something to die for, aiden

[aiden jacobs.]

tighten your tie boy,
you’re something to die for.
but don’t hold your breath now,
you’re just killing time.
tonight you can dream boy,
imagine a whisper. if
you can keep secrets, then
i’ll tell you mine.

——————————————————————

25 January, 2008.

[/font][/right] Oh, what in the living fuck is wrong with me. Yeah, no question mark. Why? It’s not really a question, but I don’t have an answer. This journal shit is really new to me; maybe it’s just because I can’t keep bottling things up inside myself anymore, or maybe it’s just me, but.. I feel like I need to talk to someone, and, even though this isn’t talking, per se, it might help. Notice that I put might. Why? Because I really doubt that it will. I can pretty much guess that Michael’s going to end up reading this, so.. Hey, Michael. Anyway.. I don’t know why this is so hard. It’s like drawing, but.. with words? Truthfully, I’d rather be drawing right now, but that little douchebag hid my sketchbook. Oh well. He won’t be able to find that huge stash of money that I found of his one day when I was cleaning. That’s what he gets for making me clean his goddamn mess, doing his goddamn dishes, and doing his goddamn laundry. Well, maybe not his laundry—there’s not enough goddamn soap in the world to lure me to do that. Fuck, I’m so vengeful. Really, it’s quite entertaining. But I feel like a goddamned maid, and I’m not. So a big ‘fuck you’ to Michael. Cheers.

Well. Off the subject of that douchebag—where some of my problems are stemming, to tell the truth—it seems like the things that help me escape are starting to diminish. There used to be so much that let me escape into my own little world, but now.. there’s only a few, and I don’t really understand why. Music, drawing, sleeping—hell, sleeping barely does anything anymore. Half the time I don’t remember my dreams, which is a good thing, because when I do remember them, they’re goddamn nightmares. And as much a fan of horror as I am, you’d think I wouldn’t be all that bothered by it—uh, wrong. They scare me; absolutely fucking scare me. Well, that’s my fault I guess. What am I saying, “I guess”? I know it’s my fault. I don’t talk. About personal problems, anyway. Sure, I’ll spurt out a random bit of psycho babble every now and then, but actually sit down and discuss my problems with someone? Hell no. I wouldn’t put my problems as a burden on someone else’s shoulders just so I could feel better. No, I don’t work that way. So.. I guess I’ll stick to writing in this little.. journal.. thing, if you want to call it that.

I think The Birthday Massacre is my new favourite band. Yeah, I don’t really listen to music, but hell, I always raided Brendin’s music stash. I’m just wondering if he knows that I jacked any of his stuff by accident yet. Ahaha, I took so much of his shit. Not even purposely, honest to whatever higher existence that’s out there, if there even is a higher existence. Well, okay, so a hoodie, couple pairs of jeans, a few shirts, a CD or two—that’s not a lot, is it? And plus, he knows I’ll give it back. So I didn’t really steal it. So there. Holy goddamn shit

Michael and his goddamn obsessive need to live his window open without the screen! Little douchebag. Well, this little kitten just scared the shit out of me, but I think I’ll live. It’s fucking adorable, anyway, why wouldn’t I forgive it? Milky grey fur with a darker grey tail and paws dipped in that same darker grey, gorgeous blue eyes? Hell yeah. Who couldn’t forgive that cute little face? It’s trying to eat my hand though.. Fuck Michael’s allergies to cats. I’m keeping it. It’s name’s gonna be Monroe. I don’t care what gender it is—Monroe. Why not? I’d better go feed it before it tears my arm off and uses it as a club to get me to go feed it, though. I rather value my arm.

xoxo, aiden.

[/size]

now things are coming clear,
and i don’t need you here.
and in this world around me,
i’m glad you disappeared.
so i’ll stay out all night,
get drunk and fuck and fight.
until the morning comes i’ll
forget about our life.

——————————————————————

4 February, 2008.

[/font][/right]Hmm. I’m such a little prick. Well, maybe not a prick, but I’m certainly something for the melodramatic. I flip out over random things. Oh well. That’s just me, I guess. I’m starting to care less and less, about everything, really, and it’s kind of worrying me—only kind of, mind you. I miss Brendin to bits, and I’m starting to wish that I’d never left Maine. Seattle is so.. well, I’ll just say it—it’s fucking boring! Not to mention that my heart got tore out once more when I found Seth again—but I haven’t seen him in weeks, so I think he’s finally realized what a bad fucking influence I am. Thank god. I don’t need to fuck his life up, too. Sometimes I think that I should just go live in the suburbs and be a hermit for the rest of my life, but I don’t think that I could live without Brendin. Honestly, that boy’s my life. No, he’s like my brother, dickwad—I love him like a brother. Plus, he’s straight, anyway, so I don’t see why it would matter even if I did love him like that. But I don’t, so I don’t see the problem.

