So, here it is, word for word, from that stupid suicidal message I sent you. I hope you don't hate me for this, but I think you do, and I know I deserve it.
Well, I suppose it's time to start over again. Funny, this is a probable end. It's been a while since we've really spoken. I hope all has been well since then. Actually, that's a sort of empty phrase, now isn't it. I'm sorry, but I couldn't think or anything better to say. I miss you Sammy. I miss a lot of things. Tomorrow is my Birthday, everything went wrong today. Isn't it pathetic, how I come to you when I am at my lowest point, when there have been so many better days I could have chosen to have spoken of. Sadly, I'm that type of attention needing parasites. Don't mind me, please. I only wanted to say "I tried", and I failed. Like I always have seemed to. This isn't the end of the world... far from it. One end is the start of so many things. Funny, as I come to the end, all I want to do is start over again...so I will.
It draws to the end, to start over again.
It draws to the end, to start over again.
All things considered, I picked a good time to try. Start again, or die trying. Try dying, or start again. I have options, options, a million options. This is not my last resort, this is just a small comfort in knowing. I need never go without having given my soul to somebody. Hopefully it isn't too heavy.
I never forgot what it was to be a twin, I swear I didn't I never considered such a thing. I never forgot that there was hope, or love, or so much more in the world. I just was too tired to think of them any more.
I'm sorry for everything, except I'm not sorry for you. You were the best twin any friend could have asked for.
I'm not dying, I'm not ending a life. I'm just looking for the beginning, at the 16th circle, on the other side of the final verse.
Yesterday a child came out to wander
Caught a dragonfly insider a jar
Fearful when the skies are full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star.
And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down.
We're captive on a carousel of time.
We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came
And go round and round and round in the circle game.
Now the child's grown 10 times round the seasons
Skated over 10 clear frozen streams
Words like "when you're older" must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams
And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down.
We're captive on a carousel of time.
We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came
And go round and round and round in the circle game.
Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels through the town
And they tell him "take your time it wont be long now"
Till you drag your feet to slow that circle down
And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down.
We're captive on a carousel of time.
We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came
And go round and round and round in the circle game.
Now the child of yesterday's grown twenty
although some dreams are lost, some grandures coming true
there'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
before the last revolving year is through
And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down.
We're captive on a carousel of time.
We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came
And go round and round and round in the circle game.
Sixteen Springs and Sixteen Summers
Gone Now.
Strange isn't it?
Sixteen Winters of regret for a young mother, and Sixteen Falls for me.
Sixteen years of the reds and yellows. Sixteen, and yet; I am a child.
I don't expect anyone to read all of this. It is not ready, I am not ready for life. Stupid, isn't it. I've spun in circles and I can't seem to find any balance, after all this time.
No, I'm not dying.
At the beginning of this message I died, and by the end I'd circled back around to the child with the captured dragonfly.
Actually, again, you've made me better. Without even speaking to me, I think of you, and I remember--- I've got to be around until we are old wasian ladies trying to count back the circles together.
It hurts so much right now, when everything is wrong, and I'm not ready to spin circles in my new phase of life--- I'm not, I'm not ready at all.
I'm crying, for what reason? Plenty of reasons. I can't even narrow them down to 3.
I've been living a figure 8. Today I went to Church, and it was Sunday. Tonight, I have more homework than I can dream of doing.
Tomorrow my alarm will go off at 4:30. I will silently stumble about in an attempt to get collected for school. I'll shower, and feel almost better, but then I'll get to school, and in AP US History I will probably just try not to cry when they do "Today in History". Happy Birthday Justine, Happy Birthday Fiona Apple.
Make no mention of me, I am bruised, I am rattled.
I am lame, I am childish. Yet, I want nothing at all but not to finish this last stage in life with stale tears in my eyes.
I hate being dramatic.
No, I am dramatic. I hate me.
But, your likeness to me softens the hatred I see in my mirrored eyes.
I can hardly wait to see what tonight will bring. Whether it is the 16th year, or if it will come for me--- I don't know. I wont remember, either way, by morning.
Goodbye, or maybe Farewell.
Either see you later, or I hope all stays well.
