Today it smells like Soap, Lime, and Pomegranate

I'm not so much concerned about what's going to happen to me tomorrow as I am with who I am going to be when tomorrow arrives. It's become undoubtebly clear to me that certain emotions and feelings aren't only disabilities, but also possibilities. Possibilities to be lead to believe the unbelievable and so forth. Anyway, the point is something I am currently making increasingly difficult to push across. So let me try to push it harder. Lately, I've cared less; however, I could care even less. This truth is unsettling. I want to care more, not less. Sacrifices of the heart and mind are making me nostalgically ill and decision making has become as easy as eeny meeny. See? I don't even make it to the miney moe anymore, I'm that decisive comparatively. What I mean by sacrifices leads me to something I've been quoting more often- "Sacrifices for the Greater Good." What is this "Greater Good" I am constantly referring to? It isn't God- lawdy Lord even knows my sacrifices are less than religiously inclined. It isn't for the well-being of the world- I've stoppped recycling (sad face). Is it for me?- Nah, nah, nah, I've yet to reach the breaking point with my self-induced narcissism. It's moreso (for lack of a better term) for the future. No, not the "hovering cars-multidimensional-timetravel-chipsinbrains" future; the "fuckimincollege-fuckihavekids-fuckimgettingold-fuckimafatass" future. I'd very much like to reduce my chances of saying, "I wish I could've, wish I had've, wish I didn't." Therefore the choices I am making now are more conscious. Those fast quick "what the hell, fuck it, why not" choices I've been making have been extremely risky, but very effective in making me "carpe diem."

I can't dare to be handled/ to be fucked with/

With increasing levels of simplicity comes decreasing levels of others' understanding of you. As if somehow your indifference is miscommunicated in the sound waves and then later on appears as an underlying sarcasm sprinkled with a pseud-philosophical perspective. I am nothing of that. Calm down with the critical analyzations! There's no mystery wrapped inside my bra, there's no romantic background music, there's no such thing as "forever" in my book at this point in time. As a matter of fact there is no book. I'm a short-handed poem written in Spanish now being processed underground. Some people ask with the intention of wanting to hear certain responses. Some people flip it around towards themselves; like narcs that stare at themselves in the mirror until their eyelashes fall off. Some people want you to find out their deepest darkest secrets. "Some people" isn't me. If I have secrets, you won't know, I won't tell. If I ask a question, give it to me straight. If you want to talk, I'll pretend my past, presents, and futures are put on hold for you. I want it to be easy and I want it to be simple. No more, no less, no games, I'm done with games.

My Response:

I don't know. I just don't know, can't YOU see that? Didn't YOU notice? I was starting to become unhappy, the rotting fruit on a tree that no one wants to look at or poke at or eat because they're so miserable all the time. You talk about abandonment, you talk about confusion. That was my life every day. I said "how dare he leave, go back home and leave me here." It happened all the time. It's not your fault, you have a right to be angry, every right in the world. I just can't do this. Not right now. I'm angry too; not at you, just at the circumstance.