And yeah. I.. Well, I miss Daniel. Yeah, the same kid who punched me in the face and ran away when I told him I was gay at fourteen. I wonder what happened to him. It’s not like it matters, but I can wonder, right? Sometimes I just want to go slit my throat or something. Truthfully, I think it’d be fun. No, really. Sure, there’d be the whole stinging, throbbing pain and that horrible feeling of losing blood, but I think I’m used to it by now, don’t you think? Yeah, I think so, too. Well, for an up side, I met this girl, Carmen, and she’s pretty flippin’ awesome. She was crying in the mall, had dug her fingernails into her knees and everything—I didn’t feel bad for her, I just wondered why no one else had fucking helped her; and plus, a potential new friend? Hell yeah. I’m not a complete sociopath, although, if you want to know the truth, I’m not far off from being one of those motherfuckers. I always thought sociopaths were kind of creepy, but I guess I just got served, yeah? Haha, what the fuck is my problem right now. My stomach hurts. Hella fucking bad. Maybe I should put the tequila bottle down and stay sober for a night or two. Yeah, fuck that. I’d rather not be face to face with my problems right now, no matter how much that sounds like a pussy statement. Plus, this is the good shit. The actual good tequila. Fucking amazing. Well, I’m off to turn the stereo down before the landlord comes and kicks me out. And I’ll probably end up going to sleep, or I’ll fucking demolish something. What fun, what fun.

(what’ve I turned into? i don’t even know. i guess it’s because i’m hurting inside, and i don’t know why. daniel, maybe? fuck i miss that kid. he was pretty fucking gorgeous. but a better friend; almost like brendin. maybe he knows what happened to him. hell, i’m glad i’m planning on getting plastered after i finish this. i don’t want to fucking think right now. i need a goddamn psychiatrist. hah, yeah, like that would help. ugh.. later, before i start rambling psycho babble again. peace.)

xoxo, aiden.

[/size]

hate the mind, regrets are better left
unspoken. for all we know, this
void will grow and everything’s in
vain, distressing you though it
leaves me open. feels so right, but
i’ll end this all before it gets me.

——————————————————————

13 February, 2008.

[/font][/right]A whole lot of thinking, lately. All I’ve done is sat at ‘home’ and contemplated what I’ve been doing with my life. That, and the meanings of the songs I’ve been listening to lately. Call me a nerd, but that’s truthfully what I’ve been doing. Except for when Michael’s not home, which has been more frequently this past week—which is fine by me, I’ll have you know—because then I end up watching fucking Courage The Cowardly Dog and curling up on the couch after taking a shower. Or two. But hey, I like Courage—although he’s purple and what the FUCK kind of dog is purple, other than an alien one?—so I settle for watching that nearly all day. If not that, then Spongebob. Which I regret, because I hate that little bastard, but it’s so hard not to watch. That cartoon is so fucking sexual that it’s not even funny. I mean, I know that’s not what they’re going for, but people, get real—half the shit is probably in my head, but I know some of it’s true. I’m not that insane.

…am I?

Either way, I’m really starting to get back into those ‘bad habits’ Brendin always scolded me about. Like not eating for days on end and shit.. I can’t really help it. My thought process is shattered by one too many thoughts of shit I don’t need to think about, and I know that’s not a ‘valid excuse’ or whatever, but I don’t care. I probably look like a goddamn crackhead /slash/ pill addict, and that’s a bad thing, because I’m not.. but really, I’m starting to not give a fuck. It’s not like it matters, right? Anyways.. Oooh, guy named Xander. Holy goddamned shit is he hot! He works at an American Eagle, which is a store I have no business going into because I get these wicked cold stares and glares and shit, but hell, my hot-and-gay radar went off and I just had to go in. And holy hell, I got my eyes worth. I even bought a pair of jeans because of it.. SON OF A BITCH I think I was swindled. But hell, he gave me his phone number. Mhm, rawr bitch. So the whole buying a pair of fifty dollar girls jeans is okay. I gave him Michael’s number, too, but if I got a call I’ll probably never know, and I highly doubt that I’ll call him, only because phones terrify the fuck out of me. Don’t ask me why, but they do.

Ehh. I think I’m gonna go take another shower and head out to.. well, go somewhere. I’m fucking sick of these off-white walls. Anyway, peace, bitch. <3

xoxo, aiden.

