In ruins.

Creeping up under the skin, half heart intentions with malicious design. I hate that there can be two sides, that fear can lurk through my veins, hiding behind corners of my alcove's of hope. sliding through me with such ease. where are my fists clenched in the dark, waiting to destroy these mini-monsters?
My spine is raveled up, round and round, twisting up into a spiral of confusion. My head is bent forward, looking up behind me. My hands search the space before, where I am blind. How can I keep moving in such a way when I'm still looking in the past; when will my bones unsnarl all this fear?
I wish your hands could be my cure, I wish your words could take me back to where my innocence is buried.
My heart is always mixing up what my eyes see.

fuck.
Why can't people respect fucking boundaries.

I'm feeling better.
I think I just needed to be happy to melt away this procrastination.
sssswwwwwwweeeeeet.
Ernest Hemingway paper, here I come!

I am exhausted.
procrastination dominates me.

rah.

grow grow grow.
I've gotta grow up and I've gotta shrink down.
Never giving in and never giving up.

writer's block for my mouth.

I can feel words forming with all of the little cells in my blood, flowing and ebbing through my body, but they get lost somewhere in my veins. Somewhere in the clutter of hope, they get stuck. I'm betting they're in my lungs, building a clot until I can never speak again. I want to force them out, even if these words are rolling down my cheeks in a stream of salt, staining my face. I don't care I just want this void to stop growing, I don't want to feel this way - apathy, hopelessness, whatever it is I just need to get it out. I have to write it until my fingers curl with pain, until my eyes weigh heavy with sleep. I just need to find this peace of mind. There are two minds in me, the one with wits, safe under my skull, and the one my heart has secretly been growing, cultivating a war between my logic and my hopes. I'm the queen of wishful thinking, no doubt about that. I'm probably crazy.
frig.

I just need a good sigh, I just need too exhale all these worries and build my stable ground.
I don't want to depend on anyone anymore. I've come to understand, especially these past weeks, that what I wanted could be more of a headache then anything else.
I'm not searching, rather I'll just move about with my life, putting the pieces of myself back together, sorting out my past to create my future. I really honestly do want to end up in Boston, a bay window overlooking the city, leaning on the molding, hands wrapped tightly around a coffee mug and a glance back to see whoever plato's intended "other half" snoozing on a bed or something.
bleeeeeh.
I contradict myself don't I?
I need to sleep, 8 a.m. classes means 6 a.m. bus rides.