xoxo, nico

i wrote out my rent check and i have four whole dollars in my bank account. i’ve been broke for so long its turned into gangrene and they’ll have to amputate because the depth of this infection takes over everything even if there was a slight chance the wholes will heal. everything i had has shattered into a million pieces and whatever was priceless has been buried underneath a pile of needles.

free spirit costs a pretty penny. one out of seven of these accomplishments i claim had nothing to do with me. the reason why my name is attached to them comes directly from some random connection. the most valuable lesson i’ve learned is to keep the right people a far cry from the ones who pretend to have compassion. does anyone who claims i give too much away count for anything anyway??? they’re the one’s who will come running the next time i spiral into the depths of my disposition, maybe. they’re the ones who will sit at home catching up on tivo wondering why the fuck service is expensive.

all we can remember is what tore us both us apart instead of what’s forgotten at the bottom of our hearts…smiles filled the silences and laughter filled the sound and everyday was more important when you were around…

loss is uncontrolled and that is what makes it so aggressively painful.

there’s a mean time and there’s the time being but in my world it just seems like time has just been mean to me. i ran out of it hours, days, weeks, months, and ages ago. i wasted it all laying in bed waiting for you to come calling. i wonder if you heard what i had done. i wonder if you care that i may as well be in a coffin or if you’re the one silently punishing me for my actions. go ahead and try to make me feel guilty. try to make me feel like i’m the one that did something wrong. i can justify anything i do while you’re blinking your eye and out of the corner you’ll see me as i’m leaving sneaking out the back door but you can’t come after me because you’re sustained by the grip of the girl you picked while you tried to get even. its too late to feel sorry and it takes to much energy to hate being in the same time at the same place. you are to blame for the demons you swallow like the larva floating at the bottom of the tequila bottle.

i can rip out two tear sheets from teen vogue and relix magazines with my copyright but ironically enough i almost didn’t have all the funds and bob dylan randomly began to play subterranean homesick blues. luckily i dug another dollar bill from the bottom of my pocket book to pay for the change on top of the only ten i had left to my name. relationships are the same. you win sometimes you loose someone else’s gain like the hundred i had tucked into my passport somebody must have claimed. the puzzle of my identity are finally piecing back together but i believe in all this mean time we live for an invaluable passion. if rock paper scissors was a competition then love is what was won.

he asked out princess but come to find out from a little birdie called abby road mr. wonderful has been in bed with her flatmate for the last few months swooning her before hand with champagne and oysters. i told duchess and she said he has been pursuing her cousin and i just ran into him with his ex-girlfriend looking like they were in love. opening night of james bond he tried to get in my pants but i said no due to my own personal reasons. princess was in love with his conversation then and couldn’t understand why i would pass up the perfect potential lover. maybe it was because i know something you don’t know or i got bored and i would bet money that he never deleted those incriminating photos of me in a pianos bathroom off his i phone. subconsciously we’re all in love with fucking the player but unfortunately we trip then hope we don’t fall and this is the reason all of our knees end up covered in blood.

danger

…feels so good.

evidently my addiction has not subsided. he remains present and I will be seeing him this week.

i have no soul it seems.

no soul or self control.

there’s a way to kiss and make-up for the lies and twists hidden between significant friendships. only time can heal these wounds and even if the scar tissue was cut open after the stitches were removed months ago you could still end up bleeding blue blood. i rolled up a photograph and slipped it into an empty wine jug carefully packed at the bottom of an old treasure chest buried in a hope cove. the fragile stickers have been worn off for years and the last drop stained the edge of my imagination when i fit the cork back on top. there’s a hand drawn map folded in my pocket and i never leave home without the broken compass concealed in a hand me down locket. a fortune teller once told me i hold the soul of a young love who was taken away before she was supposed to go. i wonder if that’s the reason why i always find i myself in the wrong place at the right time or if patients is playing tricks on me while i sit and wait for the one and only who can show me directions back to where i will dig up my time capsule. eventually i’ll be able to replace the pair of white lace gloves i borrowed to brush off all the dust and uncover what i had to forget to loose on purpose.