[/size]

i can’t face myself when i
wake up and look inside a
mirror; i’m so ashamed of
that thing. i suppose i’ll let
it go ‘til i have something
more to say for me, i’m so
afraid of defeat. and i’m out
of reason to believe in me;
i’m out of trying to defy.

——————————————————————

12 May, 2008.

[/font][/right]Everything is such a mess.

Michael hasn’t really been hitting me anymore, which is good– I think. It’s strange, I can tell he wants to sometimes but he won’t– ever since that day in the park.. that I’m not even going to recount, he won’t hit me. I broke his nose, that might be part of the reason, but it’s.. weird. If I was scared of him before, I’m doubly terrified now, only because I don’t know what’s going on. There is some good news, though– Caine and Brendin came all the way from Maine and I think it was some sort of convene that Brendin and his twin had set up with an unwilling Michael to intervene. With what, I’m not quite sure. Either way, when the two mirror-imaged boys walked through the door, one with a leash—which was obviously Brendin with Liisi, my little heating blanket Corgi—I nearly had a heart attack. My face was almost licked off because of Liisi, while Brendin nearly died of suffocation because I was hugging him so tightly– but even so, I hugged Caine, which was a step for me, since I don’t exactly know him all that well. Apparently, he’d had a thing with Michael a few years ago, which surprised me– Brendin’s look-a-like, bisexual? Sad to say, but.. score!– but he became my new best friend after he told me that he hated him, too. Well, Brendin’s my best friend, but Caine is now, too, I guess.

Brendin’s gone now, though– he had to go back to Maine because of Denise, his new girlfriend, who they think is potentially dying. Poor Denise. I don’t know her, would probably hate her if I did– since she’s probably a bitch like every other girl he’s dated– but I still feel bad. Caine and Liisi are still here, which is good– I don’t feel the need to leave when Michael comes in or wakes up, and I have my little heating blanket again. I’m going to have to tell Brendin that I want to keep her, although Monroe’s not so happy with this new development– she’s tried to sleep on Liisi’s face, although Liis thinks its funny. She needs to be checked for some sort of brain damage or something, because I think she’s gone crazy. But I guess another thing that’s a source of good news– Caine is a tattoo artist, and he’s offered to give me a few free tattoos. Fuck. Yes. He’s already started two of them and finished one– the finished one’s a tribal design on my left forearm, in a kind of blueish ink, and the other two are on my shoulders near my collar bone of stars. Yeah, kind of stupid, but hell, why not? Free tattoos? Hell yes.

On a bad note, I think my wrist is infected. Yes, I tried suicide again. Big fucking deal. I’m still here, so obviously it didn’t work– although I went from the inside of my wrist to nearly my elbow on my right arm, and I’m surprised I didn’t die. But it happens, I guess, and the stitches are fucking killing me. I’d rip them out but, you know, I’d bleed to death, and I don’t really feel like having Caine take me to the hospital, since I know damn well Michael won’t. And Liis can’t, obviously, she’s a dog. I do feel a lot better, though, I guess, but I’ve been steering clear of the park– which was the only place besides Starbucks’ that I went here in Seattle, so I’ve been staying in Michael’s apartment unless I have to take Liisi for a walk and ask Caine if he’d mind going with me, which he never does.. I think something’s up, there, by the way– and not a whole lot has been going wrong. Actually, I’ve been pretty happy. Wow, I didn’t know that word was in my vocabulary, but I guess it is now.

I think I saw Kieran the other day. Or someone who looked a whole lot like him. Hell, it could’ve been Seth– he looks so much like Kier, which was a kind of a shock to realize, seeing as how Kieran always tried to murder me– but I wasn’t paying that much attention: Liisi was dragging me after a squirrel, Caine was laughing at me, and Monroe was scratching the fuck out of my chest. For being a small dog, Liisi packs a punch, and goddamn, I swear she runs fast than a cheetah, even with those short-ass legs of hers. I gave the majority of Michael’s money back, seeing as how he finally gave me back my sketchbook, although I did keep some of it– I bout Xanax and Percocet with what I kept, and I feel horrible about it, but I’ve been calmer lately because of it, so that’s a plus side. It was a bit of a surprise when Caine walked in on me– damn broken bathroom door lock– and I was about to do another line when he asked if I had any more; I let him have that one and it was kind of weird. Maybe he thought it was cocaine, or maybe he knew better– I don’t know, but I guess snorting buddies has been added to the list of what kind of friends we are.

I feel really bad– I’m going to go to sleep or something, my head hurts something fucking horrible. Peace.

xoxo, aiden.

[/size]

i linger in the doorway of
alarm clock screaming
monsters calling my name.
let me stay where the
wind will whisper to me;
where the raindrops, as
they’re falling, tell a story.

