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(no subject)

Aug. 30th, 2006 | 02:33 am

threw you the obvious 
and you flew with it on your back 
a name in your recollection 
down among a million same
difficult not to feel 
a little bit disappointed 
and passed over 
when i've looked right through 
to see you naked and oblivious 
and you don't see me
but i threw you the obvious 
just to see if there's more behind 
the eyes of a fallen angel 
eyes of a tragedy
here i am expecting just a little bit too much 
from the wounded 
but i see through it all and see you
so i threw you the obvious 
to see what occurs behind 
the eyes of a fallen angel eyes of a tragedy
oh well 
apparently nothing
you don't see me you don't see me at all - 

3 libras - a perfect circle

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minimalisme émotionnel

Aug. 28th, 2006 | 02:04 am

i practically forced my self into a groping club the other night, it made me sick. even after several vodka-anythings. 

la - la -  loved you. stay.

People are like talking furniture sometimes? i'm sitting in the middle of a very well placed scenery. smoke and lights and all.  

i let this boy take me out today, into a sun-lit city. 
i wish i could. 

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(no subject)

Jul. 29th, 2006 | 10:01 pm

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is she still

Jul. 7th, 2006 | 10:40 pm

i wish i had it in me, whatever it takes to have the courage to change. i am so scared of change, i keep on finding the same senarios and living them.
and i fell in love with beirut again, i remembered the 12 years old face squashed against the dirty 1979 green car window imagining what the city would look like if it weren't so war-wrecked, what the buildings would look like, what the streets would look like.

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Jul. 5th, 2006 | 09:24 pm

overused words, and i want to be like you, to subconsciously press shift before i type my i. or more like you, when you walk around trying to stay somewhere in between, then draw people from all sides.

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(no subject)

Jul. 4th, 2006 | 01:56 am

it hurts. but i want you out of my system.

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orgasm - "i puked because it's a new day"

Jun. 28th, 2006 | 12:59 am

[...] to the rib-crushing ritual and hoping to hold up for another seconds, as i press your head down and hope to anything that you won't see the things i try to hide in between positions and complexes.

i never fell asleep first.

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pending (ever so)

Jun. 6th, 2006 | 12:37 pm

I would say it again, under my prints, on your wall where blue prints overlap, and your name is written in chalk, and you guard it with your life, and after-midnight drunken conversations.

Car fights become repetitive and unfamiliar roads start to feel like home but the after-sex joint doesn’t taste so good anymore, nor does the wine.

It’s gone bitter and cold and kindness is kindly returned with a bra-strap receipt and heart-shaped coins and a slap in the face and a kick in your stomach, and mine.


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and castles are burning in my heart

May. 18th, 2006 | 04:16 am
music: girl - tori amos

I'm trying to grow out of this static, i am. all questions disappear the minute our bodies entwine and my fingers trace your spine. pull me out of this.

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Apr. 1st, 2006 | 01:26 am
music: farewell and goodnight - the smashing pumpkins

Magnified details.

Even the circle of post-teenagers in a pub is resilient when she collapses somewhere near the center, tear.drained.mascara, pigtails and all.

Mine to pick-up, possibly because fella waitresses are in the same sky, and there never is enough sky, but probably because it was all over me that I wanted to.

I said that on certain days of the year, hearts cannot be cello taped, and bartenders will tell you they want to close down the bar and take you home and they're kind of pretty but your friend disagrees. And your friend wants to take the boy next door home and then drive away with you instead of going home or next door to home. Because friends go home eventually, or most probably next door.

At least not tonight, and it's probably the wine.

My friend wanted to drive to facade cities that sell broken-pasts and very authentic sunrises in a glass of wine. A glass of wine you could pay for anywhere in a street full of pubs, you'll get an 'Edde Yard' receipt anyway.

And then hi,

Its terrifying, the way you play with words, do you also do that when you're half asleep in a car seat telling me that you wouldn't play your words-game while with me?

I broke enough hearts and promises for both our hearts to mend. Haven't you?

Vain and pretentious. Your never pre-meditated poetry clashing against my post-medicated semi-well strung hardly post-teenage *really deep thoughts* but really, I just want to kiss you.

i want to believe that I could send you to bed with a bottle of shampoo that smells like my hair but then I'd hope you will wake up and call for me instead. I would have taken you home in a pink shopping bag if I had one, fucking bakery.paper.bags.

its pretty when you forget to be clever for half a second and I get to hold you and you say I taste smell like cherry. Its pretty when you talk about London girls on cold English mornings, it's pretty when you buy me breakfast and seriously think I could eat. with you sitting at the other end of the table. it's pretty when you claim me when drunken men think that they could fuck a girl in a park for a pack of cigarettes all year round, it's pretty when you claim me.

So you didn't, not when we were alone with nautical-nuns and thin denim couldn't keep you warm enough for another minute. Good.

658 calories.

Things like how you sprinkle upside down words on every piece of cake you serve to girls who would never eat cake because cake is a number they cannot afford, because human mistakes told them their hip-bones must stick out and the 21st centry media confirmed it.


(pick out your favorite cloudy moment and let me know).

Lip.gloss.boosts and cherry gum and your pretty words couldn't get me the guts to brush my lips against yours at a never-made-it-to-Hollywood moment of your choice. Good.


To every little hour _ _ _

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