Tuesday, December 11, 2012

I will [not] miss you.

 Note: This is a hate post, and maybe some of the meanest things I'll ever say on this blog. Don't say I didn't warn you, and if you're looking for something happy, maybe read something of Hannah's. Happy Hannah. Mad Mallory. Are you seeing a theme, here? Also note that all of what I am about to say is very heat of the moment. I'm just feeling fired up and I'll probably cry about this later because I feel bad about it. Because that's what you do when you love people: you hate them.

It seems as though I've made a lot of promises in the past. Extensive, "forever" types of promises. Making such statements of assurance is very unlike me, but I guess I was feeling infinite.

Or maybe I was just hoping to feel infinite.

Either way, I destroyed yet another beautiful thing.
And the word "infinite" is beginning to make me cringe.

You did that to me.
You turned me against my own favorite word.

I'm sad, I suppose. Not because I've lost you.
But because I've lost a piece of me.

The piece of me that I gave to you.

But I suppose it's rightfully yours now. Do with it what you please.
But I'm mostly hoping you forget about it. Or that you lose it with the rest of your dignity.

My biggest concern right now is how much I stopped caring.

I'd still like to punch you, but I'm hoping I never get the chance.
Because that means I'd have to look at you.
And, frankly, I'm not sure if that's something I'd ever like to do again.

You can say every mean thing to every other person.
It doesn't matter anymore.

Because no one is as sad and pathetic

as you.

So why don't you just stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
Might as well, right?

I hope you have a miserable life.

And I really mean that.


  1. First of all peaches, I think you need to come to terms with your hatred for the word "infinite." For example if I never read another one of your cliche teen angst love lost blogs I would be infinitely happy. See? Infinite can have some helpful uses too.
    Now let me tell you if you leave a bit of yourself with someone, lets assume its a woman, she probably didn't want to keep it AND if it was a woman you probably left her with some shit emotional baggage you had and you kept band shirts and at least a cardigan or two (I speak from experience).
    On the other hand if I had a piece of you that you had left with me, I don't know what would be better, putting your shit in my pipe and smoking it or having you punch me so I would be knocked out and wouldn't have to read the rest of the drivel.
    My final note to you, oh you writer of amour, love and bullshit, sweet dreams and I hope they're good because I hate that you would have to spend one more second
    thinking about
    your miserable life
    and I really mean that.

    1. Yikes. I'm not completely sure what you're trying to accomplish here, dear stranger, but I can assure you that this has nothing to do with your little friend, although I can see the misconception. However, I would like to thank you for the many minutes you must have spent composing such a comment. Your efforts are greatly appreciated.

  2. i love this post because sometimes that is exactly how it feels...


you look really good today!