——————————————————————

23 July, 2008.

[/font][/right]Eh. I lost this fucking thing. Big surprise, huh? Not really, I’m horrible at remembering where I put my stuff if I end up hiding it. I hate the hot weather, and today is one of those days that just makes me remember why I hate the hot weather– I’m burning the fuck up but at this point, I’m not really caring. I’ve got water. It’s not like I’m a dog locked in a car or anything.

It just really fucking sucks, that’s all. Michael’s too cheap to turn the air on too high so Caine fucked with it and put it on 68 degrees– I thought Michael was going to blow a gasket or something. So we got kicked out for the day, and with nothing better to do, I temporarily jacked Caine’s iPod and I’m writing in this.. thing. Yeah. Thing. Shut up. Technically, I only have one of the earphones in, since Caine has the other one with his head in my goddamn lap because he’s like a Pomeranian or something. So if he’s halfway going deaf because the iPod’s up almost as loud as it will go– well, that’s his fault, right? He should know better than to let me use it, mwahaha.

In a weird way, it’s almost like Caine and I are better friends now than what Brendin and I used to be. I can’t say that I hate it, because he’s a blast, but.. I just miss hanging out with Brendin. I mean, the kid helped me so much and we’ve been friends for years, but I think maybe it’s just because of Denise, who’s still really sick. She’s got Cystic Fibrosis and something else that I can’t really remember, and so it’s kind of obvious that he’s worried about her. They’d been really close friends and then they got together so it was almost like they’d been dating the whole time– but what can I say? I wasn’t there, so I don’t know.

I don’t really know why I’m here at this.. weird.. place, either. I have no fucking clue what it is, and I don’t think Caine does either because when I asked he kind of shrugged. Holy shit I’m going to get mugged by the mob. That’s just what I need. Knowing my luck, that’s probably gonna happen now. Fuuuck. I gotta go watch out for those motherfuckers, or I’m going to end up in a ditch somewhere. Bahaha. Peace.

aiden!

[/size]

ponder why he’s starting to follow
crows, and climbing the ladder
somewhere out to really begin
to scare, and plotting to comb
the grounds with a fine tooth.
you poor little antisaint.

——————————————————————

24 July, 2008.

[/font][/right] I screamed almost as loud as I could as I felt the needle’s tip dig into the slender blue vein, terrified, wishing that I wasn’t pinned to the bed under a frame that was thirty pounds heavier than I was so that I could get away from the harsh sensation. His knees, one pushing heavily down on my right arm while helping the other to keep me from wriggling too wildly, tightened their awkward hold on my rib cage and his left one pressed harder into my arm, the tingling signaling that it was almost ‘asleep’. I couldn’t move, utterly helpless, and I didn’t like the feeling– but I couldn’t do anything about it, not with the needle digging deeper and deeper with my every plea. “K-Kieran, please– stop!” As shrill as my voice was, Kieran didn’t seem to notice it, although I was sure his neighbors were probably beginning to suspect the worst– it was too bad they lived a ways away from his quaint little house and probably couldn’t hear a damn thing. Blood had been pouring from the miniature wound ever since the damned needle had been plunged carefully, and it was staining the previously navy blue sheets and surely the white mattress– but I didn’t care about that. I just wanted Kieran to get off of me and tell me what I’d done this time.

“Please, please stop– p-please—!”

Kieran was too bent on pushing the needle deeper that I knew for sure he couldn’t hear me– and that’s when it went straight to hell. I was going to die. I knew it. Dying wasn’t a problem for me– it was dying by Kieran’s hands, the police finding him, possibly convicting him for murder that scared me. Pain had never been a problem, either– when it was self inflicted. The pressure from the needle trying to dive deeper was driving me insane and it hurt worse than anything I’d ever felt, and although I kept kicking, trying desperately to somehow weaken Kieran’s hold, I knew I was either doing to die here and see Kieran go to jail, or I was going to halfway bleed to death before he realized what he was doing. Kieran and I were almost one in the same– he barely remembered anything during his anger trips, but he remembered some; during my blackouts, I remembered nothing. It wasn’t the same thing, no, but it was a sort of bond. Sort of.

“Shut the fuck up already!” Kieran’s voice rang out loudly and bounced off of the walls, and I tried to stop screaming so that he’d, hopefully, stop– but, my luck wasn’t with me. He ripped the needle out and grabbed me by the throat, his body twisted in an awkward angle, threatening to press the needle to my jugular. And in a twist of fate, he pressed the bloodstained needle toward the vein and every time I took a ragged breath, it dug slightly into the bruising skin. Carefully I tried to press my body down into the mattress as he glared down at me, whimpering as he taunted my faltering hopes with pretending to take the needle from my throat and returning it seconds later.

