2006-03-17 - 12:56 p.m.
"She keeps her heart on the safe side, locked tight for convenience. No doubt without this type of protection, you just might get in." - The Enemies, "She's a Mess"
Used. Dirty. Naked truths and fucked up tests. Let's pretend that everything will be fine. "If you can cheer me up..." but nobody can. You were spoiled by that one amazing summer. You both believed. Innocent. Perfect. You knew it wouldn't last. This might be it, as good as it will ever be. And it's just so wrong.
All these self-absorbed people around me, they lie. Don't bother with truths. Run your goddam mouth. They say if you're a nice girl, you won't get what you want. To hell with that. I'm a nice girl and I don't give a shit. So full of hate. A hybrid of Suicidal Tendencies, Slapshot, and Suicide Machines.
Girl, you done messed up. Flaws. Flawed life. Freakish tendencies. Fooligan been fooled again. You keep believing that people are inherently good, but they're not. They suck. They work you to pieces and kick you over the bridge. Maybe you'll see. Flee the scene. Terrified. Hey skater, lose the shades. Listen to the song. Perhaps you'll finally understand. Too much passion, compassion. "I don't give a shit" but you do. Stop. Stop thinking.
Remember that line about the judgmental conga line. Time. Production value. We're not what we used to be. Blue hues and paranoia.
"I'm feeling torn just to exist. I guess I need more time to process the feelings I once dismissed." - The Loved Ones, "Candy Cane"
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