Zubela
Legacy Name: Zubela

inherited your dad's crazy eyes
history repeats our whole damn lives
yeah this place gets old but it's really hard
to scrub the dog piss out of a white trash heart

i have friendship bracelets that go up to my elbows.
i like to make them since the colors bring me a lot of joy. i can do pastel bracelets and rainbow bracelets. i can do monochrome bracelets, but i usually don't, since drab colors make me a bit sad. i like the motions. this string over this string, then switch sides. that string over that string. in the middle, this string over that string, and that string over this string. over and over and over and over.
i don't have any friends though, but that's okay. i can wear the bracelets myself and maybe if someone sees me they'll think i have a lot of friends who made bracelets for me. they would think that i'm so loved and adored someone spent hours on the bracelets that adorn my wrists and ankles because i am exceptional and lovable.
i mean, that's not true. but if someone thinks that, maybe it can manifest somehow. i am lonely a lot.

school is humdrum and i float through the halls leaving a fog of fig and salt perfume behind me. they have lockers at my college, which remind me of high school, which reminds me that no one in high school ever talked to me. once, a boy that i liked said i would be pretty if i weren't weird. i still think about that a lot.
i gave a bracelet to my teacher in my morning class. he looked a bit sympathetic as he accepted my bracelet, and i could hear snickers behind me. i guess it's strange to give my bracelets to my teachers, but i don't know what else to do with them at this point. plus, i like my teacher a lot. he lets me make bracelets in class. he said my bracelets are harmless lecture fidgets, and i like to think they're more than that, but i guess they really aren't.

but the rocks with holes are warm in my hands
and i buried my toes in the hot hot sand
and the silver pink pony kisses me and says
you've come a long, long way and you deserve to be really happy

i walk home from class everyday. i don't have a car. i don't really know how to drive anyway. but it's okay. i don't mind walking.
there's a path that stretches from the backend of my college campus to the road, and the path is overgrown on the other side of the road, but that's the way i get home. i don't think anyone knows the path is even there, since the rotting, wet leaves of october and the hay colored dead grass stretches over the dirt like a lot of fingers hiding something precious and untouched. i walk through the path, the heels of my soggy boots slushing all the wet leaves deeper into the mud. on one side of me is woods; dead, brown trees eating up the horizon, and on the other side is a graveyard.

i walk further and further down the path and it twists off in two directions, one towards the main road of the town, and one deeper into the woods behind the graveyard. it smells like organic decay and gasoline in the air, but i think it's actually kind of nice.
i don't know if there are plots available in the graveyard. i have never seen anyone there and i walk past it everyday. the gravestones are white and gray, chipped, rotting, and sideways in their place. i ventured into the graveyard only once, and it made me terribly sad so i left. i couldn't even read the writing on the stones.
it reminded me that i will die. i could do the best thing in the whole world, and eventually i would die, and no one would remember what i did. i could also do the worst thing in the whole world, and eventually i would die, and no one would remember what i did. it's sad either way.
as i walk, i pick at the bracelet under my sleeve and wonder whether anyone would even remember if i gave them a bracelet.

profile by fallensamurai
edits, story, and pet art by nervous
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lyrics by nicole dollanganger - white trashing
lyrics by kimya dawson - the beer