i'm fucking lying to you.

i've never felt so big before. i used to fit right on to your lap with room to spare, but the last time i was near you i felt tall and lanky. can you explain that?

can you explain to me why seeing you is perfectly normal now? seeing you with someone else is second nature, rocky but possible, like switching hands after shattering the one you were born to use. the product is often painful and sloppy, but eventually it'll improve and i'll be able to use any hand i want!
i can't wait for that day.

i'm obviously retarded.

once during the summer i thought it was the end of the world because all the moths in the world were falling from the sky like snow.
if it is the end of the world, i am coming after you.


a year-leaf clover

I know what she'll smell like. You and Peanut and clean sheets, newly rented movies and peeling stickers off of fruits. Bad food and old guitar strings and open windows. A little bit of technology, nothing fancy. Sex juices. Nothing fancy.

Sometimes I can go a day or two without thinking of you, at least conciously. It's amazing progress for the year that it's almost been. I think I'll throw myself a secret little party in May for surviving what I told myself I wouldn't so many times.


i've never seen so much blood before

things have been crazy. i'll update as soon as i have time.



domestic wildlife.

ohh, faithful.

really. honestly. i am faithful because there are so many different sides of me to satisfy. i can't help that. the only way to help that is to suppress myself. and i've realized that the only way to do that is to kill myself. and i'm most certianly not going to do that. therefore, i can't help it.

this one, he smokes pall malls, like my good friend bukowski. he lives up north, so far up there that Canadian wind blows in through his window. he told me. i've never experienced it, but i can imagine that Canadian wind is distinctive. i'll take his word for it. i'll take his word for a lot of things.
i'll just take his word.

he is a pisces and i am a cancer. we both live in the water, but the thing is, i can go to land whenever i want. i have legs. claws, too. and i know how to use them. you're pretty helpless when you're a fish.

riddle: how does a twin and a crab get along?



a text-message relationship.
mouth says: i love you starshine penis pie baby deathcake <3.

r says: i love you too sexy tits genocide kitty litter pants raspberry scented lover cake<3.

mouth says: goodnight sugar c*ck sexdroid pumpkin tooth muffin <3.

r says: night night cheetah cat sex mittens tits <3.

mouth says: night cosmic c*ck yummie yumcake extremo <3.

r says: night night little sex movie twinkie pie <3.

mouth says: love you yumpop flavoured d*ck move machine g-spot hitter sparklekiss <3.

r says: love you vagina cream pie panther scratches <3.
you know it's cute ;)

growing up

I was lying in bed, next to him,
talking about music and such. "I miss the old days," I told him.

How cliche that a independence-craving seventeen year-old female misses the simplicities of life, right? You win, Tracey. I'm just a statistic. I miss car rides (for free) and not being involved your ridiculous and childish "adult" business. I miss not knowing the difference between the two, or actually, knowing that there is no difference at all. I miss when foreplay was satisfactory. I miss when thoughts of "job" left me with images of briefcases and desks and a (much) older me. I miss writing notes and letters, and I miss receiving them. Butterflies in my coat pocket. I miss when staying up late at night entailed imagining things, not a mental-note of all of the upcoming tasks. I miss when a favor was a favor, not a "contribution to the family (what family?)." I miss when I could be content with the fact that my weekend plans were "Cartoon Cartoon Fridays" and ONE Saturday Morning. I miss when I could look up to almost anybody older than me, and now there's just nobody at all. Just me and my responsibilities.

"Yeah, me too," he said. We stared at the ceiling.


i deleted this one because it was dumb.


remember: viva lotus

camel crush will supposedly be the death of me. you know, the bipolar cigarettes with the visually attractive box, black and cool, like you. i slid one cylinder out from beneath the others right before someone called over to me, "HEY, YOU SHOULDN'T SMOKE THOSE BECAUSE SOME GUY IN INDIANA (or was it illinois?) DIED FROM SMOKING ONE OF THOSE!!!!!!!"
"okay," i said, and took a hit longer than i normally would have. i crushed the filter between my thumb and pointer (hence the trendy name), and let all of the menthol-tasting liquid release into my lungs. if this is what death tastes like, it sure is satisfying.
but that poor man from indiana (or was it illinois?).