Washed Hands

So I'm trying to wash my hands/eliminate negative ties that I still have in the Bay Area. It's quite difficult. I feel like Dean Winchester swinging at ghosts with lead pipes: They disappear, but in actuality, they just come up in different places.

Side note: I am definitely hoping to see certain people (Who have the initials CK) and not TC.

After writing that, what I'm going to do is write like a 14 year old, stereotypical cheerleader. About a boy who doesn't like me. Or so I think
_____________________________________________________________________
TODAY.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG I tink Jared likes me, but Idk. Like, he looked at me in the hallway today and smiled, but it
TOTALLLLLLLLLLLLLLY
could've been Kelly. I mean, she's totally on the cheer squad. I heard she gets around, stupid slut.
I made a poem for him today in math. here it goes.

Jared! So cute. I wish you'd look at me. I gave you a pencil today. YAY!
__________________________________________________________________
That's enough.

Let's try something more real. Ish.

I constantly wonder how life works. I had a discussion with a very interesting very attractive female friend recently about not-life.
I have been on a constant search, asking people of different faiths, and faith lack thereof, about what they believe happens when you die.

I have the theory that we all just don't exist. And that scares the shit out of me. We just, aren't. Anymore. Can you even fathom that? We just, stop being. Everything we know in our minds fades (actually, it blinks) out of existence.
I hope there is something after life. Even if I had to spend that time in a Hell-esque location, I'd do it. Just to remember the people that I knew, the experiences that I've gone through, and the general love that I encounter, from friends family and loved ones. Those were amazing moments, so why should I want to forget them?

But let's say, when I'm an old man, decrepit, or however I should be, that I discover, suddenly, that I've lived an amazing life. I have no regrets, and can remember everything with clarity.
Maybe then, hopefully, I'll be happy with dying. And then not being. Because I've experienced a life that is unrivaled. Maybe I haven't experienced the world, but hopefully I'll experience emotion, which is more remarkable than any location could be (For me).

I have no idea. And that's what scares me. I suppose that I can't dwell, because the more I dwell, the more that I stay up at night listening to the old Britney Spears albums, trying to numb my thoughts and get to sleep.

Edit: I've gone back and read the first paragraph. Bad ties at home are like ghosts. They haunt the shit out of you. And I have no idea how to rid myself of them.

Cont: So the fine lady that I talked to had the idea that you just can't be. Which then lead to me proposing my idea, wherein we just said "Bleh let's eat" and sat near some average jazz dancers, who I could out-jazz-hands any day (Any fuckin day)

There's no real end to this post. Because there wasn't a true beginning.
So, how bout a poem?

Clocks (Wrote it a while ago)

The clocks on our walls
Tick away this very day
Telling us that time
Doesn't take breaks for breaths
Doesn't take breaks for heartaches
Doesn't take breaks for us.

The clock is like the ocean
With repetition repeatedly ravaging our shores.
And these hands
Keep moving
They never hold on
As time just slips away.

But with you by my side, these clocks
Can tick away until doom is day,
For your heartbeat is the only sound that sways my soul.