Smother
2014
“Maybe it’s not my weekend, but 2014’s going to be my year.”
— All Time Low
Hello, 2014.
How are you feeling?
I’m happy.
I’m happy because you found the time to stay a while, and I’m happy because the last guest before you hung up her top hat and ironed the sheets before she left. Such a polite woman.
I’m sorry my house is a maze of loveless socks and jumbled priorities, I forgot to mop the floors and transport my mental to-do list into writing. And there’s only so much that polite lady before you could correct me on — I didn’t, and hope you don’t either, expect her to clean my mess on top of it all.
Some years, like this one, I run short of time to prepare and I’m caught off guard by the departure and then the immediate arrival — the transition amongst guests. Or maybe it’s not so much caught off guard as it is my considerate side leaving room for comfiness.
I like to believe that sometimes it’s the matured understanding and state-of-the-art suggestions of my guests that bring back that shimmer the floors used to have; the toasty, homey sensation that tingles their spines.
So, perhaps you could help me tidy? If that’s not too trashy to ask of a guest.
I’ll let you add your own twists.
Well..regardless of how you’re feeling, you’re looking mighty snazzy in those amelioration promises and chalk suit. I especially like your yarn-woven mask, and I’m looking forward to underlying experiences pulling threads, slowly revealing your pristinely glossed face or bagged-eye, torn-lipped smile.
It all depends on perspective, really.
I’m not too concerned of whether we get along or not, because both Miss 2012 and Miss 2013 taught me of diverse personalities, that with a perspective that considers the good in each, I’ll be a-okay.
They taught me that any guest onward could have spiders spilling from the pores of their face underneath the mask they cloak their face in for fifty-two sets of seven days, and I’d still realise the beauty, so long as my perspective’s aligned.
And just as well they taught me that in December when I’ve unveiled the final thread of your homemade mask and the secret’s over and I’m left to stare at your tinted-pink complexion and high cheek bones, if my chin’s down and my skin’s rusted copper, I’ll rush you out the door and hope to God 2015’s got a face like the one I failed to recognise.
Some people just don’t get that, do they? They don’t let their guests teach them lessons, so what’s the point of having them over?
And I’m wondering, Mr. 2014 — what have you got in store for me? I’ve made you a jar, here, come — follow me to the bedroom. See it? It’s empty now. But in December, every crevice will be filled with events in which you allowed me to tag along; realisations you stuck into the sunlight of a new day, begging at me to follow. After all, the sky’s the limit and the lid of the jar’s the sky.
Man, I’m getting off topic.
I guess I just wanted to tell you how 2013 had some ugly scars that she peeled off her face and tattooed my skin with before the first-third of the year was over, with smaller ones chasing after it. But I’m proud that she taught me enough to the point of standing here with closed wounds accompanied by their faded scars, standing at my doorstep and tipping the taxi that brought you and welcoming you in from the cold. And I’m glad that even in her absence, I can recline with another guest in the chair opposite me whilst telling them that regardless of the scabs that kissed 2013’s pallid figure, they never could contaminate her beauty that took up the mask of a realisation and slowly crept up on me as her visit came to a close.
So that’s why I’m wondering how you’re feeling, my good sir.
Will 2015 have a good role model?
Will our stay be eventful?
If my alarm fails to sound, will you wake me?
Have you got maps to uncharted terriotory?
Is your temper short?
Are you daring?
Have you got motivational words?
Do you make your bed before the start of the day?
Have you got unheard-of stories stuck to the backs of your teeth?
For breakfast, could I have strips of cognisance and scrambled memories?
Sorry..my apologies. I’m being impolite. Or over-bearing.
My curiousity burns, but I’ve got heaps of time to ask you these things.
365 days, to be exact.
© all of january 2014 caz im a lazyass fucknugget lmfao
Dedicated to Kenzie caz happy 17th!!
— All Time Low
Hello, 2014.
How are you feeling?
I’m happy.
I’m happy because you found the time to stay a while, and I’m happy because the last guest before you hung up her top hat and ironed the sheets before she left. Such a polite woman.
I’m sorry my house is a maze of loveless socks and jumbled priorities, I forgot to mop the floors and transport my mental to-do list into writing. And there’s only so much that polite lady before you could correct me on — I didn’t, and hope you don’t either, expect her to clean my mess on top of it all.
Some years, like this one, I run short of time to prepare and I’m caught off guard by the departure and then the immediate arrival — the transition amongst guests. Or maybe it’s not so much caught off guard as it is my considerate side leaving room for comfiness.
I like to believe that sometimes it’s the matured understanding and state-of-the-art suggestions of my guests that bring back that shimmer the floors used to have; the toasty, homey sensation that tingles their spines.
So, perhaps you could help me tidy? If that’s not too trashy to ask of a guest.
I’ll let you add your own twists.
Well..regardless of how you’re feeling, you’re looking mighty snazzy in those amelioration promises and chalk suit. I especially like your yarn-woven mask, and I’m looking forward to underlying experiences pulling threads, slowly revealing your pristinely glossed face or bagged-eye, torn-lipped smile.
It all depends on perspective, really.
I’m not too concerned of whether we get along or not, because both Miss 2012 and Miss 2013 taught me of diverse personalities, that with a perspective that considers the good in each, I’ll be a-okay.
They taught me that any guest onward could have spiders spilling from the pores of their face underneath the mask they cloak their face in for fifty-two sets of seven days, and I’d still realise the beauty, so long as my perspective’s aligned.
And just as well they taught me that in December when I’ve unveiled the final thread of your homemade mask and the secret’s over and I’m left to stare at your tinted-pink complexion and high cheek bones, if my chin’s down and my skin’s rusted copper, I’ll rush you out the door and hope to God 2015’s got a face like the one I failed to recognise.
Some people just don’t get that, do they? They don’t let their guests teach them lessons, so what’s the point of having them over?
And I’m wondering, Mr. 2014 — what have you got in store for me? I’ve made you a jar, here, come — follow me to the bedroom. See it? It’s empty now. But in December, every crevice will be filled with events in which you allowed me to tag along; realisations you stuck into the sunlight of a new day, begging at me to follow. After all, the sky’s the limit and the lid of the jar’s the sky.
Man, I’m getting off topic.
I guess I just wanted to tell you how 2013 had some ugly scars that she peeled off her face and tattooed my skin with before the first-third of the year was over, with smaller ones chasing after it. But I’m proud that she taught me enough to the point of standing here with closed wounds accompanied by their faded scars, standing at my doorstep and tipping the taxi that brought you and welcoming you in from the cold. And I’m glad that even in her absence, I can recline with another guest in the chair opposite me whilst telling them that regardless of the scabs that kissed 2013’s pallid figure, they never could contaminate her beauty that took up the mask of a realisation and slowly crept up on me as her visit came to a close.
So that’s why I’m wondering how you’re feeling, my good sir.
Will 2015 have a good role model?
Will our stay be eventful?
If my alarm fails to sound, will you wake me?
Have you got maps to uncharted terriotory?
Is your temper short?
Are you daring?
Have you got motivational words?
Do you make your bed before the start of the day?
Have you got unheard-of stories stuck to the backs of your teeth?
For breakfast, could I have strips of cognisance and scrambled memories?
Sorry..my apologies. I’m being impolite. Or over-bearing.
My curiousity burns, but I’ve got heaps of time to ask you these things.
365 days, to be exact.
© all of january 2014 caz im a lazyass fucknugget lmfao
Dedicated to Kenzie caz happy 17th!!