The Way We Talk.

She's fresh to death,
She'll be the death of you,
Seduction leads to destruction.
She's fresh to death,
She'll be the death of me,
She's fresh; she's fresh,
but not so clean.

Cute face slim waist,
She's got 'em in a craze,
Yeah I think he's going crazy.
When she speaks it makes me grind my teeth,
Yet he still thinks she's amazing.
And she's been playing games
Ever since '98
Shallow is as shallow does, yeah
Some people never change.

And she's so fine
She thinks she's so damn fine.
She might be fine,
But she ain't worth a second of your time.

You're as fake as the moans you make.
You're as weak as the hearts you break.
You're as fake as the moans you make,
So just give us, give us a little break.
Come on and give me a break.

Sex sells,
And your sex cells make all the lost boys drool.
Cause you're a dime,
But they'll have to wait in line,
Until one of them makes it two of you.
Cute face slim waist,
You still got 'em in a craze,
Yeah I think I'm going crazy.
I have a long list of things to say,
But I'll leave it at,
You amaze me.

Today as I sat in class writing out song lyrics to numb boredom, I realized that this girl exists. This girl is more than just lyrics on a page or the music of The Maine; she is epitomized in the very beings and souls of that one girl we all know and secretly (or not so secretly) hate. She is out there, breathing the same air and making the same friends. Like all the same girls of her kind, this leading lady has a carefree attitude and spirit to match. Carefree- so often a word carrying a positive connotation of a generally enjoyable, lighthearted person. In her case, however, she is quite literally free of care. Not only does she have that lovable, whimsical edge, but she is also equipped with a selfish mentality. This girl could care less in the end about the havoc she wreaks.

Carefree and careless, she is a deadly combination of everything that is sweet and everything that is intoxicating. I've seen men and boys go out of their way to walk in her footprints left in the snow, just to have her turn around and hurl words as carelessly as a child's snowball fight. Oh, but our girl is far from your average popularity-hungry leading bitch. They're nothing next to her; they're too outright and brutally honest in nature. She's sly and conniving, but you'd never know until her outstretched foot leads to your face plant. Instead, she volunteers at soup kitchens and opens doors for the elderly. Nearly age eighteen, barely adult, but I am no senior citizen- her door closes in my face.

All the while, she is plotting her next scheme with a smile on her face. If she's good, it's subconscious; she cooks with venom as if it were syrup. Once she's in too deep, in for life, this girl showers hurt as she goes through her day. No longer an effort required, all around are done for. Future best friends and hopelessly devoted lovers beware. She'll reduce you to less than human before you see the warning signs.

Peer regard, well, hers is as deep as its surface. She tears the hearts of hopeless boys to shreds and goes about life like her dagger wasn't the one that left the scars. Who gave her the right to go around happy-go-lucky while her victims bleed out? But she's always enabled. She wouldn't dream of being a self-proclaimed attention whore, no, that would mean she failed. Attention falls at her feet as willingly as the same lost boys fall to her whims. Hooked without hope of coming up for air, they settle for drowning in her blessing-disguised curses. You poor boy. You'll be too busy drooling to be ashamed enough to admit everyone's staring. All of us watching can only hope that you break her hypnotic spell. But you're no superhuman, and she's so strong. You'll be righting as long as you're in her clutches, and you better believe that the odds are dramatically not in your favor.

Don't cry, hopelessly addicted boy, your baby girl isn't only hurting you. Fun fact about our number one lady: she can never keep a best friend. This girl is the type that sets a relationship on fire in a beautiful way just to torch its foundation when her attention span looses focus. Her friendships don't usually end with the rumors and bitter feuds of your average high school girl, however. Ex best friends become just friends, and in most cases bad vibes don't cause a fuss. She's so good, good enough to have drifting away down to a fine art. Her ambiguous, open-ended nature makes her impossible to fully understand, so no one can have the pleasure of securing a place in her life. This is her defense. She wants to be intriguing; it draws her victims in. That same characteristic that hooked them will fray the edges of their friendship with her, ultimately unraveling to nothing worth buying anywhere but a flea market.

Oh but you'll envy her. She'll have no trouble finding someone to spend weekends with while you sit at home companionless. She doesn't long for a deep connection, only a sidekick. Anyone else would be marked, mentally noted as that one person who uses other people. But this is again why baby girl's a pro. In ways I cannot understand, she's made it possible to use and throw away, while still appearing to be the world's leading environmentalist. We justify what she does as recycling and going green with our backs turned to her backyard landfill.

With her serial nature, so many will be caught up in her charm. It's a shame to watch innocence jaded against its owners knowledge, yet she doesn't spare a passing thought. She overestimates their free will, but they are captive. It's only her unsilenceable "What's next?"s that free her slaves. Some will pine for her rule over them when she's gone. It's the nature of her spell- they're broken to unbreakable and completely masochistic. Like kidnapped children, their captor's lines are impossible to call lies. Years of therapy from patient new friends is their only hope to a full recovery.

Sometimes I wonder if she has a heart. Does she go to sleep at night and feel remorse at all the innocent bystanders she's dragged to the scene of the crash? They've all seen the battered aftermath, and their minds will never be the same. Yet she is still seemingly untouched. Life is beautiful and her mind still bears a childlike innocence she just can't bear to weigh down with guilt. I don't think she'll ever change. Will one of her former minions rise up and call her out? A select few are onto her games, but most of them have never been charmed by her. This song sings her story and brave mouths resist her. But she's winning the battle she hardly has to fight.

I see her for who she is. I have no doubts that she has blinded me in some of her forms, but I am not fooled. Hiding behind rosy cheeks and words of peace and love, she's up to no good. Everybody's best friend is my worst nightmare. She is the double meaning behind heroin(e). You are addicted but you think she saved you. Little do you know that in reality, being free of her is all that will save you.

