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Break in case of weakness

Monday, May 21, 2012





Dear Future Ben,

This is Past Ben, writing to you from the darkest recess of your forgetfulness, or what I like to refer to as The Coffin.

If you are reading this, you probably are feeling like shit and are rehashing all the past mistakes of your relationship with Parker. You probably want to get in touch with her again by phone, text, email, through friends of friends, by walking by her house, hiding around her workplace or hiding in someone else’s bushes. Hold that thought, Douchey McDoosh-Douche...

DO NOT CONTACT HER.

How many times have you promised you would leave her alone? And you broke that promise how many times? You fucked it up man. You took the piss. You wrapped yourself in bacon and threw yourself to the pigs.

Remember this if you don’t care to keep anything else in that nut of yours: Every time you fail to keep away you win another karmic hell ring. Of all the bullshit you layered around yourself, one thing was true kid: She, of all people, does not deserve to be in proximity with such a pile of self-wasted energy as yourself. You waste everybody's time pretending to care about anyone else. Despite what your best bud told you, despite what your drinking buddy spat at you, despite what your dope dealer sold you, despite what your DJ repeated, you still acted like a self-serving prick and decided to text her. You freakish fool. Of course she didn't answer. You know why. Then despite your half-ass judgement, you called her while standing in front of her house. All that, you did because you felt like shit and you felt the need to apologize for the 46th time.

DO NOT CONTACT HER.

Don't dial her up. Don't google her. Don't be asking about her at the bar. Don't be searching her tags on Instagram, you asswipe. She deserves so much better than your lame ass excuses and your bloody god awful faux friendship. Dude, you need to keep yourself in check. You know she deserves something amazing. She deserves someone who will love her in all honesty, not constantly stab her in the back with a glass shard.

Hey Future Ben, I of all people know you don't want to be alone right now and you're thinking "Shit man, I need to talk to Parker." but guess what little man... YOU NEED TO GET A LIFE. Her life is taken already and probably promised to some Arabian Prince who rides a fair trade carpet.

If you can't be a man about this, write her a letter. I'm serious. Take a pen and paper and scribble away with all the pestering you would bother her with. Take as much time as you need to get that shit out of your system then put it in an envelope, write her name on it, seal it and slip it under your mattress. Then, take all your precious vinyls and layer them on your bed in alphabetical order. If after this job you still feel the need to talk to her, jump on the bed. If you can do that, if you can swallow the letter you hid under your mattress, if you can still picture yourself talking to her, punch yourself in the face. But whatever you do my dim-witted chum, do not succumb to the weakness.

Her world is no longer in your galaxy, spaceboy. And no matter how many rockets you try to build to reach her, the rings of fire you have collected will never let you get close to her breaking waves.

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posted by Primessa Espiritu
9:09 pm

0 comments



Last Goodbye

Wednesday, May 16, 2012


It's 1:31 am in the morning and I can't sleep. There is no ball of yarn spinning in my stomach. There is no fan spinning in the back of my mind. There is not even a particle of gun powder around the sparks of my heart to signal some kind of do or die moment in this deserted night. All lights are off.

This is what it feels like to live in your shadow. Through all the familiar roads and the once sweet smells of breakfast I waste with every fresh step of regrets. There is no world without Verona walls. There is no north to guide me home. There is no biting cold to signal some kind of do or die moment in this aimless mind.

Walking from nothing to less than nothing, I am crushed by all these books on my back. I carry dictionaries of apologies everywhere I go, to make right by you if given the chance. The twelfth and final chance to prove how sorry I am. I was a dusty picture on a wall. I was the rust in the braids of your crown. You will always be the golden heart wrapped in the body of a simple girl and I, a miner wrapped in explosives lines. Not one word will bring you near. I am dust now. You are a tear I keep in the freezer. You’re forever free, rocked by the wild waves of an ocean of pearls, the way you've always wanted to be.

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posted by Primessa Espiritu
6:00 pm

1 comments



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