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.

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.

good luck keep in touch hope to see you soon. maybe i will stay up really late at night and stalk your facebook or login into your myspace because i happen to guess the password on accident once in a moment of weakness only to discover that you are the most boring fucking person on the planet. some relationships make me sick to my stomach and i don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to stand on your own two feet instead of let them control the places you go and the way you feel when they stand there a few feet from me. i have no problem ignoring you not one bit because you are a bad habit that i would like to quit. sometimes it fascinates me how fast people can go from being in love to an acquaintance you see more often than not or once in a while but what the fuck no one says we can’t be friends.

poor little rich girls i wonder who you’re going to play with later.

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

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.

get

over

shit

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.