You out there blushing, don't be ashamed. She is in everyone's life, and you're not her only victim. You weren't her first, and there will be a next. No, she's not sorry, and it's 99% likely she never will be. Feeling sorry for yourself won't help. The best you can do is leave her to memory. Someone like her will bring nothing but confusion and heartache, and your hurting won't be reciprocated. So drag your body out of the streets and let a passerby tend to your wounds. Chances are they'll know you need more than the decorated Band-Aids your girl, your weakness, always used to patch you up. You're not defeated, and you don't need revenge. She won't learn; she doesn't regard you as teacher.

Focus instead on new life free of baby girl. You deserve more than her and she knows that. She'll try to reel you back in when she sees you are finally healing from her hurt. Have the strength to resist. If you've fallen back in, it's not too late to stop falling. Break a cycle; save your livelihood. You aren't hers to use. In the end, you won't be special to her, because she'll find someone else to play with. It hurts, but it's better to admit weakness than to remain weak.

Your heart isn't weak but that doesn't make her strong. She's fresh to death comes first, but don't forget that last line: she's not so clean. Making you go crazy isn't a positive trait, and as amazing as she is, she'll always be as fake as the moan she makes. Girl, please, give us a little break. We're done with you and your addictive ways.

But yet, some of us will still be poisoned. Consider yourself warned.

Time And Experience.

Lack of fresh thought eludes my posting track record. I get tired of writing about the same thing, everyday; I am cut down by the repetition of thought. Sure, I could pull out from my mind the beauty I saw in the moment when the first snow flurried, or the hatred I felt soon after at the cold it brings. But I love to write from fire, and I’m waiting for one mental wildfire to burn itself out. For those who are now sporting question marks over your heads, I’m fine; don’t worry about anything. Time just has a way of bringing perspective.

I have to embrace the fact that age brings experience, both positive and negative. Today, I fell into a mood. It’s one that’s not a stranger, one I’ve come to expect periodically. It’s deeply contemplative, about nearly everything in life. It’s times like these that I am dying to vocalize. So I do, and I write in a secret place for no eyes to see. I do close a part of me off; it’s my pride. I would be too embarrassed to have really much of anyone know exactly what is crossing my mind. It’s one thing to ponder, and another when it’s unreturned. So I stick to the all-elusive I have found a comfort zone in. I give a taste without throwing what I feel in the cause’s face. All appearances are kept; all guards remain firmly build, foundation unshaken.

Oh it is taboo to utter this sentence after eluding to the less than positive, but I will say the forbidden words in the form of this: I am happy. Happy that nine is a new personal favorite number, a reflection of my gift of words. I learned today that I will do this for the rest of my life. Completely enamored with words and speaking voices, I lay my head down to a day of realizations.

I wrote another edition of a letter to you, but I also further buried your memory. I felt anger at the loss of the primetime of youth, but I also felt honored at being needed and making my own name. Furthermore, I am one step closer to accepting that which is my potential future. The happy that I couldn’t find is full-force in the face of what I thought was youthful fun. I have comfort that my life’s fire burns brighter than the one torching my mind. A low stream will continue to cut the life from it. It will breathe its last before I do.

I strive for your happiness now, better half. And you will find it because it is due. Together our ragged thoughts form smooth edges. You always have been my perfector.

Dear You, Guilty Pleasure

My head is pounding but I'm stuck inside these four walls. Limits on appearances hold me captive for three more long lectures. They drag while I sleep. My bright red face grows hotter with my breath; my bed sounds so fond. I'll crawl inside and shiver under four blankets' weight, then stop long enough to escape.

Dreams, you're there. But what do you mean to me, embedded in a dream? Come wrap your arms around me. Whisper inebriated words true. You're worth it; be worth more. Swirl inside my feverish thoughts and don't wear away with the Tylenol glaze. I'm selfish for a minute, and the rush you give eases my aching. You're medicinal. Whether fling or kept, I am alright inside this suffering body. Physical ailing can't touch my mind's tranquility; a sound mind this head is few and far between.

Thanks for the silence of confusion and the screaming of want. It's worth the headaches to breathe deep and take your poison. I'm not addicted, but the sin is worth the edge.

Dear You, Every Piece of This Life Ride.

(Not typical. Not singular. I'll throw a loop and see who stays on. You're not a part of me. You're all of me. To you, who matter. Every last one.)

Sunday let its drivers out, and I'm restless behind the wheel. My vision's fogged and the inability to see past my glasses makes me feel far from sound. Familiar melodies rush in my ears and out my windows, rolled down to spite the air turned cold.

I am middleman. State seduces state; I on one side but holding hearts of both. Your side holds my left hand; my right filled with those of my counterparts, my livelihood. My heart is encased in your bodies. I could be broken. In fact, I thought I was. But the heart's not divided. It stretches bigger than the capacity of most. Spread out over space, never divided in twos, threes, fours, or more. Pieces don't exist when the whole can be shared.

Everyday I watch as the lost and found give their selves away. Some found a peace and some will be pieces. Faith is operative; owners beware. Questions fly at the faces of the set aside, and they brace for the impact of realization. We will make it. But will we experience all we should? Doubt creeps; eyes leak. Tighten your faucets and throw away your tissues.

You are here for a reason. Here and there exist. We just exist outside of them. Vocal chords and screened words shape our beings, and we let them. Bodily touch and expression aren't taken for granted. I'll sit and watch the clouds that you float on. Bring yourself to me by tomorrow and be back in time for dinner.

You can distress yourselves or thank the stars for me and you and you and you and you and you and you and you…