xoxo, nico

you let me down. i begged you like lennon but instead you decided to abandon me while we were in the same bed. maybe i should have voiced my opinion but i know you well enough to call that you’d probably just agree with anything i said. there is no way in hell that you would fight to keep nothing. i don’t have the balls to say all the things i think and most of the time i’d rather fuck you then lie through my teeth. i wonder if you kiss her the way you kiss me in the morning and maybe you run your fingertips all over her bare skin with your lips on her neck. i bet she really liked it and i wonder if you were thinking about her when your mouth was on my stomach. we’re not together so this is not supposed to be fucking with my head. every body i know is looking for the next best thing and i’m bored of giving all of it up for nothing. i thought i could handle using you for a lover but i guess i’m just not old enough even when i’m not the one who has to grow up. i shouldn’t be crying myself to sleep in a hotel room while you are lying to the right of me. in the mean time i am pretending that it will kill you if i am the one who stumbles upon a fantasy. i’ve come to the conclusion that you will never be able to please me completely. you never wasted your time getting to know me.

i watched too many fairy tales when i was a child. there is no such thing as a prince in shining armor who’s going to kiss me and wake me from a day dream or leave me wild flowers and a poem hanging from a string around my dead bolt. i am in love with make believe and brilliant cut things but a kiss on the cheek is good enough for me. cross my heart. hope to die. stick a needle in my eye.

i ran into wakey! wakey! last night at casey’s show. the last time i saw him was that mercury lounge when told me he was single. he introduced her as this is my girlfriend i forgot her name. i was wasted and i said whoa that was quick i had no idea you had one of those. she got so pissed but i swear it was totally innocent.

if i had a choice i think i would choose sticks and stones over knowing the names of all the girls who’s numbers are programed in your little black phone. its so easy with me because i can peel off my clothes and show you everything from my head to my heals. you see what you want on the surface but my mistake is trying to show you that there’s a treasure buried underneath and in between each of these layers. i believe you refuse to see past what you can’t reach and you are not the one who is playing for keeps. so please just stop trying to keep in touch with me.

when the metal band my brother plays bass in got signed i told my then musician boyfriend and he couldn’t believe that some shit band from some shit town in the mid west got a deal when there are so many people here in new york city who are so much more worthy of distribution. he said it like they didn’t work hard to create a cult following at home with their grass roots and stuck together for six years before they could celebrate victory. i guess that’s not worth a pretty penny. this is also the same person who told me once how he noticed me in a room full of patrons while he was on stage with the previous lover and he remembered mentally pointing at me as if i was a shiny new toy waiting to be picked off the shelf. he had no idea duchess and me were connected and mr. white is the reason why i met all of them. not long after that the duke came across the pond and maybe we were all happy for a second but i can’t change the fact that we are all still here waiting for someone to blow up. they say you need to have patience because good things come to those who wait but i don’t believe in that statement. maybe we do make our own fate and we’re alive only because we left the right place in the right time. bad things happen to me and you. self destruct in five four three two

sometimes you win and sometimes you loose. i’ve never been the most competitive person and i honestly don’t care if i end any race in last place. i guess i always believed in the riddle first is the worst and second is the best. i don’t finish last because i’m nice, it’s because i don’t want to compete. there may be no i in the word team but if you take away the t and a you can spell me if you happen to be dyslexic. i’m into the players, not the game.

my aunt used to tickle my back to help me get to sleep when she babysat. she was twenty-one and madly in love with my uncle who followed her to arizona. they eloped in vegas and broke the news she was three months pregnant while they were home celebrating the nuptials. me and my little brother got to rip off the pretty paper that wrapped their gifts. my aunt told me she was going to hide me in her suitcase so i could fly back to phoenix with them that evening. i was six when they begged my parents to take me back with them for practice. they said no and made me go to my mum’s parents instead while they gave my aunt and uncle a ride to the airport. my grandma said that night i had a temper tantrum screaming and crying until i finally fell asleep wearing a red t-shirt and jeans.

my daddy and his new brother were playing a video game that seemed like it was never ending. it kept giving them more points and advancing them to the next level. my aunt wanted to get on stand by for the earlier flight and made them abandon the next play. when they got to the gate at detroit metro their mom took the last picture on the roll of the newly weds posed in front of the runway with their fists up so happy because a couple didn’t show up. the stewardess called their names and then the flight was full. twenty-one years ago today they got on a jet plane and never came back again.

grams and gramps never tried to find the two people who decided not to go on vacation. a three year old girl who sat on her mother’s lap was found under the wing of the plane by a paramedic nicknamed the cheerio king. she was the only survivor. six years later my gramps passed away on the youngest sons birthday. ironically grams died three years ago on the oldest sons birthday at her second home in arizona. my daddy is the middle one, my aunt was the baby. randomly an ex of mine was having a drink at a bar a couple days after grams funeral and had a conversation with the man who had been left behind. in the late eighties grams started a support group for the families of the victims who parished. they planted one hundred and fifty six trees around a marble monument that lists all the names upon the hill the pilot crashed into seconds after the eight forty six takeoff. every year after sunset they hold a candle lit vigil.

we live in bubbles. no matter where i go i alway end up in another one. when i was little i always wanted to be like glenda the good witch in the wizard of oz. a bubble was her mode of transportation and sometimes i wish i could float away in my own. i guess it wouldn’t be the safest way to travel because more often than not my bubble will end up the one that burst.

maybe i just wasn’t cut out for a mini van and a white picket fence for curb appeal. when i go to the suburbs i like to take off my knee highs and walk baby steps with my bare feet on fresh cut green grass. i know all these couples who are devoted to one another like my parents. they grew up across the street from each other then after they graduated they eloped and got married in rome. i’ve heard of great love stories but all the tragedies i know of will forever out way any tall tale.

its ironic to me that duchess is jewish and throws away her trash underneath the jesus saves neon sign. i used the wrong sponge to wash a pan in her kosher kitchen and i felt really bad and i set a shabbat table with rosary hanging around my neck. if you transpose two of the numbers in her address it matches the duke’s three digits on manhattan street in brooklyn. if i was in her shoes i would have left a dead fish on his door step and put dog shit in the sampsonite i packed with the things he left in my closet. the only thing he has left is to pray for forgiveness.

the ball was in your court but oops you dropped it again when i never stopped rooting for the home team. i decided you were dead to me the day you spit in my face and since then things haven’t changed. they will never be the same. the toys you manipulated turned their tables and now your the one who’s left all by yourself in a padded room with white noise that badly needs a coat of paint the true color of your lies. you committed a perfect ten of the seven deadly sins and in the beginning it seemed like someone was going to get a story tail ending. poor things for believing what you were saying but i must admit that it was amusing to watch you choke after you slapped everyone you fucked in the face. it came as no surprise to me that they couldn’t see through all your shades of gray. it only makes me question my own loyalty because i kept secrets and lied through my teeth and almost tried to help you clean up your pieces. in some religions they would cut your dick off for what you’ve done. i may not believe in love nor even god but one thing i need to feel is trust and i would never break for your truth because you are just not good enough. loser.

one plus one equals company but its always one less than a crowd and an automobile never has a fifth wheel. its like we seem to have to make it even in order to achieve some so called balance that doesn’t even exist. an eye for an eye or a tooth for a tooth and an i would show you yours if you could show me mine. more often than not stories will not add up and just because you decided you had enough doesn’t mean you’re the one who lost. i always forget to factor in important things and my end result is an equation that i can’t even believe. sometimes digits aren’t always what they seem.