Either don't bother responding, there will be nobody to receive another letter of interaction. Or, maybe we will speak again, I hope, some day.
I hate feeling like we've fallen out or something.
I hate feeling though, in general, fucking beautiful substance of being--- torture, truth, lies, and believing.
Goodnight, Sam. This isn't goodbye, I think. Maybe it is, I suppose my mind and body will decide that. I don't know. I just don't know.
It draws to the end, to start over again.
It draws to the end, to start over again.
All things considered, I picked a good time to try. Start again, or die trying. Try dying, or start again. I have options, options, a million options. This is not my last resort, this is just a small comfort in knowing. I need never go without having given my soul to somebody. Hopefully it isn't too heavy.
I never forgot what it was to be a twin, I swear I didn't I never considered such a thing. I never forgot that there was hope, or love, or so much more in the world. I just was too tired to think of them any more.
I'm sorry for everything, except I'm not sorry for you. You were the best twin any friend could have asked for.
I'm not dying, I'm not ending a life. I'm just looking for the beginning, at the 16th circle, on the other side of the final verse.
Yesterday a child came out to wander
Caught a dragonfly insider a jar
Fearful when the skies are full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star.
And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down.
We're captive on a carousel of time.
We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came
And go round and round and round in the circle game.
Now the child's grown 10 times round the seasons
Skated over 10 clear frozen streams
Words like "when you're older" must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams
And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down.
We're captive on a carousel of time.
We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came
And go round and round and round in the circle game.
Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels through the town
And they tell him "take your time it wont be long now"
Till you drag your feet to slow that circle down
And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down.
We're captive on a carousel of time.
We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came
And go round and round and round in the circle game.
Now the child of yesterday's grown twenty
although some dreams are lost, some grandures coming true
there'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
before the last revolving year is through
And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down.
We're captive on a carousel of time.
We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came
And go round and round and round in the circle game.
Sixteen Springs and Sixteen Summers
Gone Now.
Strange isn't it?
Sixteen Winters of regret for a young mother, and Sixteen Falls for me.
Sixteen years of the reds and yellows. Sixteen, and yet; I am a child.
I don't expect anyone to read all of this. It is not ready, I am not ready for life. Stupid, isn't it. I've spun in circles and I can't seem to find any balance, after all this time.
No, I'm not dying.
At the beginning of this message I died, and by the end I'd circled back around to the child with the captured dragonfly.
Actually, again, you've made me better. Without even speaking to me, I think of you, and I remember--- I've got to be around until we are old wasian ladies trying to count back the circles together.
It hurts so much right now, when everything is wrong, and I'm not ready to spin circles in my new phase of life--- I'm not, I'm not ready at all.
I'm crying, for what reason? Plenty of reasons. I can't even narrow them down to 3.
I've been living a figure 8. Today I went to Church, and it was Sunday. Tonight, I have more homework than I can dream of doing.
Tomorrow my alarm will go off at 4:30. I will silently stumble about in an attempt to get collected for school. I'll shower, and feel almost better, but then I'll get to school, and in AP US History I will probably just try not to cry when they do "Today in History". Happy Birthday Justine, Happy Birthday Fiona Apple.
Make no mention of me, I am bruised, I am rattled.
I am lame, I am childish. Yet, I want nothing at all but not to finish this last stage in life with stale tears in my eyes.
I hate being dramatic.
No, I am dramatic. I hate me.
But, your likeness to me softens the hatred I see in my mirrored eyes.
I can hardly wait to see what tonight will bring. Whether it is the 16th year, or if it will come for me--- I don't know. I wont remember, either way, by morning.
Goodbye, or maybe Farewell.
Either see you later, or I hope all stays well.
Either don't bother responding, there will be nobody to receive another letter of interaction. Or, maybe we will speak again, I hope, some day.
I hate feeling like we've fallen out or something.
I hate feeling though, in general, fucking beautiful substance of being--- torture, truth, lies, and believing.
Goodnight, Sam. This isn't goodbye, I think. Maybe it is, I suppose my mind and body will decide that. I don't know. I just don't know.
Well, there it is. There I am, from the inside out.
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