glad you don't know me. swear ive lost what? mario party 3 on a nintendo64, oh the hours i wasted today. scream out sanctuary and marry me already. why does daisy love luigi? dont say youre philosophical, that makes the statement redundant. youre not in true love if you know about it. you're not a genius if your ego's a fucking idiot. even frank sinatra cant put me to sleep. but he sure can sing pretty. i bought two cds. My Blue Heaven and Embraceable You. i bought a another chuck palahniuk book. The Oral Biography of Buster Casey. i also own Invisible Monsters and Fight Club. my collection of books is growing. i got all the poems of Walt Whitman. I got all the works of Oscar Wilde. i got all the letters and paintings of Van Gogh. i got three charles dickins. i got the entire jane austen collection. the secret garden. anne of green gables. homer the odyssey. les misérables. catcher in the rye. mirrors on uncertain mornings. perks of being a wallflower. le petit prince. two Peanuts. more than fifty Archie comics, hah. plus a whole lot of nonames. it may not seem like a lot to you. but these are my own books. they give me a sense of ownership. (imissyouveera) they all sit in my room. except the jane austen collection, because my mom likes her a lot. i am fourteen(going on fifteen lalala) years old. would you rather i collect cosmo girls and seventeens? i'll subscribe today! seriously. but i can't decide between the two. all the books sit in a messy pile in the corner of my room. how books should be. wiped away the fog so i could run my fingers over the city lights. cold as ice and singing unattainable till you actually reach out. everyone wants to be touched in just the right way. eyes wide off hope, i want to be bright enough to blind you. roll down my window to get a taste; turning solids to gas with a flick of the wrist. blocking the rushing air with "the biggest dream ever." hand thrown out, palm facing up, my proposal to the speeding cars. come on now, keep up.

i lost the entry so i'm going to make it sound bad. why are people so pretentious about love? you can't think other people's thoughts or feel other people's feelings, but you can try. and anyways, you're probably an ugly fuck who isn't getting laid. i like seeing love, but i don't need it right now. "I don't feel bad for you anymore." i never wanted you to be. "But I was. And I'm glad I'm not anymore. You never deserved any of it. And I honestly, honestly laugh everytime you call me a judgemental bitch because of how big of a hypocrite you are." you're so bitter "Yup." i don't know why i keep letting her get to me. wait, i do! cause it's nine in the afternoon. your eyes are the size of the moon. haha, nevermind. she really is a judgemental bitch, just too closed-minded to admit it. i guess i am judgemental and bitchy too. but i can't believe that i was ever as bad as she describes. here's to hoping she drinks herself into a coma. it's the weekend, you know. and it really helps her forget.

i was reading the newspaper, it was featuring an article from a different newspaper. It was about a motivational speaker for teenagers. Her name is Dr. Karyn Gordon. There was this one quote from her. "I see behind the mask. They're lonely. They're known as the sad generation. They have beautiful, passionate sides, but they're struggling. It's no coincidence that they're the most medicated generation of teens in history." So basically, we're a whole generation of pussies. how hilarious and embarrassing. the future is completely fucked. and i'm really cool with that. i'll just kick back with my copy of Fight Club and plan out my part in destruction. fuckin a

it's over "miss" and "hate" are interchangeable. all the songs we loved together don't exist anymore just cause i said so. it doesn't matter anyways cause we're not who we used to be. all those terrible things you threw out at me right before the end. you meant them. and i don't know what to say here. only because this doesn't mean a thing. i'm gonna get older. and so are you. next week or maybe even tomorrow, i'm not going to feel like this about you anymore. that's the worst part. this is so anti-climatic and unimportant. it's not even whiny. i'm not begging and i'm not asking. i'm just saying, you know?

