2006-04-01 - 10:59 a.m.
"Same old vices, not much to dream about. Is there anything left to fight about?" - Bouncing Souls, "Fight To Live"
Oh, so you think I can do this? Muddle through life? You think I can? I can't. I can't do this. Smash your face in, pretend that nothing exists. Girl's got problems, and one of 'em is you. The maternal unit is constantly screaming, and the boyfriend is nonexistent, and the father is never around, and the sibling is so far gone that you'll never catch up. Picture perfect life? My ass.
Pretty and smart and decent. Lies. None of that means anything. You're vulnerable, naive, too damn young to think you're ready for anything. So here it is: I give up. I've given up on trying to make people think I look ok. I've given up on trying to make them think I've got more than half a brain, because book smarts only gets you so far, and social ineptitude outweighs everything. Truth: I'm a social fuck up.
This was supposed to be something better. One of these days, you'll get up the nerve to tell 'em how silly it was. The soundtrack of your life - it plays on all the time. You're listening to this mix cd that was originally put together to cheer your friend up. It worked, but it doesn't work on you. Maybe you're immune by now. That's too bad.
Portraits of artists, but you're just a scared girl, like that Enemies song. It's easy to hide under your war paint, and it's easier to ignore than to fix it.
"I'm broken. Please leave me alone. Soul broken. Don't leave me alone. Sharp broken, I'll cut you to the bone and make you feel what I feel." - ALL, "Broken"
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