witty-remark's Diaryland Diary

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Slow unwind; everything unravels.
The train hisses and lights sparks on the rusted metal, rattling my thoughts like the gravel sputtering between the tracks.
One track mind. 8-track tape. We fuck and fight and fuck and fight and fuck and fight and fuck and fight and fuck. Fuck.
It's a world record. Well, maybe a broken one instead. Don't adjust the needle, it's the soundtrack to our lives:

"Why can't you just let me love you without getting mad?"

"Why can't I get mad without you loving me?"

"You're real messed up, you know? Either you're so fucking narcissistic that you think nobody deserves to love you, or you're so insecure that you think you don't deserve to be loved."

"Can't it both?"

3:23 a.m. - Saturday, Oct. 29, 2011

Then - Now