care. She knows this. I know this. I'm rubbing her feet the whole time. I'm her puppet. A week ago, I expected her to kill me. Now, I'm letting her crack my neck.
This is me, perfectly waiting.
Superbowl Sunday. God dammit, time travels with her. The drinks. The many drinks. Got Patriots. Good making it look like you weren't supposed to win. Good vodka and redbull's. Jesus. I didn't even need asprin to get me drunk. I didn't need asprin to get me fucked up.
This is me, hopeless to this girl.
This is me, passed over.
This is me, willing to be what she wants.
This is me, not good enough.
This is me, never good enough.
This is me.
This is me
--Avarice
[i]Fire is a good contraceptive.[/i]
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