so just like the rest you said goodbye
after you pulled out just walked into the night
you were the one who wanted to keep in touch
guess in the morning that was all too much
so now I'm the one sad and disappointed
guess I created the club and you just joined it
and the only thing left for me to do
is fucking and crying about guys like you
guess I'll only truly rock when
one day I'm able to say
fuck men

there must be something repulsive about me, something that
makes you say no thank you and no more of that
but I don't know what it is and
you ignoring me isn't gonna help me find out
and change it

hun følte sig som en gammelkendt fremmed i byens gader, på de fedtede brosten mellem de lave huse. det var på den tid af året hvor de første afgrøder rystede jorden af sig, og som på de lyse dage med kartonblå himmel havde et så særpræget blågrønt skær, at de så næsten kunstige ud. klik-klak af hæle mod sten, flik-flak af tanker op blandt de spæde bøgeblade over hendes hoved. verden var en smule af lave, hendes familie skød hårdnakket skylden på den globale opvarmning mens hun selv nærmere så tegn på dommedag blandt de nærmest vinteraktive træer omkring hendes hovede. "der er intet som Danmark om foråret" sagde hendes moder i samme åndedrag som hun bestyrtet beklagede sine bange anelser om, at der ikke ville være noget tilbage til at blomstre omkring Sankt Hans. og hun vidste at det ville være absolut umuligt for hende at forklare moderen, at Gaia havde eksisteret mange millioner år før mennesket overhovedet havde opdaget at det havde modsatvendte tommelfingre, og at den nok ville bestå efter vi forsvandt også. lige nu og her var det forår, og hun vandrede i lave hæle gennem brostensgaderne i sin barndomsby. hun gik langsomt, tænkte at hvis hun gik langsomt nok ville det tage den tid det skulle for hende at nå ned til vandet, og hun ville ikke behøve at føle sig fjollet når hun endte med at sidde og vente der i flere minutter. men som sædvanlig når hun forsøgte denne teknik trak gaderne sig sammen under hendes hæle og hvert et museskridt bragte hende igennem et helt kvarter i byen. hun havde været tilbage i præcis 13 dage, 4 timer og 7 minutter (hvis man modregnede køreturen til byen fra lufthavnen) og lige nu, lige i dette sekund var det første gang i de dage, at hun følte en glæde ved at være lige præcis der. der lå en skjult morbid optimisme i hendes skridt, en følelse af at når det nu var sådan her, det skulle være, så kunne hun sgu lige så godt få det bedste ud af det. de papirhvide skyrande langs horisonten lovede en uskyldsren men dog formørket afslutning på dagen, en ironi der ikke gik tabt på hende. da hun nåede ud mellem de sidste huse og ned mellem de små røde fiskerhytter blændede solens genskær hende et øjeblik, da hun kiggede på sit armbåndsur. stadig 13 minuter til hendes møde, tretten 13 10+3 tretten.

Title and Registration

Jeff Buckley is best with candlelight

it's no use, all this
useless wandering around, I think I
cut a hole and
blood came out only it
wasn't blood and it
wasn't not blood it was blood but not from me

have I ever caused anyone to shed blood? even tears? Oh I don't think so, tears are like
little drops of your soul falling each time, you
lose a bit of yourself
no one would lose themselves over me
lose their temper
lose their hair
lose their mind
no, oh no, not over me
I'm
not
worth
it

