| (no subject) |
[Jan. 16th, 2009//11:24 am] |
why should i give up someone who loves me for no one, or someone that doesn't even like me?
because love isn't everything anymore. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 21st, 2008//01:09 am] |
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fuck you cassidy magyar. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 17th, 2008//12:26 am] |
| [ | feeling |
| |  lonely | ] |
| [ | music |
| | dcfc | ] |
i guess i just get kind of, really sad sometimes, you know?
even though i don't know why. i don't want to be in the place i'm in.
i'm being honest when i say i really miss you i really wanna see you because you always make me happy when i'm not feeling happy and i can always cry with you, and stuff. i don't want to take you for granted. i hate that i hardly ever see you, it makes me feel really shitty. i'm crying and shaking and i don't even really know why.
i hate nights like these
i hate crying
i hate thinking about stuff
most of the time i ignore everything and just block it all out
but its the littlest things that get the best of me.
i just wanna be someone else, i want to start over
honest. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 28th, 2008//11:47 pm] |
you disgust me. utterly. i never would have expected this from you. i know this is true because you have been treating me like shit. and i know you were hitting on lindsey too, while i was there in the room with you.
i just want you to know that, you have fucked up majorly. i know now that even me, this great friend that you had, the best girlfriend pretty much you've ever had, the only real friend you had up here in LA, the best thing that has and will ever happen to you, i know you will never change.
you will always be the promiscous boy that you were. people never change. you will never change. i hate to do this low blow, but look at your biological father. he never changed, neither will you.
and while you're off being promiscuous, you will also get back into hard drugs. you will fuck up your life again, after i fixed everything for you.
i will never, ever be there for you again.
this is one time too many.
please dont even consider us friends.
to be honest, i am not even heartbroken.
i knew this was coming. i know it after you started treating me different after you got back. everyone knows what a peice of shit you are. and bri wants nothing to do with you now, so she's said.
please. i will have bri talk to you tomorrow so that you can stop pretending. stop wasting your breath and time.
and i almost regret these times i've had with you. it's all a flawed peice of my memory now. i wonder if anything with you was ever true, but that is something i guess i will never know.
like from the beginning when you didnt know that i had given myself to you, trying to protect myself, i should have never told you i was a virgin. i knew it then and i believed you when you said you would never hurt me again.
i regret you.
you are a mark on my purity. you fucked up what little bit of greatness i had. but i dont know why anyone would believe that you wouldnt.
it's like taking a shit on a piece of are. you, cassidy alan magyar, shat on me, a piece of art, for too long. 1 year.
one year and eight months. gone. wasted.
i could have been spending my time with someone better, but i wanted you, i wanted to fix you,
and i ignored what everyone told me about you.
but i guess that's me being stupid again.
so, to add to your closure, i regret you.
i will talk to you for the last time tomorrow. and you will miss me. i know you will. like always.
i will be the most beautiful girl you've ever met and had the chance of having.
you don't have me anymore. no art for cassidy.
i don't love you. it's over.
bye. |
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| my mom still puts band aids on my fingers when i need them |
[May. 3rd, 2008//04:25 pm] |
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i started laughing as she was doing it and she asked why and i said because im 18 now and you still do this for me and she said "i would do this for you even if you were thirty" in a you-should-know-this-by-now kind of way. i love her. even if we're both nuts. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 30th, 2008//10:20 pm] |
To the centre of the city where all roads meet, waiting for you
To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you
Moving through the silence without motion, waiting for you
In a room with a window in the corner I found truth
In the shadowplay acting out your own death, knowing no more
As the assassins all grouped in four lines, dancing on the floor
And with cold steel, odour on their bodies made a move to connect
I could only stare in disbelief as the crowds all left
I did everything, everything I wanted to
I let them use you for their own ends
To the centre of the city in the night, waiting for you
To the centre of the city in the night, waiting for you |
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| i'm |
[Aug. 9th, 2007//04:31 pm] |
bored bored bored
summer is kinda boring |
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| honestly |
[May. 20th, 2007//09:45 pm] |
honestly
i miss it |
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| it WAS 11:11 |
[Nov. 2nd, 2006//11:12 pm] |
Danica Novack
Period 1
Creative Writing
Life is…
Life is a budding flower. Everyone is a different color and shape, we all have different potentials. We need love, sunlight, food, and attention to grow. We all start off small, but with big ideas for ourselves. We look the same when we are young. It takes many outside forces for us to survive, but essentially, our needs are the same. We all take our time to come out of our shell; we will only bloom when we are ready. When we do bloom, it is a magical and mystifying sight. Once in bloom, we all change. We look different, and different admirers fall in love with our different qualities. We might be the same on the inside, but we all look different. Our visitors will come and go as they please and see fit; some will return and others will not. Some of us are more brightly colored than others; more eccentric, maybe, or just raised that way. Without love, we shrivel and wither. Without sunlight and warmth, we die. Our different classifications all classify us as one race—flowers. We look different, and act different and everything will influence us. There will be rainy days and there will be sunny days and there will be days that are somewhere in between. We thrive with good days and hide with bad ones. We all live, and we all die. Our deaths are tragic but beautiful, sad abut lovely. Our lives take time that we cannot return but in our deaths. Our deaths allow for new growth, and hopefully, our seed has been passed on somewhere. We wrinkle up and die, or our lives are cut short by the actions of another. We will come back after death, afresh, anew, alive, and unaware of what lies ahead. We are always reoccurring, and we are all beautiful. The race will be around forever, as long as there is someone to care for it.
you can comment, daniel. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 31st, 2006//12:25 am] |
once on a yellow peice of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
and he called it "chops"
because that was the name of his dog
and that's what it was all about
and his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
and his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
that was the year father tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
and he let them sing on the bus
and his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
and his mother and father kissed a lot
and the girl around the corner sent him a
valentine signed with a row of x's
and he had to ask his father what the x's meant
and his fahter always tucked him in bed at night
and was always there to do it
once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
and he called it "autumn"
because that was the name of the season
and thats what it was all about
and his teacher gave him an a
and asked him to write more clearly
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
and the kids told him
that father tracy smoked cigars
and left butts on the pews
and sometimes they would burn holes
that was the year his sister got glassses
with thick lenses and black frames
and the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see santa claus
and the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
and his father never tucked him in bed at night
and his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.
once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
and he called it "innocence: a question"
because that was the question about his girl
and that's what it was all about
and his professor gave him an a
and a strange steady look
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
that was the year that father tracy died
and he forgot how the end
of the apostle's creed went
and he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
and his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
and the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
that made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
and at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly
that's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
and he called it "absolutely nothing"
because that's what it was really all about
and he gave himself an a
and a slash on each damned wrist
and he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen.
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