//It’s Getting Late and I’d Like to Go Home:

When I called you about my father you did not say a single word to me. I remember this, it took three calls to get you to pick up the phone. I talked and talked and screamed and all you managed to do was ask me to repeat myself through my illiterate sobs. So I repeated myself. Then I waited. Finally I hung up.
You do not like the music that I do. You don’t understand the yelling, it doesn’t get through to you. I hope one day you see that I am the yelling, not the guitar.

You say that I have this habit of forcing things to fit when they aren’t supposed to. So if this is the true, the pieces of my life will never be able to create a finished image. It’s as finished as it can be, as finished as it ever was, and as finished as it will ever be.

Your love for me is a burning contradiction. I mean that it is completely and utterly in flames. I would consider packing up as many of your things as you can, and fleeing the building before it’s all gone. Sometimes I can’t tell if you want to smother me as softly as you can with your hands and your lips or if you want to beat me bloody.
You have inspired me to create more paper flowers.

I hate to say I rather enjoy pretending to walk from you, that seems to be the only way to get you to run after me.
I wanted to apologize for not reading your books. But in fairness, I’m sure you’ll admit that you haven’t read mine either.

“Sorry.” What’s done is done. “It’s my fault.” It is your fault. I often dislike agreeing with you.

I read too fast, you talk too quietly.

I promise that I would go back to drinking if my body hadn’t grown this intolerance to it. When we end, you will not come back until you’ve rebuilt your tolerance to me.
You are a child, but in fairness, I will admit that I am too.

I hope one day you develop aggressive insomnia. But it comes from a good place. I have my best ideas when I’m sitting and rolling and buried in quietness.
Just smoke a f*****g cigarette. Monotony will surely kill you faster than nicotine. I don’t care if you shave.
If we went out, I’m sure you would be hesitant with your wallet.

I’m far more familiar with death than you. He and I have shared quite a few winks and risque text messages.
I have never filled an entire notebook. I buy new ones before I can finish. I like a clean slate.

You know good and well that we do not live in a culture where people will make money from their art.

No, I have not played piano for you yet. It’s one of the few cards left I have to play. I used the rest too quickly.
I am really really trying to stop biting my nails and the skin around them.
Stop wanting to be my friends. I don’t want you to be my friends.
And for anything it’s worth, I earnestly hope that you don’t let yourself die in that house.

Reviews

[I Am Svetlana]

"It's as finished as it can be" was such a perfect line to sum up this entire piece! You can't force love to work out...you can't force life to treat you right. It's nice to have a clean slate, and hey, every day is a new one! Make mistakes one day, they'll be gone the next and we can start over. Just the raw intensity of your writing leaves me breathless...

[Ella Noelle]

You are so kind, thank you for such thorough commentary. My writing having spoke to you on any level is a really fantastic feeling.

[SuspectGray]

Interesting....why do I feel like creating paper flowers?

[Monica Garcia]

Ugh!!! Wow!! The honest, real, passion in this piece left me speechless. I commend you.

[Ella Noelle]

Oh my gosh, thank you very much!

[Inject Positivity]

Clappings!!!! Your writing took the reader to the world of your mental wanderings and your soul.....Uniquely written....Very brief work....Loved it mate....Full ratings......The title is quite brilliant too....

[Ella Noelle]

Thank you so much!