may 14th.1999.

i feel back at home this way. in these clothes. alone. for some reason its become something i'm used to. i felt so out of places trying to feel for someone. i felt so out of place having someone feel for me. now she is gone. as is the sun. the cooler temperatures have returned and i have returned to how i was before: heartbroken and alone. somehow its easier this way. i don't have to try to impress her anymore. i don't have to act a certain way and live up to expectations. i no longer have to as myself, "why am i doing this?" i'm alone again. the tears are back. the frustration is back. the sun is gone and i've bundled up again. all i have left are the memories. the thoughts of broken kisses and lying in bed with her all day. all of thats in the past. the way it should be. i'm not allowed to fill my inner void. no one is allowed to love me. i'm not allowed to feel comfortable or happy with myself. so here i am. back in this dark, lightless hole i call my room. bleeding tears from my eyes and screaming at this piece of paper. trying to figure out my purposes in life. trying to grasp onto holds that aren't false and won't give way. this is how its supposed to be. i hope i'm not as pathetic as i sound...

may 12th.1999.

through a wall:
i scream. no one
hears my words. do
you know i exist?
it seems you've already
forgotten. my heart
beats faster; its been
a month since i've
kissed you. i'm
hoping to forget what
you're like. i dont
need these memories.

nothing seems real anymore.
and my heart reaches a
point where nothing can hold it
back. i scream silently
at night and bleed tears
from my eyes. my heart
is broken. i know now
what its like to die. to
never again hold the
ones you love. but you
think this death is not
real. you think my flesh
must burn and movement
must stopd. open your fucking
eyes. (this is real).

may 11th.1999.

when the sun sets
forever: we'll be left
only with nightmares
of loneliness. the faces
in front of us will
only appear under false
lights; expressionless.
nothing will be real: even
our emotions will drown
in the blackness.

may 3rd.1999.

i went to hollywoord cemetery yesterday. its such an oddly beautiful place. it seems so surreal. when you walk through, you walk amongst graves of men and women who lived more than a century and a half ago. old graves and beautiful sculptures are everywhere. angels, crosses, plain stones with numbers for dead unknown with no name who will be lost forever as a figure in a history book. you never think that death could be such a beautiful thing, but it can. every single facet of life is amazing in its own unique way. from the creation of, to the birth of, to love, to hate, to sickness, to sadness, to death. they are all amazing in the way they leave you to wonder "why?" and "how?"

april 26th.1999.

across her face
she looks (so clean)
and i hold her hand:
lying awake.
on top of
arms cover(ing)
bodies. i'm
to say: nothing
works. (please)
-be patient-
and now i sleep;
wondering: is
this a dream

april 22nd.1999.

so anyways, i want to know why teachers never intervene on the treatment of kids at school. so many people want to look at the media as the cause behind what happened in colorado, and in a way the media is a cause behind who we are. then again, the reason most of us get into subcultures is our general rejection of whats "normal." i got into punk rock and other forms of underground media because here was a group of kids like me...they didn't fit in. so the fact that these kids were incessantly made fun of makes me say the statement "teachers should intervene." oral rejection day in and day out hurts. it really does. so i think that it was the leading factor behind what the kids did. its not the media.
so anyways, hardcore is dead. i went into the hardcore music chat room on aol the other day and kids were making of the colorado kids. calling them "goth faggots." this used to be a safe haven for the kids no one liked. it used to be a group of open minded kids who wanted to make a difference. not this macho group of jocks who fit in anywhere, make fun of everyone, are racist, and don't give a fuck about the well being of the world. i go to shows now and feel like i'm at school. the same macho prep attitudes and clique bullshit. these people don't know anything about the world. they don't know anything about being open minded to other people. they only know about enforcing their ideals on people. either through violence or unkind word...mainly through violence.
so anyways, today has sucked. people have been really shitty today. i can't wait until summer. i won't have to see any of these false smiles anymore. its annoying. these people are liars. they only want to hurt me. its as if they will do anything until they do. i'm so scared to be around them anymore.
so anyways, i miss her. i saw her yesterday, but it wasn't enough. i want to hold her hand. i want to make her understand how much she means to me. i want her to know how she makes me feel. how her touch makes my hair raise, how her voice makes my heart skip a beat, how i'm loaded with butterflies with every thought she occupies. this has become so much more than i thought it would.