see? I'm
worth less than a tear
but you
my dear
you were worth it all

some nights I just sit here in the darkness staring into the nothingness and wonder what I'll become. I have these dreams and ideas and hopes but in the end they all turn to dust one after another, and it's tough to keep track of all the dreams I've had, but one thing's certain: none of them came true. I don't know if it's part of the magic field so that it not only makes people fall in love around me but not with me but also manages to somehow take all my dreams and if not invert them then at least make sure my current situation after something happens is exactly the same as before the spark that ignited it, only this afterwards I'm loaded with that bit more sorrow and knowledge that none of it is ever gonna be as I expected or even hoped. And it's fucking hard to keep going this way, to keep up the fresh happy face and the always optimistic voice, it's fucking hard to be the one to keep other people's heads up when I know that in the end it's gonna back fire, they're gonna back stab me and over take me in the race of life and I'll be left behind once again to sit here with myself and my own problems and worries. And the worst part of it isn't even that, it's that my worst expectations one after another all DO come true. Such as, when I crash, and I do, and hard too, I know that if I open my mouth all that will happen is a friendly pat on the shoulder and a "get over it." Well obviously I have no fucking value to you then.
And I know what you're gonna say and yes, I have tried the medicin, it did fuck all, and no I'm not taking therapy because what fucking use is discussing my life with some cunt with a pen and a pair of glasses gonna do? can fucking talk to myself in a mirror then!!
You know I don't actually know what is causing this. I pray and I pray and I open up and I go out and I start believing, just for a second, in those, oh I won't call them lies but exagerations at least, from people who try to convince me that I'm good enough or even better. But obviously I can't be, because if I was would I feel like this? Would everything I touch go wrong? Would I look like this? would my only strive every day be to survive until it is late enough to go to bed, and then survive the fear of being on my own for long enough to fall asleep and then wake up the next day going through it all once again?
It's not fucking funny, it's not.
looking down every day thinking "how did it go so wrong? where did I stop being the child prodigy and become this failure?" How did I spend all that money and make all these people despise me? what's gonna become of me? I can't fucking work it out anymore, it's a mystery to me. Everything around me regarding what's gonna happen next is a hazy mist and I can't see through it, because I don't have enough willpower to. All I can do is just sit here being stuck in a now that never changes from the one that was a second ago. Eat some more, gain some more weight, moving a bit further from what I should be, from the ideal, the goal I strive for but can no longer reach. And you know as fucking well as me that the points in between are not good enough.
I talk to myself on a daily basis, mild schizophrenia you might call it, but guess what - I don't like me either. So I completely understand why you don't. I just wish I could somehow change it, but like everything else regarding me it's not going to happen. It's. Just. Not. Going. To. Happen.

Hallelujah.

And if I'm worth your tears or your smile, then fucking show me. I'm sick and tired of the hiding crap. If you love me, just fucking tell me. It's not like it can make anything any worse.

as usual stuck here in the night
I think the dreams of you will never cease to haunt me,
visions of that smile you smile with dimples, that
cunning, knowing smile

if you're gay you know we still love you

I think my magic talent works better than I'd ever feared

oh fuck
fucking fuckety fuck
my life's a big stinking bag of wank

I miss you I miss you like fuck I miss fantasising about putting my arms around your neck and pressing my lips against yours
Imissyousomuchithurtssometimes.

I miss you so fucking much.

do you remember
walking slowly
sideways through corridors
hiding under stairs
do you fucking remember?

I don't know what to say anymore.
it's like my mouth can't really open, it's like my mind can't put words together in sentences.
especially when I try to talk to people who mean something to me, all that comes out is bla bla blabla bla. and who the fuck can be bothered to listen to that?
So I'm cutting little holes in my soul for each word that comes out wrong. Edging a tiny drop of blood for each idiotic mistake. Oh, I'd drain myself if I told you I loved you.
Words used to come so easily for me. It used to feel so right without bother. Words used to come flowing from me and I could make people feel just how I wanted with a tiny sentence or just a single word. or I could write thousands and create new identities and make up new ways of looking at the world. But now, all of a sudden is all that comes out of me blurgh. And I can't even find the words to describe how beautiful the world is or how it makes me feel when you send me that smile out of the corner of your eyes. And in stead of wisely keeping my fat mouth shut I open it time after time to cringing looks and thoughts of "she should really shut up." And there I am, with a knife to my thoughts, once again defeated. I wonder if it will ever return. I wonder if I can ever tell you I love you.

Plastic hair and
a heart scratched into the wall

you grab me by the arm with begging eyes

and I wonder why, why I was
so stupid not just to tell you