Paguroidea.

A Million Little lies-no longer on paper, but in a calcareous complexion.

"I stare at her, let my smile fade it won't fade inside. I have never felt so safe or calm. This hard, damaged, drug-Addicted Baddass Girl sitting in front of me with her black hair and her braided pigtails and her clear water blue eyes and her scars her scars the scars on her wrist naked beneath a plastic watch makes me feel safe and calm."

a story absent of quotes and reality-true to its nature. but not you.

you are but a parasite, taking refuge. an outcast. a fat girl. an unloved daughter. you adapted an identity to feed off of to feed off of those around
-it.

it, thats what you are. thats what you've become. sold-out for the safety of others-those that care less about you, but atleast pretend to. they build the walls of your cancerous shell.
you're no deeper than the puddles of blood, that litter the dark alleyways of this mind.
try as you might, those who care to peek, shall see behind the lies, the pages, the lines. behind the surface scars and see what really hurts.
who you are is not wanted. who you are is never you. you exist to live as others, in others you need to see-that maybe someone will love you accept you-no interest in how you're vain.

its almost empty, you know. your tank is running low. which identity will be next? which victim will you perplex-duplexed in how to free the mind of a constant crippling rhyme?

why...lie?
why...lie?
why...lie?

I might have called it selfish, boy, how I was wrong.
you'd have to know IbetterthanThey, to posess some sort of self.

so read what you desire to be, absorb the typed syntax, adapt its DNA-to display in your house of wax.

too many blue people.

We took off our 3-D glasses, she buttoned up her pants, and we walked towards the exit. I grabbed a hold of her hand and pulled her as I ran out the door. She laughed with amusement-a sound I love-and followed close behind me. I threw my jacket over her and we made our way to her car. We got in and headed for food. We circled the taco bell like sharks, then finally ordered our meal; a number 7. As we pulled away, sipping on our mountain dew, we glanced at each other and smiled.
An unspoken agreement.
We rode down the highway.
I slipped the glasses back on and looked at her.
The lights and road works created a virtual image on the inside of them. A highway, filled with tired souls and constantly streaming lights, projected onto her mind.
Her eyes glistened; she concentrated on the road.
The lights changed to the tune of our soundtrack.
I missed her so much, even while she sat six inches away.
I missed the feel of her skin.
Her breath across my cheek.
Her gaze on me.
I don’t like it.
I hate it. I hate that every moment of my life seems so monotonous without her hand in mine.
Why can’t I be happy with my own experiences? Why must they be our experiences?
Fuck.
We stepped out of the car and scuffled to the apartment door. It was cold and the wind bit at my fingers. We crashed on the couch and I zipped her up in a sleeping bag. She looked at me with those big blue eyes-I-I didn’t want her to ever leave.
I never wanted to leave.

Too late.
I’ll see you in may, beautiful.