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i can't look at you and breathe at the same time

It must be nice to be beautiful. A beautiful boy, really good looking. Walking around looking beautiful because he knows it. He wears jeans and they look perfect. He wears t-shirts and they look perfect. He�s not rich rich, but he has money enough so that his apartment or house has good lighting, like soft mellow lighting. He can afford someone to paint his walls for him. A coffee colored brown. He can afford to drive around and hang out and do whatever. If there�s a concert in England and Suicide or Melvins are playing, he can afford to go. And he can afford a room at a hotel that is basic and clean, but not gross. He�s probably an actor or a minor musician. He is your air. Without his approval or acknowledgement you can�t tell whether or not you are pretty funny smart or sweet. Unless you know you are? I can�t tell. I�m so insecure. Who will read what I write? Who will shop at my store? Who will come to my show? Who will tell me what I�m supposed to like? I�m soooooo bad at making decisions. What are you wearing tonight? What should I wear? Did you hear about the thing? The people at the thing where everyone saw that thing and there were so many people? People and things and things and people. What should I wear tonight? Who does he want me to look like? I think we�d look good together; we�d look good in pictures. We�d look cool. Once upon a time there was a beautiful, beautiful boy. He liked to video record his friends with a video camera. He liked to take pictures of himself doing drugs and shooting up because it looked really cool. He had brown hair that fell into his eyes and he could play the guitar and he could sing too. He had perfect blue jeans and perfect blue bruises on his arms. He feel asleep in a position that cut off his blood. He was on drugs, pills most likely because he was too pussy to find any real drugs. He was asleep for six days but no one noticed or cared or thought it was weird because everyone came and went. No one ever locked the door. He forgot how to walk when he woke up. He even forgot his own first name. He had so much anxiety. He couldn�t move. He could smoke a cigarette, but he couldn�t eat anything. A magazine was coming by to take his picture so he was freaking out. Since the door was opened famed photographer terry Richardson walked right in. and he said �yeah baby� and everyone laughed. They ordered a pizza. The boy never moved and nobody questioned it because he was so perfect looking that it didn�t matter anyway. There was a flurry of activity going on at all times. I�ve gotten carried away but how come I�m still so in love with you?

6:23 p.m. - 2005-12-10

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history - mystery