Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2002-05-26 02:28 am
azurelunatic) wrote2002-05-26 02:28 am
No, I don't do the sanity thing very well.
My psycho-stalker factor's incredibly high. It's the little things that are making me nervous. Dammit, I've gotten saner since high school.... haven't I?
I know I'm nuts. It's obvious. I can't go anywhere, do anything, without someone there to hold my hand. I couldn't even graduate high school without Shawn shoving my ass through, telling me I needed to do it, not accepting no for an answer.
I don't know what's going to happen to me at DeVry when Darkside graduates. I might wash out. I can't do that to myself; I can't do that to Votania. I don't know what to do.
Darkside deserves better than me. Somehow. He deserves someone who's not fucking insane. Someone who's not liable to fly off the handle at him, someone who doesn't secretly write down his address, not because I'd ever have any use for it, but just in case I'm in the area and want to say hi... I have his class schedule memorized.
I got these obsession-crushes in high school. Once I fall in love, there's no getting me out, not even if the recipient doesn't appreciate it. Peter. He looked just like Darkside, same first name even. Pyro. Shawn. At least Pyro and Shawn were friends. Pyro was amused and flattered; Shawn was flattered and used me.
I think Darkside cares. Dammit, I have to think he cares, if I'm going to keep what precious sanity I have left. I'm starting to doubt my senses again. This is not a good move. I should say that he cares about me, that every time I show my vulnerabilities, he shows his.
I want to be manipulative. I want to show him my aching empty heart and hold it close to his and see if they bond. They could with just the tiniest bit of encouragement. I tried, once. I got smacked down royally for that. Karma. Manipulation. That's how I lost my virginity, manipulative magic.
I want him so badly. Sometimes I'm not sure which is my heart's desire and which is my heart. I want to curl up in a corner. I don't want responsibility for anyone but myself, perhaps not even me. I don't want to grow up. I don't want to have to make hard choices and Do The Right Thing.
Every so often I have to be seduced back to life. It doesn't get any easier, the more I get older.
Darkside's saved me already. Before that, it was River. I want Darkside to seduce me back to the idea of living again. To the idea of working hard, being happy, being alive, smiling. It doesn't get very good very often with me sometimes. I know there's the happiness. It doesn't outweigh these black moods. Stopped the crying at least. Now I'm cold and sleepy and analytical. I want to capture as much of this as possible, save it, show it to Darkside, should I dare.
I appreciate the thought, Marx, but it's not you I want hugs from. I can get hugs from you, give hugs to you, anytime. What I want is Darkside to let me know how much I mean to him, even if he never will want me to show up naked in his bed.
I wish I were more attractive. Yes, there are things I could do to change me. Do I want to? No, or I would already have. There aren't many things that sting like the realization that you could be pretty to the one you desire, yet you don't have the willpower to manifest it. That's always a popular late-night angst topic.
You're just as lonely as I am, Darkside. I wish I could be the one to make you smile in the mornings... I don't know which is worse, the thought of you not smiling into the eyes of someone you love in the morning when you wake up, or the thought of you not smiling into my eyes. Jealousy? From a poly chick? Yes. And you don't even have a girlfriend. You just have a Tragic Lost Love. And she's not even dead.
That doesn't stop you from bleeding every time she walks in the room. I should tell you to get over it already, there are other chicks out there twice as fine. ...I should get over it already. There are other guys out there twice as fine. But not a one of them is you Not a one of them has your depth of knowledge of me, your sense of humor... your Talent. Your spark. Your knack of blending just the right bits of you with the right bits of me. ...I'd love very much to get back into shoptalk over the breakfast table.
Dizzy again. I want your hand clasping mine, lips on mine, arms around me, body against me. Mind inside me, around me, meshed through me.
I know I'm nuts. It's obvious. I can't go anywhere, do anything, without someone there to hold my hand. I couldn't even graduate high school without Shawn shoving my ass through, telling me I needed to do it, not accepting no for an answer.
I don't know what's going to happen to me at DeVry when Darkside graduates. I might wash out. I can't do that to myself; I can't do that to Votania. I don't know what to do.
Darkside deserves better than me. Somehow. He deserves someone who's not fucking insane. Someone who's not liable to fly off the handle at him, someone who doesn't secretly write down his address, not because I'd ever have any use for it, but just in case I'm in the area and want to say hi... I have his class schedule memorized.
I got these obsession-crushes in high school. Once I fall in love, there's no getting me out, not even if the recipient doesn't appreciate it. Peter. He looked just like Darkside, same first name even. Pyro. Shawn. At least Pyro and Shawn were friends. Pyro was amused and flattered; Shawn was flattered and used me.
I think Darkside cares. Dammit, I have to think he cares, if I'm going to keep what precious sanity I have left. I'm starting to doubt my senses again. This is not a good move. I should say that he cares about me, that every time I show my vulnerabilities, he shows his.
I want to be manipulative. I want to show him my aching empty heart and hold it close to his and see if they bond. They could with just the tiniest bit of encouragement. I tried, once. I got smacked down royally for that. Karma. Manipulation. That's how I lost my virginity, manipulative magic.
I want him so badly. Sometimes I'm not sure which is my heart's desire and which is my heart. I want to curl up in a corner. I don't want responsibility for anyone but myself, perhaps not even me. I don't want to grow up. I don't want to have to make hard choices and Do The Right Thing.
Every so often I have to be seduced back to life. It doesn't get any easier, the more I get older.
Darkside's saved me already. Before that, it was River. I want Darkside to seduce me back to the idea of living again. To the idea of working hard, being happy, being alive, smiling. It doesn't get very good very often with me sometimes. I know there's the happiness. It doesn't outweigh these black moods. Stopped the crying at least. Now I'm cold and sleepy and analytical. I want to capture as much of this as possible, save it, show it to Darkside, should I dare.
I appreciate the thought, Marx, but it's not you I want hugs from. I can get hugs from you, give hugs to you, anytime. What I want is Darkside to let me know how much I mean to him, even if he never will want me to show up naked in his bed.
I wish I were more attractive. Yes, there are things I could do to change me. Do I want to? No, or I would already have. There aren't many things that sting like the realization that you could be pretty to the one you desire, yet you don't have the willpower to manifest it. That's always a popular late-night angst topic.
You're just as lonely as I am, Darkside. I wish I could be the one to make you smile in the mornings... I don't know which is worse, the thought of you not smiling into the eyes of someone you love in the morning when you wake up, or the thought of you not smiling into my eyes. Jealousy? From a poly chick? Yes. And you don't even have a girlfriend. You just have a Tragic Lost Love. And she's not even dead.
That doesn't stop you from bleeding every time she walks in the room. I should tell you to get over it already, there are other chicks out there twice as fine. ...I should get over it already. There are other guys out there twice as fine. But not a one of them is you Not a one of them has your depth of knowledge of me, your sense of humor... your Talent. Your spark. Your knack of blending just the right bits of you with the right bits of me. ...I'd love very much to get back into shoptalk over the breakfast table.
Dizzy again. I want your hand clasping mine, lips on mine, arms around me, body against me. Mind inside me, around me, meshed through me.
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