he stares at me like a stone
with so much loathing and disbelief at what I am saying
at what I am doing
my words are grenades that explode upon impact
on his ears


i realise there is no love left
in his eyes
saddening me
yet i still scream and thrash about
in the little wooden box


all the while crying and shrinking
inside
all the while i am really asking
why? why? why?
why do you not love me anymore?


and so i scream and thrash about
in our little wooden box
hoping you hear my pleas
of love
love me, love me, love me 

Hello My name is ________________

Let me start off by saying that I'm not your typical blogger. I wont be writing about the newest ethnic child saved by a celebrity, or the all organic all kitchen grown meal that would make Jamie Oliver blow a load in his trousers. I wont be rating the recent 3D visual abomination out in the theatre, and I certainly wont be commenting on Lady Gaga's latest album.

Nope. Not here.

This blog is going to be about real life shit. Shit that makes up everyday life. Shit that you may or may not give a rats ass about.

Will it be life changing? Inspirational? Moving even?

Fuck no.

Could you find yourself yelling at the computer screen in frustration or even confusion?

Possibly.

I'm Jean and this is my blog, so I'll do what I want.

12 steps

A crimson wave, a tidal
a horizontal gash
insomnia, all regular
intoxicated Ass

the notes played in the background
our pair of left feet move
your scent of something, nothing
the point you want to prove

a tiny heart, a stained hand
no other love could rival
Suddenly I understand
your breath is my survival

I realise today that i just dont care.
Not as if nothing seems to make me happy. It's more that I seem to crave more. more. I need to constantly be moving, mobile, on the go. 
Is it to keep myself from thinking about important things? Or is it to keep myself from going mad and hanging myself from a ceiling fan?