my clavicles don't match

i'm so tired and my head feels too light and the clock is on the wall and it is not going fast enough. the ticking should be blurred and my eyes should be wide. there is never anything on television and my cds are scratched. the record is replaying and your heart is in my hand. my head oh! my head. my headphones have voices of boys i wish to meet but will be disappointed. the crowd at the bar is making me sick, "no, it is not the alcohol". I like the drum roll, I like the way my stomach feels when it's playing so loud. churn the insides make them pretty. please. like a milkshake of the senses and smooth with no bubbles. make me feel calm and make me feel right. a plane ride away is always easier than it sounds. i wish the lines on my paper could form the lines of your face. when will i move? when will i take off? when will it happen? blown kisses never make their way to mouths and the other side of the bed is wrinkly and cold. you say things to make her feel golden but she's not she's rusting each day. i'm mixing myself up each day in my house. my words have jumbled into monsters and they hide under my bed with my shoes and camera boxes. my friends are beginning to grow in numbers and i hate how i can't count them on my hands and feet. throw them away when they've lost their flavour because no one is as fun as you wish they are. no one can be as perfect as you've pictured and your favourite people are tarnishing. I want the cold wind to pass through my limbs and I want my body to fall over and accept the force. I want the freckles on my cheek to be noticed and my mirror to break. I'm sick of you and you and you. I still want to be in the game, but it's turning pale. Stop living to show everyone else how you're living. just be. I don't believe what i have to deal with. who the fuck do you think you are?