to quote a line from one of my most-liked songs:
"i spilled my guts on your best shoes."
yucky, ain’t it? but that’s because something slashed me.
then later on, we tie the ends together and heal. then i get slashed again, entrails following me. then apologies become my balm. vicious cycle.
wait. let me not get too self-absorbed on this gashing. you’re bleeding too. as can be observed through the rapid-fire statement-hurling document i dug up from my archives earlier. i hope i can hold you up and find enough vigor to make it better for you.
so it’s winter again. and this time, the cold is cruel. bashing blocks of ice on fire. hang on. watch me cast a metal shield. i am benumbed anyways. anesthetized by repetition. the metal shield is for my hair and made-up face. i don’t want them singed and dried, bearing evidences of a fiery combat.
yes, even cheerleaders get mad sometimes.
but hey, am i not contradicting myself? deadened, but angry? again, let me introspect…
*back after picking up the ashes i was supposed to have dropped days ago*
not mad, just hurt. bleeding like a freshly-popped urged-to-ripeness-zit. pretending to be complacent, just because i don’t want to argue. burned by sarcasm since i bravely endured the acids.
accepting justifications, so as not to appear unreasonable. but accepting, neverthehoo. if that’s how things must be, then go attack. oh i dunno. let me be silent again. my thoughts and i are intimate. and i don’t kiss and tell.
alrighty, time for another conversation with my re-found best friend, and a pack of chocolates. heck, let me make it a big box. with caramel drizzles on top.
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