I was thinking of places that I could hide.

There is an empty flower pot inside my chest, under the hair, under the skin, the muscle, bone, waiting to bloom, and no matter what I do it can’t. I can sometimes feel it start to bud, but nothing. It’s empty. No soil, no water, no sunlight. I need there to be flowers, bushes, weeds even (I like them). It is the saddest thing I have ever felt. I can’t even feel my heart beat anymore, it’s like there is nothing there. I think that if I were to cut my chest open I could have a party in the empty space. No blood, no organs, just a blank canvas of muscle and skin, waiting to be painted. My body is sick of staring at these white walls. I’m so empty that I can’t even draw properly. I left my sketch book in the backseat of my car for about a week, and I didn’t even care. I don’t want this feeling anymore.

I feel blank, empty, and incomplete. I don’t know why…well, I might but I don’t want that to be the reason. I feel…like I’m second best. In everything. I feel like I’m just there, whatever, it’s only Andrew, who cares about him? I feel myself getting hurt. I feel myself working, trying to get passed this, but I can’t. Every touch feels meaningless, every hug is empty. I feel myself getting dragged out to sea, to be lost, floating in water for the rest of my life. I don’t even care about school anymore. The bank that we used last year for my loan no longer does loans, so now we need to find another, and if we can’t I really don’t care. I don’t care if I go back. I want to just go away. I want to move away, far away, from everybody, and just lay in an all white room, in a big fluffy bed, under a white down comforter, with Brittany as dawn slowly hits us, and there’s nothing we can do but waste the day away. I can’t do that though, I only see her once a week, and it’s tearing me apart. I was so use to waking up, and hanging out, texting all day, thinking nothing of staying in and watching endless movies because tomorrow we can do the same exact thing. I feel so hollow, like a part of me was carved out. I don’t even think my body will let me cry anymore. I’m just there, just a person. I have Andrew characteristics, the same eyes, my nose still gets stuffy all the time, still have the same unattractive stomach hanging over my jeans, same hands, but there is no deeper layer, no core. There’s no batteries in my body to make me go. This pot is slowly chipping, and all I want is fucking sunlight.


I'll take you home if you don't leave me at the front door

What you know about being a hard-man? Your mum buys your bling.

Do you know what I love? I love driving down Woodside ave, behind a car and Ooo that car in front of me is turning down the same street I am. And then OOOOoo!! He’s turning down that street too, and the next one, and fuck, son, he’s turning down my block. I love that feeling where even though I’m not, but I feel like a stalker because the person in front of me is going in the same direction I am…and they kind of speed up because in my mind I think that they’re shitting themselves because they think I’m following them, going to follow them home, park my car across the street, and murder them when they get out of their car…muahahahahahaha! I’m funny. And tired. Shit, I’m tired, and I don’t know why. All I’ve been doing is sleeping. I got this rash and all I want to do is sleep, it’s sick. Today, all I did was sit around my house until 8 and did nothing.
Wanna know what else I love? Sam’s club. The other day I went there for the first time in like two years and I basically peed myself around each corner. Croissants? Boom! Pee. Meat? boom! Piss. Books? Boom! URIN! I was like daaaaaaaaaaaamn…hmm…I don’t know what I’m saying. Good night.

That whip don't make you a big man
That chain don't make you a big man
I know you think you're a big man
But really you're just a waste, man

Fuck me pumps

I love Amy Winehouse. She’s so, I don’t know…soulful. I’m all like “sing it sista” when she comes on my computer. Hmm…it’s been a while since I wrote in here, huh? Let’s see, what’s new with me??? Well, I cut my hair. I was bored one night and decided that I needed a trim so I went into my bathroom, wet my hair, and started cutting. I ended up trimming it, then cutting it again. I now have a much outgrown mohawkish haircut. Do I like it? I fucking love it. I’ve never liked me with short hair, but for some reason I like the way this came out. Why? Maybe because I did it? I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about going back and taking hair classes. Maybe I am “missing my calling”. I cut my moms bangs today and fixed the angles in the front of her face, and she loves them. The thing is I know I’m good at it, especially for being self taught, but I don’t know if I want that to be my carrier. Is that a real job? I guess it is, but it pays shit unless you’re like really, really fucking well at it and become famous. Can you imagine a line of women paying over $250 for a haircut by me? That would be awesome. I don’t know. I’m pretty much done with school. I mean, I like it and want to go back, but I want to just do it because I want to go, not because I need to, you know? Anyway…I want to move out of my house. I really want to be living in a studio apartment in the city right now. I want to wake up and look out my window and have an awesome view of the city, crowded, loud, and never really boring. Brittany and I had this discussion last night on how we would decorate our apartment or house. The funny thing is I never thought that we’d disagree on anything; I figured that it’d be a mishmash of both of us, but we had two very different opinions on how it should be furnished: she wants a Christmas tree that is exploded with an assortment of different ornaments collected over the years, colored lights, ext… me, I want white lights, white ornaments, very fancy. I bet she wants a star on the top of the tree too. I like angels (even though I’m not religious) so we decided that we’d have two smaller trees <( ^_^ )>. Also, I want everything matchy. I want all the same plates, maybe in different colors, I want a camel back couch, very modern Victorian furniture, and clean, beige walls. I have almost the exact taste as my mom when it comes to decorating. Weird. I don’t know, maybe it’ll change once I get my own place. I might be a complete slob, food everywhere, nothing matching, just whateverness splattered on the walls. I can tell you one thing though: I can’t wait to be able to use whatever, whenever, and not get yelled at. Today, while my mom was sleeping I made Brittany a stir fry (because I’m a fucking house wife, and will always be) and I really enjoyed doing it. I really like cooking for people, especially people I care about, I usually try extra hard. The other night I had a framing party, and it looked like I was having over twenty people over, that’s how much food I had. Sigh. I’m so cute.


You can’t sit down right
‘cause your jeans are too tight
And you’re lucky it’s ladies night