a search for matthew good.

once apon a time there was a girl named meg.

one day she was saddened by the fact that she hadn't seen her beloved matthew good pictures in months. she was determined to find them once again.

she spent hours looking in her room. in her junkdrawer, on her dresser, under her desk, in old photoalbums that havent been touched in ages. but to no avail. her matthew good pictures were no where to be found.

so she sat.

she sat and she pondered. "where art thou, matt good pictures??WHERE?" suddenly, she was hit with an idea. "that big, red box in my closet! that's where i'll find all the answers!" she said.

at first glance, she was awfully intimidated. she reminded herself that it was for mr. good and that it will all be worth it in the end.

she rolled up her sleeves, and scowled at the box, to prove she was xTUFFx. this didn't do too much, because in a matter of minutes she was distracted with all the crap in her closet. for example, the nice alexisonfire hat that she's never worn and doesn't understand why the hell she bought it in the first place.

but hey, she looked pretty xscenexcorex in it.

she got the big, red box down with minimal bruising. to her great saddness, the box was full of everything but the pictures. meg sat and weeped for a while, until she found the second best thing to the pictures. HER POWER PLAY PROGRAM!

this, natually, made her very very happy. it almost made up for missing pictures.

almost.

so meg was lost in her own search. she has literally looked everywhere. she couldnt cry, for all her tears had been shed. so she did what every teenage girl would do.

took emo pictures of herself.
as she did so, another idea hit her. "i
havent looked under my bed in a while. i wonder
whats down there" she said to herself. so she
pulled the bed away from the wall and dove in.

she found a box. and in that box she found another box. beside the box within the box, she found...

her effing matt good pictures.

and they all lived happily ever after. (except meg had made quite the mess which made her pretty sad.)

THE END!

bleebers

I AM GOING TO MISS YOU!

help me finish it. [draft 1]

with a distance the size of the ocean
between reality and your idea of peace,
footsteps mark the undying motion
of marching children; devoted.

but sir you insist this is just survival
and we'll believe anything when on our knees.
nations bleeding for simple revival,
please tell me why this has to be.

the words out of your mouth form
repetition like a scratched, over-used record.
these same words circulate and sworm
the conscious mind of the "free" vote.

devoured.

realism is lost. media creates
torture into nothing but entertainment.
deception on that fateful date
when race decided your freedom.

lost.

part 1

She woke up in a sweat. Third time this week. Nightmares were nothing new in her life, but she hasn't have a vivid dream in years. One of the side effects of the medication. She sat up, brushed the hair from her face and caught her breath.
'It was a dream, whatever it was' She told herself.
She glanced over to the clock.
1:39 pm.
'That's odd'
Her parents never let her sleep in passed 11. Nancy forced herself out of bed and made her way downstairs. Her house was unnaturally quiet. With a family of 7 the house was rarely quiet or empty. But that's just what it was.
Empty.
She entered her kitchen and was startled by the bright flourecent lights.

the drugs don't work

i couldn't wait to leave.
even with nothing to do it felt stressful.
coat done up, scarf wrapped around my neck warmly.
i knew exactly what was going to happen.
exactly how it was going to happen.

i remember the looks.
they made me smile, if nothing else.
the irony is what killed me.
i paced myself slowly, not rushing despite the cold.
i was too tired to hurry.

the icy air blew my unruly bangs in my face.
a twitch of my neck threw them out of my view,
exposing my tear-filled eyes.
it was all very cinematic, if i say so myself.
it happened 3 times today.

i don't know the difference between disappointment and reality.

i expect everything.
i expect nothing.

i think too much.
i don't think enough.

i know you well enough.
i know you well enough.

spot tone my mind.
feed me my thoughts.
gut my individuality.

"self improvement is masturbation"
existentialism.
manipulation.
nauseau.

this means nothing.
this means everything.

you are packaged goods.
you are damaged goods.

surprise me.

i don't sleep anymore.

skeptism.
2 +2 always makes 5.
reality?
dismal.
words.
FAKE.
mystery.
FAKE.
preconcieved notions.
i before e.
i before me.
sit down. stand up.
boring.
you're asleep.
boring.
numb.
ghost.
smoke.
wake up.
wake up.
wake up.

advertising, that's what this war needs!

maybe if i scream as loud as i can without making a sound, my head would explode.

for the past week or so, i've been getting this feeling in my stomach like i'm nervous for something.
my fate? doubtful
the truth? probably.

10 bucks says someone has made a voodoo doll of me, and this is their field day.
better than disney world, i'm sure.
it's okay, needles are my gimmick.

the day will come when i will realize what i've done.
i won't cry. i've drained all my tears anyways.
i keep some alive, while kill others.

i think it hurts me, more.

writers craft gives me boners.

"i don't love him anymore" she thought to herself, watching as he stalked towards her.
it wasn't the first time this had occured to her, either. each day she found something else about him that replused her.
His chapped lips, the way he chewed with his mouth open. but most of all, what really ticked her off about him was the fact that he was completely in love with her, and she couldn't bring herself to telling him the truth.
that she was was in love with someone else.

that summer had been amazing. they spent everyday together, not doing anything of great significance but spending time with one another was enough. nothing would be able to top that. she'd be gone soon anyways, so what was the point of trying?
with each passing day she grew more and more bitter. there was only so much she could do. what was going to happen was inevitable.
'i should tell someone'
but really, who could she turn to? she had lost everyone months ago. he was the only constant.
'what's worse, the knowledge or the surprise?'
knowledge.
surprise.
knowledge.
even if she talked to someone, they couldn't help either.

knowledge + resentment = diaster.

"you look different, dev" he said, once he finally reached her.

her neck tensed. if having a boys name, Devon, wasnt bad enough being called Dev made her want to scream.

"i do?"

"mmhmm. are you sick?"

"i'm just... tired"

she couldn't do it. they sat together and watched as hundreds of people passed directly infront of them. it was the busiest street in the city, and she found people watching to be very therapeutic. forgetting who she was for a minute and becoming someone else freed herself from the mental confidment for enough time to forget about everything.

evertything she ever did.

everything she ever said.

everything she ever loved.

suddenly every face looked the same. common characteristics resembled that of 'the other'. that was the name she had given to brad. the boy who stole her heart when it was already taken. she couldn't bring herself to saying his name. 'the other' was so much more sufficient.

lost in her thoughts, she heard a famillar voice in the distance.

"dev?"

she shot back into reality.

"yeah?"

"did you hear what i just said?"

"oh.. no, sorry..."

"are you sure you're okay?"