i just watched Fight Club after obsessing over the book by Chuck Palahniuk for so long. it was pretty good, maybe even as amazing as the book. the best part of the entire thing was that there was porn spliced into it. i couldn't stop laughing. if you don't know what i'm talking about go slit your wrists like you keep threatening to do; nobody loves you and nobody ever will. blow your fucking brains out you pussy. kick that fucking chair away and swing, motherfucker. all those pills you keep swallowing and spitting back out don't mean a thing. you're in it for the attention either way. if you're going to kill yourself, do it right. smoke three packs of cigarettes a day, cause explosions both real and unreal, shoot vodka straight from the bottle, inject 100% pure herione, whatever. you're nothing and you always will be. atleast fuck it up without class. no one cares and nobody's important. you can't change shit. i fucking hate you so much. i'm out punching brick walls and choking down all the things i swore i'd never do. x is overrated and so are you. i'm never coming back. burning all those "i love you"s and "be safe"s. you're not worth shit so shut the fuck up. this isn't about you, selfish whore. it never was. the last song about you was written a decade ago and it bombed even the piracy charts. i hope you fucking die so i can blow up everyone who ever loved you at your goddamn funeral. and i hope that anyone who reads this dies of sleep apnea. look that shit up, dumbass.

i don't got the guts to hurt anybody but life is pretty cool.

it's the sundial in you built in your bedroom. you said, "this represents all the days you weren't here to light up (in) my room." you're wrong though, i'm always there. it's the poetry staining your skin in my mother's lipstick. my favourite perfume sprayed on your pillowcase. these are the only reasons you can't get me out of your head. making you love me is a full-time job and every night i love you back is a wasted paycheck.

it's terrible. there are some moments that make you want to cry because you can't go back to them and you really want to. nostalgia is cancer of the memories. all the people i look up to look down on me. the worst part about that is the fact that i don't care. it's a little saddening obviously, but they're still incredible people. in the bigger picture, it doesn't matter anyways. some people got it and other people don't. i agree but i'll never understand. it's that very quiet voice that comes from the middle of your chest, speaking your strongest in the most pathetic way. mine always says "I'm sorry" and i don't need to explain why. you'll snort when you read this, so i hope you get some trick-wind nasal disease. imsorry this cancer has spread to my thoughts

they always say, 'burn all the liars'. and all those people who's hearts you broke are out breaking the hearts of others. and only because you showed them how. in love with the rights and the wrongs and the everythings in betweens. if you saw how bright he shone, you'd understand. the way his blue eyes look in the sun and the strangely appealing scent that follows him around. it's not that i like him. it's that he's way too hard to ignore, and i'm not after romance anymore. i'm not after anything to do with him. but really, you can't not look. and anyways, we're friends, i guess. 'no one cares.' it's true, but that never stopped anybody from trying. cigarettes suck and they make me paranoid. i'm a good girl, i swear by this reputation. i'm a filthy liar, and i'll never come clean. i drink but not the point of getting drunk, i smoke but never more than once a month. 'no one cares', and i don't keep secrets for the attention. i'm through with what i'm expected to do. i hate the way they look at me like i let them down. they think i'm the responsible one. shitheads. the only thing i can hold down is the blame for all the mistakes i keep making. bad memories make me happy because i'm sure they happened. God should hate us for how ungrateful we are. but i bet to him we're just demanding toddlers. i'm scared of all the people i start to like. and i love the people i hate more than anyone ever could because i'm completely certain. fuck rye, i'm catching fire.

myspace sucked me back in, the music was too seductive. all those bands just waiting for their egos to be polished; me with a rag and spray of compliments in hand. i'm keeping it simple though. confidence and conversation can get you anywhere, i swear. i did not sleep last night and am exhausted. hopefully, this means that after my homework is finished i'll be able to sleep. and yeah, hheres the lin,mk myspace.com/punchedouteyes i am so clever, oh how clever am i. crowing like i got something to brag about. you don't know how things go down in this part of town. it's almost as if you have a choice between a shoot-out or shooting up, if you get what i mean. and if you do, it doesn't make any sense at all. yea