Everyone Shut Up.

Be Careful, Kailee.
Hold your tongue.
Don't call.
Ignore her.
Brush it off.
Don't see him.
Don't try.
Be careful.
Be careful
Be careful
Be quiet
Shut your mouth
Hide
Be social
Don't tell them what you're feeling
Pretend you're not feeling
Act happy, like you don't care, like you do care, modest, arrogant, smart, stupid, shy, outgoing
Act
Act
Act
Don't say I love you.
Play hard to get.
Be open, but not available.
Make plans. Fake plans.
Be busy.
Just relax.
Relax.
Relax.


Be yourself, but not quite.

Because you told me to write every day...

This is what I think today.

I think that there is no point in telling anyone anything anymore because it's all just the same stories tumbling out of my mouth like I don't already know that you already know what happens.

No more stories.

Not until someone makes them worth telling.

Title. Tidal.

Wake up.
Snooze.
Wake up.
Snooze.
Brush your teeth, keep brushing.
Go to work. Make small talk with your boss. Don't make a sound. Stay quiet. Watch him play solitaire. Make a mental list about how your old boss was so much more fun than this guy. Long for conversation. Miss home.
Remember how you don't miss home, how it doesn't feel like home, how nowhere feels like home...yet.
Leave.
See a movie you've already seen. Quote all the lines. Wish it was real. Wish the last time you saw this you weren't so disctracted by that one guy. What was his phone number again? You probably shouldn't call. You won't call.
Shower instead, for the third or fourth time today.
Let the water burn.
Lay your hands heavily against your chest while the water runs down, burning your pink skin.
Let your finger tips wander.
Try to feel your heart, remind yourself that it's still there, beating furiously.
Smear the eyeliner across your face.
Try to extinguish the fire.
Keep burning.
Wrap yourself if the shower curtain and take a nap.
Wake up shivering.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Quit your bad habits.
Stop thinking so much.
Stop quoting old lovers. Stop day dreaming about the lost ones.
Breathe.
This is normal, this is too normal.

Dear Mr. Carver-

     You said all we have is words. I think of this often; when filling these pages; before I display my heart on new tables, in unfamiliar houses that smell like home; while I replay or write future conversations. But I do not have the right words tonight.
     There are few dark roads or empty parking lots in this town I haven’t littered with cigarette butts and the contents of my head. The car stereo will never be as loud as I need it to be. It plays words written by men I’ve never met, juxtaposed in perfect lines. They’ve all felt this before. This isn’t new to anyone.
     With every night lit by passing headlights my voice gets softer, my tongue dry, it gets harder to weave the right words. My mouth moves in familiar patterns, silently trying to recall a time when the noise it made drew the hairs on the back of someone’s neck toward the sky. Affected.
     I always meant to speak simply, even in my long-winded sentences. Tonight, I feel so simply, without, that silence seems like the only thing I can say. It’s been a while since I’ve heard my own voice. There are no mirrors for that.
     I admire you for your simplicity. For the scenes you paint with brevity. For your words. For the weight you’ve placed upon them. I believed you when you said they are all that we have and we must make them right. But tonight I wonder if all we have are the words what can be done when there’s nothing left to say?

-K

"That's all we have, finally, the words, and they had better be the right ones."

"So let's go out west and bask in the overcast..."

I hate how some songs and some weather still reminds me of you. Metal love songs. Ditching class on mornings that felt like this afternoon, to slip out of my jeans and under your sheets, just to get some sleep. I keep thinking about that time I told you I liked cold kisses. Memories are fine I guess, just not today.

Artificial Tears

I've been thinking about that phrase a lot lately. 
Artificial tears. 
I think those have sprung from my tear ducts before. Because of artificial feelings, artificial memories. Everything looks better through salt crusted eyes; feels like the real thing.
We'll break the same either way. 
This is quite possibly the shittiest thing I'll write all night. I don't have the energy to top myself. It's fine. This is real. This is it. 
I need a phone call. 
A pep talk. 
I'm fishing for compliments and all of my fish are in far away ponds. 
It's better this way. They never bite the right way. 


A dear friend told me that when a good thing is about to happen the world seems to throw all the bad at you first. 


Something fucking great must be coming a few tomorrows from now.