hi. i'm 22.

livejournal. I haven't had anything to say to you, lately. I find you strange & despicable. maybe 'cause i'm sick, but you know, I doubt it. probably because I haven't had anything to say (fullstop). you know! went to the doctor again & she said I either have a virus or a brain tumour. I wonder if I get to choose. here is something I wrote down weeks & weeks ago:

people who are constantly sick are usually sad, generally sad. all the invalid mothers who die young aren't loved by their husbands; all the sickly, weak & undersized children aren't loved by their mothers. people who die from cancer have repressed negativity, probably throughout their entire lives! if I could step into the day & heave a giant breath of sunsparkling air, throw my shoulders back & everything off them!

I never finished the thought. the current one is that I probably won't be updating. indefinitely.

am I predictable? lol I was half asleep & reasonably sure it was 100% dream, because it just doesn't seem something I would say:
the longer i'm not touched, the more my flesh shrivels and burns, blackening ash and blows away, until someone finally does and my droughted skin absorbs them, grows flesher and blooded, so that they are the one shrivelling black ash and glittering away.

& I should've been studying, but since I knew every answer I consider this magic:

she was drunk & burst into tears, "I don't want to go back to my life!"
"oh wow, that's so sad," said my mother.

DID I EVER MENTION I COLLECT BUTTERFLY STICKERS????????????????????????
& THAT I HATE MORE THAN ONE QUESTION MARK?????????????????

invalid. I used to love the word, it would conjure a wan (also a loved word), white-faced, frail & breakable girl with dark, dark eyes and dark hair, lying against the hugest, softest pillow in the hugest, grandest bed, surrounded by solemn loved ones. the pillow & bedclothes are white, turning her skin deathly grey, hair spread out like a dishevelled darkness spilling into her head, & the air made heavy & almost visible by all the flowers.

tulip trees and
and me, shimmering into angry shattered fragments
grey on grey on grey passing away
and thinking all day long nothing's going to save you

i'm naked but it doesn't matter 'cause i'm transparent (and sinking into the floor)

I can afford to go anywhere
roses hung upside down over pillows
I wonder how many goats I am worth
waiting on swings for buses!
I feel wasted

stop taking pictures of me while i'm sleeping

i'd rather hurt than sing
insults should be whispered directly into ears
(and tears should be dropped directly onto tears)

I think it's about time my love had a love and
stopped holding life like a hammer

yaknow?
see her? it's her fault.
fault fault fault fault ault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault failt fault fail

WHOSE fault is everything?
whose FAULT is everything?
whose fault IS everything?
guess what comes nexxxt
(every second, I mean).