

No one would readBut they would be wonderful, they would be called 'People Have Sex During The Day: Memoirs of a girl'. Of course, the title may change to '..Memoirs of a woman' one day, but right now, I'm content with just being Girl.No one would read
I would write under a pen-name. A pretty, yet simple one. Lucy Brown. She was a girl I knew, very pretty, very smart. A name like that would write a wonderful autobiography. Maybe my book could be under fiction, then I could take liberties here and there and make it nicer and funnier, and be far more engaging. Witty one liners would run rampant the same way chicken pox did in my cousin-laden childhood.


not every mistake is a regret.we were not perfect - honestly, we were self destructive and self inflicted. torturers of each others bodies and hearts and minds. you tore my soul wide open leaving a hole big enough to burn and bleed, so i gashed at your mind and made it impossible to forget a goddamned thing.not every mistake is a regret.
i hope that you are wounded. i hope that it itches and you can't scratch it, a throbbing limb that was long ago sawed off. most of all i hope you drown in your own memories, choke on a nightmare.
not every mistake is a regret, and not all regrets were mistakes. i don't remember life before you and i can't imagine life without you - mistaken,


like Charliepurple ink runs and mixes with rain a soggy sorry letter turns to pulp in my left hand and struggling, I stumble (like Charlie Chaplin in technicolour) I just can't take you words of repentenance tonight my hair is spaghetti string my tongue is cold meat and white roses turn brown from my heatlike Charlie
it's cold and I miss you - what else could I say? flowery words do nothing to alter me &nb


puppy(you are not my Puppy Dog but I'll keep you)puppy
you followed me home but you are not mine I will not walk you I will not feed you I will not take care of you
(you are not my Doggy
but I'll keep you)
Puppy Dog Hound snarling at me for not taking care of you biting at me for never patting you in public  


Pink Clouds of Cotton CandyYou were a porn-stocked neanderthal on a single-sided see-saw, a behemoth-disbeliever with a thousand chortling fat-heads I would pretend that as you lost yourself in mimicry that someday the pink clouds we called cotton candy would make you see that sweetness is a pre-step to free bane, but you just turned into a pierrot standing by the window pane playing the suicidal widow's gamePink Clouds of Cotton Candy
You were always the romanticist
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