One-Eighty By Summer

Go on just say it,
You need me like a bad habit,
One that leaves you defenseless, dependent, and alone.
Go on just say it (Are you afraid to),
You need me like a bad habit (Say what you want to, tell me you want to),
One that leaves you defenseless, dependent, and alone.
(Are you afraid to say what you want to, tell me you want to)

Izzy. Izzy. Izzy. That's how it always began, the voice that wafted like perfume rising after the glass stopper. A viscous lilt, like watching the cherry syrup spiral into crimson swirls in a Shirley Temple. Izzy, Isabelle, my belle. His voice drives into the soul almost perversely, the way his lips trace her lilac veins without a single blush of modesty.

I hold my tongue use it to assess,
The damage from way back when it mattered,
But nothing seems important anymore,
We’re just protecting ourselves from our self,
And I don’t think I’ll ever come back down (I don’t think I’ll ever come back down),
I don’t think I’ll ever come back down (I don’t think I’ll ever come back down),
I don’t think I’ll ever come back down (I don’t think I’ll ever come back…),
I don’t think I’ll ever come back…

The agency canceled her photo shoots. They told her she was overworking herself, that she deserved a break. By then, she couldn't conceal the bruises and cuts across her skin anymore. The cerulean roses in her dress nearly camouflaged into her black and blue skin. She would tell them it was an accident. An accident. She had met him and fallen in love with him, that was the accident.

Are you ashamed to say what you want to tell me you want to.
Are you ashamed to say what you want to tell me you want to.
(Come on just say it) Are you ashamed to (Come on just say it) say what you want to tell me you want to.
(Come on just say it) Are you ashamed to (Come on just say it) say what you want to tell me you want to.

He was going insane, but she stayed because she thought she could change him. Maybe she was insane too. But by now her need for him was an addiction. She was still a teenager when he caught her in his web, a naive girl suddenly exposed to the city of fashion, lust, and rock & roll. He was the one who designed the clothes she modeled, led her to the music of the city, and taught her the language of lust. His "love" for her coursed in her veins; by now she was so dependent on him - his touch, his voice, his taste - he was her staircase to ecstasy.

I’m making the difference,
It just seems pointless,
With all the obvious lines all out of focus.
Why can’t you just be happy?
Why can’t you just be happy?
And I don’t think I’ll ever come back down (I don’t think I’ll ever come back down),
I don’t think I’ll ever come back down (I don’t think I’ll ever come back down),
I don’t think I’ll ever come back down (I don’t think I’ll ever come back…),
I don’t think I’ll ever come back...

It was always her fault, he told her. She was the one who drove him to hurt her, beat her, strangle her. He didn't like how the other male models, the photographers, the way anyone else looked at her. Isabelle is a belle. She was so tired of hearing the same stupid pun again and again - she was exhausted by her beauty. Maybe if she wasn't so goddamn attractive, maybe other men wouldn't look at her a split-second longer than they should. But if it weren't for her beauty, maybe he never would have picked her out of the crowd.

Run.

Run while his vision is still blinded by the stars of the city lights.

Run before he picks your face out of the darkness.

(Just come back, just come back...)
Go on just say it, (just come back...)
Come on just say it, (just come back...)
Well I’ll just say it, (just come back...)
I’ll just say it, (just come back...)
I need you defenseless, dependent and alone.
(Just come back, just come back, just come back...)

She says live up to your first impression.

Well my best side was your worst invention,
Can't you live without the attention?
Can't you live without the attention?
(Just come back, just come back, just come back...)
She says live up to your first impression.
Well my best side was your worst invention,
Can't you live without the attention?
Can't you live without the attention?

But there is nowhere to run. He knows he has her heart hooked on his line; all he has to do is reel her back in. He has her pinned to the mattresses, her beauty exposed like an impaled butterfly. Izzy, Izzy, Izzy, you don't know how much I love you, he whispers into her neck as the edge of the knife grazes by her skin. The scarlet maps he drew on her skin were always shallow.

But the blade can always slice a little deeper each time.

She says live up to your first impression. (Come on, just say it),
Well my best side was your worst invention (Come on, just say it),
Why can't you live without the attention (I need you defenseless, dependent),
Why can't you live without the attention (alone).
She says up to your first impression (I just say it),
Well my best side was your worst invention (I just say it),
Why can't you live without the attention (I need you defenseless, dependent),
Why can't you live without the attention (Alone),
Why can't you live (Defenseless, dependent),
Why can't you live (Defenseless, dependent),
Why can't you live…without…live…without (Defenseless, dependent, defenseless, dependent),
Why can't you live (Defenseless, dependent),
Why can't you live (Defenseless, dependent),

Why can't you live…without…live…without...

"One-Eighty By Summer" - Taking Back Sunday

..............................

My muse has mysteriously disappeared on me. I haven't been able to write anything decently for weeks. I'm not even satisfied with this one at all - the timing is extremely choppy and there is too much obtuse writing.

I feel like a pressure cooker with all the steam building up inside. But I don't keep diaries/journals where I write about my personal life anymore. Why? Because I've learned as long as you put anything down on paper, anyone will be able to read it. My brother has already confessed to reading my old journals and I don't plan to update him on my current miserable life.

I have no inspiration whatsoever. I'm just tired. Left and right there's always other things I should be doing. Playing more piano, playing more tennis, practicing for SATs, brainstorm ways to surpass the brainiac overachievers I have to compete with. Sixteen is not sweet. It's the same feeling you get when there's two seconds left as you watch the sand run down an hourglass.

Chinese school ended yesterday - it was probably the last time I'll ever see my friend again. That thought didn't occur to me until I read the card she wrote attached to her farewell present. I was about to go to bed when I read it. I can't believe I started crying over a card. I realized then that my childhood is gone. In two years, everything I've known for my entire life will change. I've grown up with the same people and the same friends all my life and found my own niche in society. In two years, everything becomes a blank slate again. The idea is just overwhelming, especially if you're about to fall asleep by yourself in the dark.

Hmm, this almost resembles a journal entry. This is about as personal as it'll ever get in written words.