you look like the hungry state line

art imitates life imitates art imitates life imitates what the fuck am i even talking about? teeth, nose, face? My mind is in that hazy state between sleep and conciousness, writing gives my unsteady hands purpose, a reason to shake while smoothing the curve of a g and spraying the rest across walls or paper or limbs or lids. Jump up on my lap, curl into me and sleep forever, crawl inside my womb.be my first kiss, sloppy and sweet, pulsating with anticipation, or a hand in my shirt. oh, i have become completely innapropriate. all i want is to sparkle and drink and moan and when i watch the street lights go out on my way in, think of nothing but the few slow seconds i will spend infront of my door, counting to eight, remembering what it was like to have someone to thank for the night, say that first goodbye, and endup fucking and scratching,and praying for no end, but never calling back. i miss waking up to dirt under my nails, gluing twigs to my fingers incase i broke them, burning incense and hair, draping my legs over the side of the bed and singing to the world moving past my windows. Be me, not mine, but me, a verb, live and do. love me more passionately than we can understand, larger than i care to know.
THATS IT this is it, ive over romanticised everything as an attempt to validate the fact that i no longer care enough to differentiate my personal concept of right, from wrong. i've given up trying to not drink before three, i want to be distant, vague, make a million men fall in love with one smile, take the train for free, win goldfish for batting my lashes. i want to taste a thousand sunsets, to feel summer in my mouth, to explore thailand in shapes and colors, i want to function without a heavy mind. function. i want to function. i am scared of the moons raping glow. even more terrified of feeling something real for anyone. i make eye contact with passing men, try to see how long until they look away. i've fallen for winter and nativity scenes. i decorated my living room with golden calves, golden calves,you were my golden calf that i rode away from this whole fucking gypsy city filled with empty circles of sallow girls blowing kisses into closed fists waiting for a camera to catch them in the act.
fishbowl eyes, cheeks sinking, lungs filling,everything pouring into me, filling myself with everything around me, safely living inside everyone i meet. destroying them in such a timely manner, because being a part of my life has been described as the act of swallowing a diamond ring. all i want is to go to sleep at 8 and stop scrathcing at these phantom limbs that kick and beg for a second chance at living outside of myself. outside of this mythologized world, where chainsmoking and bad credit are glamorous. where i wear fur coats in the summer and cry over how beautiful my hands look underwater. i want to know what i'm told to know and never wonder if there is something more, or if god is the homeless man on the corner. i want to be detetched, get my way without the lovelines that rum in bed brings. i want so much less than what i have created, because no one wants a girl that pukes on your sheets and laughs during sex.