courtneynoella
sorry is just a word
i searched for days; and all i found were the bridges you burned.
this is what i call a blank slate. a computer screen, begging for me to type something on it. that is what it lives for. what if that's what i lived for; waiting for someone to write on me, to make me into something...anything but emptiness. How I wish someone would write on me now. Write directions down on my forearm so I know which way to turn next. I can only go in circles for so long and I am getting rather dizzy.
New York is calling my name again.
Off I will go on April 17th...
this game I play w/ myself now has
an opposing side. . . the antagonist.
the reason i still visit that dreadful
state. it's only dreadful when i say it is.
when the trains i get on go in the wrong
direction; it's dreadful.
when the food i buy is somehow less than
satisfactory it's dreadful... i mean, this IS the big apple.
can't SOMETHING be outrageous besides the price?
When I miss my plane home; it is the greatest place i could possibly imagine being.
a few more hours to spend w/ the reason i lose sleep on so many nights.
I'm not lonely anymore; now i'm just angry.
Finish this sentence: i am not sorry i said ____________ , because i meant every word.
these cigarettes consume me.
they fill my lungs w/ the solutions to all of my problems and they answer none of my questions.
to sit on a park bench, and inhale the toxins is the only time i get away from reality.
The only thing I have control over is how deep my breaths will be.
all i have to think about is the way the smoke engulfs everything it touches.
i love things the same way smoke does: w/out reason
i rise up and cover the things that mean the most...the things i notice but never can quite quit. . . much like these cigarettes themselves...
i've always been a quitter... still somehow I only quit what's good for me.
(tell me how that works...)
my thoughts are streams of conscious dreams. am i even awake?
I wake up so many mornings and wonder if an event that's sitting in my mind actually occurred or if i dreamed it.
more times than not i made it up in my head.
(tricky THC. clever yet somehow dumbs you down over time.)
i will just give it some more time.
I miss people who don't remember me.
i love people who hate me.
i hold people who push me away.
the joke is on them; little do they know i push harder. . . and further. . .
if i got paid for the amount of pushing i do i would be rolling around in never ending piles of hundred dollar bills.
this is what i have allowed myself to become.
the go to girl.
the strong one...to the onlookers.
the weak one in the mirror.
the filled w/ potential, potentially genius child who gets nowhere and does nothing to change the amount of nothing she does. all she does is write about it.
actions speak louder than words; but noone has ever kept their word so why should i even lift a finger...
New York is calling my name again.
Off I will go on April 17th...
this game I play w/ myself now has
an opposing side. . . the antagonist.
the reason i still visit that dreadful
state. it's only dreadful when i say it is.
when the trains i get on go in the wrong
direction; it's dreadful.
when the food i buy is somehow less than
satisfactory it's dreadful... i mean, this IS the big apple.
can't SOMETHING be outrageous besides the price?
When I miss my plane home; it is the greatest place i could possibly imagine being.
a few more hours to spend w/ the reason i lose sleep on so many nights.
I'm not lonely anymore; now i'm just angry.
Finish this sentence: i am not sorry i said ____________ , because i meant every word.
these cigarettes consume me.
they fill my lungs w/ the solutions to all of my problems and they answer none of my questions.
to sit on a park bench, and inhale the toxins is the only time i get away from reality.
The only thing I have control over is how deep my breaths will be.
all i have to think about is the way the smoke engulfs everything it touches.
i love things the same way smoke does: w/out reason
i rise up and cover the things that mean the most...the things i notice but never can quite quit. . . much like these cigarettes themselves...
i've always been a quitter... still somehow I only quit what's good for me.
(tell me how that works...)
my thoughts are streams of conscious dreams. am i even awake?
I wake up so many mornings and wonder if an event that's sitting in my mind actually occurred or if i dreamed it.
more times than not i made it up in my head.
(tricky THC. clever yet somehow dumbs you down over time.)
i will just give it some more time.
I miss people who don't remember me.
i love people who hate me.
i hold people who push me away.
the joke is on them; little do they know i push harder. . . and further. . .
if i got paid for the amount of pushing i do i would be rolling around in never ending piles of hundred dollar bills.
this is what i have allowed myself to become.
the go to girl.
the strong one...to the onlookers.
the weak one in the mirror.
the filled w/ potential, potentially genius child who gets nowhere and does nothing to change the amount of nothing she does. all she does is write about it.
actions speak louder than words; but noone has ever kept their word so why should i even lift a finger...
No Scoopss - Of Bullshit
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