“Kieran, please—” I forced out as quietly as I could in my now hoarse, raspy voice, feeling the needle delve a little deeper but not break the sensitive skin above the vein. His free hand tightened it’s hold around my throat, only slightly, and I forced my eyes closed, giving another quiet whimper as I tried to speak again. “W-what did I d-do? Tell m-me and I won’t d-do it ag-again, I p-promise, Kieran, please—” Kieran’s face turned a darker red, his usually cute, boyish face replaced with the twisted, demonic one of his anger, and his hand– the one squeezing my throat on and off– moved, pushing the sweat-drenched locks of my hair off of my forehead before slapping me. Oh, hell, I wish it would just be over with already! Just kill me now.

“You know what you fucking did,” he said slowly, venomously, and he started speaking again, but the words were incoherent as the needle slipped quietly into my jugular. Blood started pouring from that wound, too, covering Kieran’s hand after he’d dragged the needle down– purposely lengthening the puncture– and staining my hair and another section of the sheets. The world began to fade to black as I heard him speak again, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t hear him anymore.

That’s what I dreamt last night.

You try dealing with that shit. Especially if you wake up as soon as the world goes black in your dream, gasping for air like you hadn’t been breathing for minutes and bleeding. Yeah. I was bleeding– a seriously warped nosebleed and, somehow, my throat was bleeding, too. It didn’t help that I woke up in the bathroom with the scissors not even an inch from me– I think the only reason I woke up was because Caine started pounding on the door, mumbling some nonsense about having to piss really bad.

If he hadn’t had to piss, I’d probably be dead.

Recounting the dream didn’t make me feel any better, even though Caine said that it might. He was wrong, and I don’t even want to read that shit. I dreamt it, it’s in my brain for the rest of my life now, why would I want to keep it recorded? Goddamn. I’m going back to sleep. Maybe I’ll die this time. Maybe I won’t. Who the fuck knows anymore.

aiden!

we’re erased and betrayed by
mistakes. does your god know my
god? this is how the world will end.

——————————————————————[/center]

08 September, 2008.

[/size][/font][/right] The six year anniversary mark..

To bad it ended a long fucking time ago.

And yes. If you can’t tell, I’m fucking bitter. Every year like clockwork I get fucking moody and agitated because of Kieran, and to top this shit off, Brendin was in a bad wreck with Denise. He’s still in critical condition and I’m scared as fuck– what the hell will I do if he dies? What will Caine do? Hell, what will the fucking world do if that boy dies? He’s like a goddamn saint, he doesn’t deserve to die! I know that life isn’t fair, but this is pushing the godforsaken limit! You can take away my mom– fine, that bitch deserves to die. You can take my grandma and grandda away– I’d hate you forever, I miss them so much, but fine. You can take any boy I ever loved– fucking do it! But you want to take Brendin? He’s only twenty five, for fuck’s sake! He’s got so many things going his way, so many people who look up to him– not just me, but Caine, his little sisters and brother, his fucking cousin! He can’t fucking die like this!

I can’t take anymore.

aiden!

my eyes are open wide, by the
way. i made it through the day.
i watch the world outside, by
the way, i’m leaving out today.
i just saw halley’s comet, she
waved, said why you always
running in place? even the man
in the moon disappeared,
somewhere in the stratosphere.

—————————————————————— [/center]

25 January, 09.

[/size][/font][/right] Brendin's alive.. And I'm so happy. Sure, I'm a year older and I feel like hell, but he's fucking alive and that's all I really wanted. Denise died, though, and brendin hasn't been the same.. He came here because Caine bribed him too, and all he does is lay on the couch, usually with his head resting in my lap or on my stomach and stare at the ceiling. I feel so bad and it depresses me to see him like this, it just.. hurts, especially knowing that he's still in a lot of physical pain but he won't take his pills. I've gotten to the point that if I get up to get him something to drink, even though he's too proud to ask anyone for anything, I've been crushing up his pain pills and putting them in his water.. Am I a bad friend for that? God, I hope not.. I'm just so tired of seeing him in pain and I've tried so hard to get him to take them. Liisi's depressed, as well, and she lays in Brendin's lap, like now. He's got his head on my thigh while my other knee is drawn up so I can write, and he's petting her.. Its so monotinous and unlike him.

Caine disappeared somewhere. I have no idea to where or with who, but I haven't been going very many places. I don't know. I miss the old Brendin, but, then again, I miss a lot of things.

aiden!

[/font][/size][/blockquote]