Standing on the edge of a ten foot building; do I jump, or get back down. I stand there contemplating my options and looking at my outcomes. To jump, that would be nice, just getting away from everything. Plus, the way I see it, I already made a scene, and I’m already here, so what’s the point of going back? Or I could step off this ledge and just go home and carve a few words into my body and call it a night. It’s a normal routine for me. I must have the alphabet scared throughout my skin at least eight times. Man it’s freezing and I think it’s starting to rain; I would love a cup of tea right about now. So I decided to step down and head down stairs while trying to hide my face so that no one would recognize the idiot that drawn a relatively decent crowd to form around the bottom of a parking garage. I took off my checked sweater with blood splatter and shoved it in my bag hoping that no one would notice me, then I just slip out the door and went to the nearest 7 11 in hunt of tea. All they had was overly sweetened cappuccinos and some strong, steal ass coffee. I figured that the coffee would calm me down more, so I grabbed a cup of decaffeinated and added a shit load of flavors so that it wouldn’t taste so nasty, it didn’t help and I felt obligated to buy it anyways just to throw it out as I walked out of the door.
The rain was pouring now. And it was cold as ever. I decided it would be okay to put my sweater back on, it felt so nice. The dry, fuzzy fabric against my cold wet skin was like a match made in heaven. It’s so cold that the tears streaming down my face feel like little ice cubed rolling off my cheek. I try to keep my head down so that people don’t see me, and don’t try to ask any questions, but it’s hard to do that when you need to keep looking up to see if your bus is at the stop yet.
It feels like I’ve been standing here for hours, but in reality it’s only been about five or ten minutes. The bus is sp warm and dry, not to mention there’s only me and two other people on the bus. The one man looks about eighty. His kind of short and skinny, and his skin is drooping in the most awkward places. And he’s carrying about five bags that I’m assuming are from a grocery store. The other person is just plain weird. She looks decently tall, maybe a few inches taller than me. But I can’t see anything else, she looks really big, but I’m assuming it’s just her puffy marshmallow like jackets she’s wearing. She’s wearing over sized glasses, and a really odd had that looks like it should be on a ninety year old woman in the middle of summer so that the sun doesn’t irritate their sensitive skin.
I walk in my door, and the stench hits me. It smells like a combination of stale cigarettes, weed, and foot odor. I hate this place, a shitty three roomed apartment in a shitty neighborhood, in a shitty town, in a shitty ass world. But hell, it’s all I really need, I mean, me and my friends practically only come here to get fucked up. Speaking of which, my buddy Kyle is supposed to bring some shit over. So tonight should be fun. I’ve got a few hours to do something because it’s only 5:30. But instead of cleaning I light up a bowl and pass out on my couch that is originally this blueish red color but now turned black from ashes and burn marks.
I wake up to an Escape the Fate song on my phone, its Kyle asking me to buzz him in to the apartment complex. Why can’t they make these buttons like those clapper lights, it would make life so much more convenient. So I pry myself off the couch, press the button, unlock my door then go into the kitchen and make some lemonade. I look at the clock and see that it’s only 8:30, I thought he wouldn’t come over until later than this.
“Why are you here so damn early?” I ask.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize there was a set time I was allowed to be here”
“There’s not, I just thought you wouldn’t have come until like 10 or 11”
“I can leave and then come back then if you are busy”
“I’ m not”
“Okay”
There was an awkward pause as he set god knows what on the counter. He has two bags from Wine and Spirits and a packed book bag, I can only use my imagination to figure out what’s in there.
“I heard about what happened today” he said.
“What about it?” I snapped back
“You know damn well what I’m talking about!”
“But I really don’t”
“The roof”
“What about it?”
“You’re an idiot for that, you could have died”
“Yea, that was the point dumbass”
He just looked at me knowing that I was pissed.
“I thought you got rid of your blades” he questioned.
“I did”
“So that’s why they are on you coffee table?”
“I got new ones”
“Why?”
I ignored him as I looked thought the bags he brought, pretending not to listen to his lecture about how I don’t treat myself right and how I can do better for myself. “You do realize that you’re not helping the situation right?” I interrupted. He looked confused as shit, and kind of tilted his head. He was so adorable when he did that, and when he didn’t. He was just always adorable. “How are you going to tell me that I can doing so much better, but always come here to get fucked up? Your such a damn hypocrite sometimes.” He just turns the other way and pulls out some mix CD’s he made, or stole. He was babbling off some of the songs on them asking me which one I wanted to play and I just told him to surprise me because by the middle of the CD everything will sound the same. I sat down next to him an handed him a glass of lemonade and raspberry absolute vodka.
i added an assload more
because before i only had the first paragraph or two
but yea
idk
it's called im gonna finish this if it kills me
but i think i just put that to tell myself to actually finish something
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