Painfull MemoriesShe dances in and out on waves of broken glass,
A memory of better times, a perfection that couldn't last,
I can reach out and touch her if I don't mind the pain,
But the cuts and scars means nothing's the same,
Still I cling like an addict addicted to the thought,
Of a woman who so long ago I should have forgot.
I offer myself a short distraction,
Some sort of break in the breaking reaction,
But when the music dies down and the streets get cold,
I run through conversations and things I was told,
Like that three word phrase that we used to use,
How quickly the feeling of love turned to "I hate you"s.
Dear Teen MeDear Teen Me,Dear Teen Me3 years ago in Adult More Like This
Yes, you there.
You in the horn-rimmed glasses in your stupid millwheel hat. You knew you’d look totally dumb wearing that to a carnival party, didn’t you? And now you sit there hating the music, hating the people who dragged you there, hating your hair, your figure, your baggy tapered jeans and most of all your glasses. Yes, I know all that. I remember the whole damn evening, when they seemed to play nothing but Salt’n’Pepa, Rozalla and KLF. What did you think they’d play, Paul McCartney, or Elvis Costello? What did you expect the boys would do – would they suddenly notice you with that millwheel hat when they never noticed you before? I bet they noticed the hat, I’ll give you that. It's probably one of the things that makes them give you such a wide berth. Who’d snog someone who looks as if she’s ten? And be honest, do you really want to have someone shoving his tongue past your tonsils, the way they’re doing i