day one hundred and forty nine.

they come and go,
but mostly i go.
sometimes they never come,
and sometimes they
never go.
those are the worst type;
when they're
not the
right type.
leave me be for now,
i'm not heartless,
i just haven't got
the heart
right now.

day one hundred and forty eight. (why not)

do you need to be innocent
or naive
or pretend to turn a
blind eye
or be overly
forgiving
to be nice?
every time i am,
i have to be conscious to try
one of the above
after the ribbon of
gratefulness and thanks
has been cut
and the only winner
crossing it is
the advantage
which has been taken
from me.

day one hundred and forty seven.

sleeping for wellness

to be awoken

for sickness;

a trip that

made you feel 

as if

you weren't in canada

anymore

day one hundred and forty six.

throw it out
or hide it
there's already
one
asian woman calling
at 7:00am in the
morning.

day one hundred and forty five.

bright colours to mesmerize
and looks to make
you realize
that
they both make you feel
the same way.

day one hundred and forty four.

shit.
i'm tired.

day one hundred and forty three.

cool relaxed bus
in the shade
music on
free seat
next to you
while staring out
the window
thinking of
drinking
a cold one
(one of anything cold
and alcoholic)
while you stare at the
balding moms
their newborn childrens'
pawns.

day one hundred and forty two.

crap on the floor
that isn't yours
from the dog you trained
through tears and pain
all for this stain
on the rug
that's
not yours.

day one hundred and forty one.

we need some more custard
and bread pudding
cups -
you need to start working
and shut the
fuck up.

day one hundred and forty.

i didn't smell it
until i smelled you,
then the whole day
the smell followed through.

day one hundred and thirty nine.

mixed
and almost fixed
feelings
but
temporarily
patched up
and given away
and parted from
all the while
holding onto
something that
isn't yours when
you plan to steal
it back.

day one hundred and thirty eight.

turning up

and old

and going out

and turning round

and tipping down

but not tipping

them

for the sipping

things

and the gripping piss

and the walk all the way

lost

downtown.

day one hundred and thirty seven.

i'm too lazy
LAAAzyyyyy
ZZZZ
to grab my bboookk.
so much to fucking do.
FUUUUUCK feels good
yelling out of your mouth.

day one hundred and thirty six.

purple pussy.
__________.
is lost forever.

day one hundred and thirty five.

the last peach to be picked
is never actually picked,
and must have the harsh realization
that nobody wanted them
as they hit the ground
with no hands there to catch them.
while they rot away
or are eaten alive,
they have the bruise of their
rejection
to remind them that
no one cares.

day one hundred and thirty four.

on this day i tried a fish shaped waffle.

i felt frivolous

and enjoyed every bite of it.

day one hundred and thirty three.

that pepperoni was there
the day she died
and it will
be there
until she rises
again
everything that
fell out
i won't need while
i'm wetting
my mouth
so back off
lil wayne
and let me be
myself,
this blood
it's real blood
my blood
so give me a bandaid
to fall off my
wounds
and let me go crazy
with all of this
booze.

it.

i want the
smell
of that room,
the itching of
my ass
on the floor
tight leggings
the feeling in my
head
my skin
changing colour
the prickles that
come with it
the sound of
the booming
and laughter
the feeling inside
of being more
and much, much
less
than is expected of us.

the world chooses for you.

'if you love someone,
let them go"
should be
rephrased as
"you can't
control people
so let them go".

day one hundred and thirty two.

it's cinnamon wood
faintly sweet
it's rainbow smoke
faintly real
but bicycle judgments
are serious shit.

day one hundred and thirty one

the bottles
smashed against
one another
and created
new sparks;
later to end
in blood.

day one hundred and thirty.

it's good to take
the edge off,
even the edges
it's not supposed to.

day one hundred and twenty nine.

the pepperoni whore
always goes after the
vegetarians
first.

slides down the slice
and cries drips of
grease
for your endearment.

day one hundred and twenty eight

a confidence like
a piece of glass
and not even the
bullet proof kind
either.

day one hundred and twenty seven.

one further away
but coming near,
another closer to me
but distanced with fear.

day one hundred and twenty six.

more dropping
i can only read words
if they are written clearly
and not whizzed by
even by myself



mistakes occurred,
for i had erred.

day one hundred and twenty five.

birthday surprises

and treatment

make me feel like

i've turned

six

instead of 

_______.

day one hundred and twenty five.

a new place
full of games
and friends
- sort of -
that you sort of like
a nice sort of people
you can't dislike
if you're the type to
lie most.

day one hundred and twenty four.

not a lot happening
the blank spell begins
the youth ends.

day one hundred and twenty three.

this schedule is
making me
shit
my panties
for reasons opposite
to why it did
last year.

day one hundred and twenty two.

lost lipstick
found phone
foot healed
walking home
to where
i can finally
make myself
feel
accomplished again.

just something.

there are more
emotions
than there are
words,

there is more
colour
than there is
sight.

but most of all
there are more
blanket statements
like these
than there are
fools
who spew
them out.

i believe
what i simultaneously
don't.

day one hundred and twenty one.

the need for fingers
to work harder than they
can,
the result
of a protestant ethic
and a celebrity culture -
we're all going down,
someone needs to fill
the positions
that are slowly
dying out
since you'd rather
readjust
your pants
than change into
another pair.