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Listening to: Bauhaus - She's In Parties
via FoxyTunes

I have plucked away my eyebrows. I paint on new ones. My smile is crooked, and when it appears, two of my lip piercings are pointing out a bit too much. My ribs -aren't- pointy enough. My hair is constantly full of knots and it's moss green because I chose to have it so. My eyes are of the exact same colour. And that's nothing I am going to change right now. I smoke too much. And I am currently suffering myself through a packet of pink Lady slims, just because they look nice. I love white wine and indie rock.
I often wonder if they ever got bored back in the days. And then I start to wonder if -I- would have been at least more occupied if I had lived back then. Perhaps I didn't have to think that much, or claw at my palms at all.

I have a heartache. He's coming of age tomorrow and I know he doesn't want me to call and I won't, because there's a chance that she will be there, right beside him in his bed. And I don't know when I get to see him and kiss him and share a cigarette with him, not because I don't have enough fags, but because I love to imagine the smoke burning away the sugarly taste in his mouth and stick to the cigarette, and then take a drag myself and kiss him and feel that the taste is still there. He use to smile at that, the fact that he's being nearly forced-kissed after every drag, and he laughs, and I think, yesyes I know. But it's because I am so infatuated by you and your smiles and the conversations we share.

I am going to get another cigarette.