xoxo, nico

seeing is believing and looks are all i’ve got to live off. i’ve hit rock bottom and i’ll stay down here waiting until it never changes even if my palms slap a hard place like high fives after try to scrape myself off the surface again and again until i  end up at the beginning. i pretend its all okay and its gonna be alright but that’s just a sorry excuse to cover up what is yet to happen. i can’t stop a flutter bye from flapping the wings that cause the chaos around me and i try everyday to make them feel better about themselves in hopes it will save me one day but i’m beginning to realize that if i go missing or disappear then no one would care. i received an invitation in the post yesterday from an old friend who found happiness and it said i hope you can be there to celebrate my love, don’t hesitate to bring presents and cards with notes that say congratulations sealed with an account balance that covers the check enclosed. i rsvp’d but i know its not customary to arrive empty handed because no matter how much effort i put into anything i’m always going to be left trying to find the exit out of my own empty ballroom.

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.”

live every day like you won’t die or you will be lost forever.

maybe the reason why i’ve lost everything is simple…its always been my fault. i should have stayed home tonight but instead i wandered around trying to find something i should have forgot. i found you at the same time i lost my identity and for the last four months i keep crashing and burning until one day i’m going to end up buried beneath ashes that cover up the path you crossed. its not easy getting all my ducks to play in a row so all these pieces under my feet are what keep me incomplete. souvenirs from tragedies. the next time you see one of those bag ladies with a shopping cart full of god knows what do yourself a favor and pretend you weren’t looking. if she was me then i believe each empty bag would represent what it feels like every time i see those numbers over and over in my head like the ticker stopped in the middle of counting down until i get to push the button that will keep blinking red. i wonder what a psychologist would think if he spent fifty five hours over the course of two weeks with yours truly.

i threw a fit when the bitch who holds the list at the podium just inside the door of mercury lounge told me to go away. he said he added my name but apparently that doesn’t mean a thing so i was turned away and i didn’t get to see them play. to this day i still stomp my feet when i don’t get what i want.