why do i do this.

subject lines left empty, fault address not supplied. beautiful pianos so painful, so graceful, i can't bare myself. i have nothing more to say,i have nothing more to say. this charade can't last any longer when the cards are all covered in my blood, a perfect table to lay your bets on, just don't mind the drip drip of nothings.

this doesn't mean a thing; not now, not ever.

and maybe unknown is a better moniker, maybe i'll go down in the history books of nothing past as a photo of a ghost that was never there to begin with, no sad story of love and pain and hate and glory, no tales of the seventh level of hell, nothing to say except what's already been said too many times before in pained, teenage drawings in the corner of algebra tests. and maybe i can give you the pencil that i drove through my arm in a bitter attempt to keep my hands pure, free from taint. maybe i can give you my hair in a padded paper envelope after he told me for so long how beautiful long hair was. maybe i'll tape pictures of eyes in front of these gaping holes, pretending that there might maybe be something there.

this is nothing special, all of you, leave. stop here, this red ensign has never meant so more to me before in my life.

ancient days draw nigh, i have nothing more to say. no secret sources of wisdom, and you'll attest to that. i won't ever be who i was, and i'll never be who i'll become. purple leopard print, i have no where to go, pencil marks all lead to dead ends and the corner of pages left unread, unwritten. makes these fours disappear from my vision, the sharp ends will serve my purpose better than my teeth. stained skin and blood shot eyes, a perfect drug unconceived, coffee spills because i can't bother passing on my taint, even to the china cup. how can you kiss me like that, like you never have, when my spit barks fire and cyanide cupcakes? how can you read these words when they're written in a foreign language? i've never bothered to teach you that. lies. i tried, i tried, black hair attests to poison ether attempts.

no one knows, do they. no one knows, a little girl running away from her family, crying on her front porch because no one realized she was gone. fair? yes. too fair to suit my purpose, too clean for dirty panties strewn on the floor. my hobbling steps are coming too close to the stairs, all i need is your hand to give me that last push, i'll kiss wooden steps like i always wanted to, the bones in my spine cracking corners and coffins.

i don't have anything more to say.

i'm sorry. now it's my turn for the apologies.

so sorry, love, loves, life, when CDs and faltering ink lines don't carry me anymore but entomb me further, these misadjustments have proven to be too much.

i miss him. all of them. all of you. but i hate the one that anyone misses.