april 19th.1999.

i gave up straight edge yesterday. no, i didn't "sell out." i just gave up on using the term. i realized how it had absolutely nothing to do with my life. it was just a crutch that i no longer need. think about people outside of the punk/hardcore/emo "community" who don't do drugs call themselves straight edge? its in a way like we are saying to people, "hey look at us! we use titles to show how great we are!" it comes off to me as a bit of an ego trip. and really does it have a purpose? people are dying all around us of hunger and violence, yet we're sitting here worrying about who's straight edge, who's a sell out, who smokes weed, blah blah blah. it just slows us down and gives us a revolution for nothing. i'm not saying that drug use is not a proble, but straight edge is taking things to far. it creates an internal conflict in our little "community" and cause unneccessary violence. we should be worrying about homelessness and hunger. things people don't choose to be. people choose to do drugs and forcing our ideals on them will never stop them from doing them.

april 1st.1999.

its raining outside
like tears falling
at all of our
our (in)security gone
like a day wasted
but this day is
like our hearts beating
the rain
-dropping as is
won't slow us


you stand across from me and stare. i want to know your thoughts, but you won't let me in. i want to kiss you so i pull you towards me. i look into your eyes and press my lips against yours. something strikes in between your tongue and mine as they meet in orifices that are not their own. this time i really feel something and for the first time i close my eyes and realize...this is what i want.


tomorrow i'm going
to blow you a
kiss: my dear-it
will float into the
wind, and meet you
where you live-in your
home-the place where you stand.

yes-i'm going to touch
you-like you've never
felt before-your heart. lets
be our own best friends;
like lovers until we
are over, but lets never
let it end.

tomorrow-i swear will
be the beginning

of forever.


twenty-five days until my seventeenth birthday. wow, all of my birthdays before were nothing, but this one makes me feel old. i know i'm not, but i still feel that way. i feel like this is not supposed to happen yet. its strange. i don't want to grow up.

march 1st.1999.
its strange how we've grown apart.
how our similar goals and similar dreams have become opposite in meaning.
our energies and focuses have changed...
but i don't feel like i've changed.

february 27th.1999.
francie brady's back again.
the butcher boy-
not quite insane.
and while our hearts explode,
just to hear themselves erode.
wander wander travels.
lets do a dance.
cuz francie brady's back.
lets watch the butcher boy-
ride again.

february 23rd.1999.
tomorrow we will dance in the streets, amongst vagabonds
with our hands in the air.
the next day we will all fall dead.
-in a circle to show our displeasure.

january 27th.1999.
feeling my heart exploder with such subtle words.
a simple slap to the face would have been better.
a little less pain,
a whole lot less lasting destruction.
this time words really are more powerful than actions.

january 25th.1999.
i'm just as sick as everyone else.
the way i sit her and condemn all of the dark souls.
i've brought it upon myself to think i'm better.
we all have.

january 22nd.1999.
i'm still obsessed with her. it's disgustingly true. i don't love her at all. in fact i hate her. i just want to hold her in my arms and feel her warmth against me. i want to hold her hand and kiss her. just as long as she doesn't talk and feed me her bullshit. she knows how to lock me too. she just looks in my eyes. she has wonderful, hypnotic eyes. thats why i always look around when i'm near her. i can't look into her eyes. i hate those eyes. i hate her, but yet i'm still obsessed with her.

january 5th.1999.
all around these words
there are spaces.
please write your name in one,
to let me know who you are.
because i can recognize your face
from all the dreams of yesteryear.

the perfect dream.
he stands across the hall from a girl towering over him by a feet. he tries to hide, but its hopeless because she can see everything he does. she makes him feel so little. she's looking down on him as if she was taller, but really, its he that is. its just the way she makes him feel. when they talk, he's quiet, always so quiet, and his face is beet red, brighter than that of a firetruck engulfed in flames.
he lies awake at night wondering if he'll tell her the next day. "yeah, i'll tell her," he says to himself, but when the time comes he looks down into her beautiful eyes and can't speak, mesmerized. he blurts out somethin indistinguishable and runs into the bathroom where he cries himself through the rest of the day. he exits the bathroom after the bell has wrung. there she is, waiting for him. his heart drops into his stomach. she comes up to him, kissing him softly on the cheek, and whispers to him, "i love you too."