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It's just that... we can't feel.

Created on 2005-05-23 09:33:46 (#7199816), last updated 2005-08-28

1,061 comments received, 1,507 comments posted

Basic Account [Gift]

151 Journal Entries, 0 Tags, 3 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 3 Userpics

Basic Info

Name:	HEATHER.
Birthdate:	05-24
Location:	Clifton Park, New York, United States
Website:	myspacizzle.

Bio

PADRAIC MY PRINCE;;
I HAVE ALL BUT DIED.

heather
fifteen
ballston lake, ny

I am the girl who talks to a boy who kissed her on accident when she is completely shit-faced and slurring "I love you's" to a boy who promised he would never love her back, even when he did. I am the girl who stumbles around the streets drunkenly at 2:00 in the morning looking at the stars and wondering why they refuse to shatter her tonight because she's feeling not so numb. I am the girl who drinks until she vomits up her internal organs and then drinks more to make the stomachache go away. I am the girl who will drink until she cannot feel her face because the alchohol has numbed her. I am the girl who will talk to the boy who kissed her on accident and will bite her tongue because she refuses to slur one more "I love you". I am the girl who has a bloody tongue and bloody arms because each slice felt like a slow, calm escape. I am the girl who inhales blue spraypaint hoping to cough herself into a coma. I am the girl who smokes too many cigarettes and hopes if she doesn't do herself in first, the lung cancer will get her. I am the girl who wears too much makeup because she won't feel pretty unless she wears it, and doesn't that just mean that she is ugly afterall? I am the girl who will stand in the middle of the busiest road she can find and scream her heart out to the sky and spread her arms open wide like she did when she was a little girl except this time she doesn't have the reflection of broken glass stars on still, glassy water;; She has warm asphalt and speeding cars and bumpers and twisted metal and broken windshields to catch her. Except tonight there were no cars and there was no warm asphalt, there was just the mock-rain echo of the wind blowing water off of the trees and the silence that screamed defeat. Even the stars refused to pity her, and instead shone so beautifully that she cried. Tonight, there was hot tears and cold porcelian and tired knees and bit tongues and sore throats and glazed over eyes and hurt.  - from my journal

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