Sometimes When

The virgin mary dangles from my neck and sleeps right where my heart is//was////willing to bet that it got dug out by some boy I thought I loved when I was fifteen. Im trying to feel better each day. Telling myself to take each day at a time- and I count them in my head as they go by..one, two...three. It works for the most part. I am still getting caught up in my nonsense emotions. Really wish I could just be done with them because those pills and those blades and that gas oven in my kitchen still beckons me. I wish I were one of those people who just hides their feelings and stuffs them under tissues and muscles inside their body, deep inside their bones! but im not and i'll never be that. I've been cursed with being an extremely emotional and passionate person. More so than you'll ever meet. If anyone knows what love is, it's me. And if I don't know what it is i'll tell you what isn't. Don't scold or scoff at me for feeling something that you can't bring yourself to deal with. It's not nor will it ever be my problem and victim am I not. Circumstances have led me to believe that I will never be loved the way that I want to. So what's the point then. Waste time. Waste feelings? Let these men stare at my body while I get dressed smoking a cigarette. Ha. What's true and what isn't? Is lying a form of artistic creativity? What about fucking? What about the way I smoke my cigarettes and gently bite the filter? What about the way I kiss his sweet mole by his mouth. The way it reminds me of a child. A sweet innocent child. Or the way his lips are so fucking pouty that all I can think about is how much blood is in them . Are my thoughts creative enough for you? Because this world doesn't seem half as interesting as it use to be. Not anymore. Not when things go bland and boring. You all call this living??