Some days I actually pine for a sleepover and a polo shirt again.
This year saw change.
I started dying my hair lighter.
I cut in a fringe and I started wearing drainpipes that hugged my legs and I suppose the same problems remained.
They just got more complicated and they curled out further.
My problems stretched out in the sun and they sent me a postcard to say that they hoped I was okay and "I'sn't Buenons Aires fabulous?".
Well, maybe this was bought on by a newfound ability to sleep alone, or apathy.
I don't know.
I think new years begin in September, well at least for me they always have.
I've always been fnd of September.
Spring is never a good time.
It's a trussed up and beautiful drag queen but autumn is real.
So in the "New Year" period I changed a lot and all the while I thought "suuuch a great tragedy I never looked this good as a teenager".
All the while I let a ferocity build up in me.
I took it out on myself, the shorter my skirts got and the skinnier my legs bowed and the flatter my chest got and all the while we were sweethearts.
I threw beautiful lines that I never knew I was even capeable of.
I counted green pills and cigarette ends.
I stopped playing guitar and I let my fingers soften and my nails grown for a while.
I started drinking more and keeping unusual hours.
I started playing Street Fighter II, until my eyes felt like they were going to drop out of my head and then I'd get enraged by the fact I was never going to be good enough to play Hyper Mode and Blanka was always going to be stronger than Chun Li.
So maybe I should enlighten you on what happens in your absence.
This selfish existance where this intravert turns extrovert and dons their social armour.
I became the perfect party apprentice, with a PHD in sitting on kitchen counters and drawing my cheeks in and shooting you looks that I don't even mean.
Hips that grind to scratchy indie hits and shoes that stick to nightclub floors.
Well, you couldn't understand why I can't.
You've never been up at 4am with "The Fear".
You've never laid on your bedroom floor half blind and you wouldn't love the girl that wakes up perspiring beer.
I cry much less these days.
I can't help but wonder what happened to ninjas and adventure.
My dreams are like flashes and they give me hope.
In these dreams I grew the bones of a fighter while you were sleeping and I fought and I seduced from a terraced house that rides a hill in this dead little city.
Cinematic mini-epics sobered by train lines and phone lines and I forget these things.
My life's a tangle of cables these days.
Roads and train tracks are like wallpaper now.
I started taking hundreds upon hundreds of photographs, all of which you were absent from.
A detailed scientific investigation into light reflected on glass
And I became invisible.
Listening to Techno and Shoegaze in my room all alone.
And private parties all for myself.
Slender fingers honed from MSN.
An encyclopeadic knowledge of daytime television presenters.
This year saw change.
I started dying my hair lighter.
I cut in a fringe and I started wearing drainpipes that hugged my legs and I suppose the same problems remained.
They just got more complicated and they curled out further.
My problems stretched out in the sun and they sent me a postcard to say that they hoped I was okay and "I'sn't Buenons Aires fabulous?".
Well, maybe this was bought on by a newfound ability to sleep alone, or apathy.
I don't know.
I think new years begin in September, well at least for me they always have.
I've always been fnd of September.
Spring is never a good time.
It's a trussed up and beautiful drag queen but autumn is real.
So in the "New Year" period I changed a lot and all the while I thought "suuuch a great tragedy I never looked this good as a teenager".
All the while I let a ferocity build up in me.
I took it out on myself, the shorter my skirts got and the skinnier my legs bowed and the flatter my chest got and all the while we were sweethearts.
I threw beautiful lines that I never knew I was even capeable of.
I counted green pills and cigarette ends.
I stopped playing guitar and I let my fingers soften and my nails grown for a while.
I started drinking more and keeping unusual hours.
I started playing Street Fighter II, until my eyes felt like they were going to drop out of my head and then I'd get enraged by the fact I was never going to be good enough to play Hyper Mode and Blanka was always going to be stronger than Chun Li.
So maybe I should enlighten you on what happens in your absence.
This selfish existance where this intravert turns extrovert and dons their social armour.
I became the perfect party apprentice, with a PHD in sitting on kitchen counters and drawing my cheeks in and shooting you looks that I don't even mean.
Hips that grind to scratchy indie hits and shoes that stick to nightclub floors.
Well, you couldn't understand why I can't.
You've never been up at 4am with "The Fear".
You've never laid on your bedroom floor half blind and you wouldn't love the girl that wakes up perspiring beer.
I cry much less these days.
I can't help but wonder what happened to ninjas and adventure.
My dreams are like flashes and they give me hope.
In these dreams I grew the bones of a fighter while you were sleeping and I fought and I seduced from a terraced house that rides a hill in this dead little city.
Cinematic mini-epics sobered by train lines and phone lines and I forget these things.
My life's a tangle of cables these days.
Roads and train tracks are like wallpaper now.
I started taking hundreds upon hundreds of photographs, all of which you were absent from.
A detailed scientific investigation into light reflected on glass
And I became invisible.
Listening to Techno and Shoegaze in my room all alone.
And private parties all for myself.
Slender fingers honed from MSN.
An encyclopeadic knowledge of daytime television presenters.