MissBlissInfidel

Somedays aren't yours at all, They come and go As if they're someone else's days They come and leave you behind someone else's face And it's harsher than yours And colder than yours They come in all quiet Sweep up and then they leave And you don't hear a single floor board creak They're so much stronger Than the friends you try to keep By your side Downtown, Downtown I'm not here, not anymore I've gone away Don't call me, don't write I'm in love with your daughter I wanna have her baby I'm in love with your daughter So can I please Downtown, Downtown I'm not here, not anymore I've gone away Don't call me, don't write I

I sit so stiff, barely breathing, hardly knowing what to do next. Insomnia is a torturous disorder when you have nothing to eat and nothing more to do than think. Myspace only reminds me out how distant i am. I'm thousands of miles away and have more than a week until i can see him again. That word, it bites. "him"... how pointless a word for such a meaning it had then. The combination of of the thought and hunger is a horrible mix with the tiny office space i feel trapt in. 8 by 12 feet with a low ceiling that sufficates. The air here is sour. My heart is pounding harder now as i sense a scream building up inside of me. Lungs tired from self

Superstitions; more like a jar of spiders neatly tucked away in a shoe box stuffed with tissue. Inside of this jar in the box full of tissues, the spiders scurry. They crawl over top of eachother violently, franticly looking for some place to go. An escape maybe? In the dark they sqirm, silently screaming. Small hisses and pops are the words that define their broken troubles. It is too quiet for anyone to hear but them. They know they're dying. The air is too dense, there is too many of them. Affixiation numbs the mind.  Bodies of the weak are crushed beneath the others. Choking they cry. OH, the spiders, they cry... nobody knows but them b