Fuck you, asshole. Fuck you and your stupid guitar. You are never going to make it. (I am not usually this bitter or mean.)

I write you haikus about nature and modesty and childhood (things you'd like). I keep them on the palms of my hands. Most of the time they rub off before I even get the idea to tell you about them. I keep thinking this is a sign, then I realize that 's wha t i've thou ght about you sin ce the beginn ing.

"Cities are being destroyed by thousands upon thousand of homesick girls and boys, and all I can think of is you." second-guess. third-guess. the fourth, the fifth - you know.

I am a mountain. I am an avalanche. I am cancerous, I am cold, I am callous. (did you notice we were both shaking though it was warm inside and we weren't alone no not at all not at all - i want to call you a liar but even i don't believe myself.) Okay, murderer. Just wait. My jaw is still in place and we are not yet free. catharsis, catharsis, catharsis.