i love new york but j’tadore paris. i’ve never been there but i’m supposed to live there. i’ve said this for years. at a fair in the county of orange a palm reader told me it was meant to be. she said i was destined for a happy ending and that the soul mate i was yet to meet is friends with friends of friends. three two one degrees of separation then on and on about how i surround myself with fame plus fortune. they sing and i dance to harmonica bass ukulele bongos and tambourine all wrapped up like the present inside the world that revolves around who we’ve scene. this gypsie told me my aura was the color of burnt umber and that i would have to wait for what my third eye refused to see. i responded with patience is my only vice and i have a tendency to refuse to think twice before i end up in a position that i’m not supposed to be in. whatever worked must only work for them.

now i lay me
down to sleep

i pray the lord
my soul to keep

if i die
before i wake

i pray the lord
my soul to take

the line that strings the beads of my rosary must have been fraying for a while because they all fell off and rolled all over your hardwood floor as jeff buckley sang hallelujah. i hate that song. it reminds me of being stuck in a catholic mass dressed in my sunday best on the coldest day of the year buried someplace up in the mid-west. jesus was a cave man who rose from the dead but i think he was a magician with tricks hidden in the folds of his robe. if there wasn’t such thing as technology i couldn’t imagine how exciting it would be to see somebody walk on water then turn it into wine. wow imagine that i swear he would totally have been my best friend. wait no fuck that we could have be madly in love and i would have had no choice but to be mary magdalene’s sloppy seconds on the third day after you rose again.

you’ve been charged as a third party and i apologize in advance but i believe i might have to de-invite you to my apartment. a trial date has been set for tomorrow night at ten and you have the right to plead the fifth in front of a living room full of those so called friends. let the jury of your piers be the ones to choose who’s innocent even if you know who can prove you guilty beyond a reasonable connection. they can use my room to deliberate and vote the future of our fate and i will sit and wait in a photo booth behind a red velvet curtain until the decision has been made. let them be the one’s who uncover what lies between black and white linens while i take notes and exercise my right to remain silent even though i would love to laugh out loud at you’re little accusation. remember to knock before you enter when the door’s closed because if you don’t you could possibly walk into something you weren’t  supposed to know and all i’ll have to say then is i told you so. last week i got my passport in the post and i can’t wait to blow this popcicle place with my vintage suitcase packed full of exes and noes.

we can do anything for a pretty penny but i would be fucking rich if everybody paid me two cents to listen to their thoughts.

it would be awesome if i had the balls to spit this all in your face but instead i’ll grin and wear it because that’s the right thing to do in his sticky situation. i could tell all and i will to the wrong person one day but until then i will end up your best friend and just in case you need a shirt because you lost yours during your walk of shame maybe i can lend you one but i would never expect you to replace it because i don’t really give a shit about material garments.  you fucked him so fuck you and fuck her and maybe fuck them too but from now on you should stand on your own two feet instead of using me for balance because i don’t owe you anything. i’ve done enough for free and what i got in return is nothing compared to the bullshit i’ve had to deal with and the comments that are nothing less than selfish. you will get whats coming to you. i promise you this: karma is a bitch.

get

over

shit

we got to the point that instead of looking into each others eyes we sit across and catch a sideways glance. it’s so much safer to spill our guts on clicking keys instead of face these things but then the outcome ends up nothing. no climax in connection, unstated understanding, no crooked smirk that means they know that you know that they know…remember the park times, the one lines, the sad signs, the bonding crimes? so now what? i get exhausted just remembering what it was like to feel something in my gut. its exhausting just thinking of starting it with someone new and afraid of it bringing me back to that same old scene where the moment is unnatural but utterly romantic. maybe i’ll think its different, like this is new, this is not you…a free fall in connection, unstated understanding, a crooked smirk that meant that he knew that i knew that he knew. another humdrum run to run. so what if I drink a bottle a day, or drift away. there is nothing left to say.