xoxo, nico

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.

maybe you’re not aware of the fact that good things come in little blue packages or that i tied bells to my shoe laces so when i walk away it rings like your ears do when i talk about you. sometimes i think you can hear me whispering but thats impossible because you’re miles away from where ever i should be. so i wait until the coast is clear and i sit still until i can’t stand the same position. the same old thing over and over again like the alarm clock waking me up when all i want to do is slip underneath my pinstripe sheets and stay there for days not thinking about breathing.

sometimes getting out of bed is the hardest thing. eating is inconvenient and all i wish is that the food was somehow miraculously in my stomach. picking up the phone is like having to lift one of those logs in that strongest man competition. i hear it ringing and i see who’s calling but i can’t bring myself to say the word hello because if i pressed accept it would blow up romeo. its like that guy who sits in a hole and waits for the president to call the red phone and give the command that kills a bunch of people. i stay in my room because i’m afraid that if i go out doors the sky will cave in and my shoulders can’t hold all the weight of the world. i know its not my fault but i can’t help but think that there has to be something more. that there’s something out there that connects all these dots and blurs together the rest of this puzzle. the fact of the matter is that whatever i keep looking for does not exist because i watched too many episodes of unsolved mysteries when i was a kid. depression is the bait that caught the fish.