Not commenting on blogger anymore. Bye bye. :)

Duzz know.

The ashes of her cigarette piled up as she stared out the window from her living room. What a bleak name to call such a room, she thought to herself as she waited for the steam to rise from her morning coffee. If this room promised such lively things why must we just sit and wait for such occurrences instead of adventuring out side the four bland walls and into the unknown? She tapped the building ash from her cigarette, inhailed deeply and then squashed the rest into an empty mug, causing it to fall and become forgotten. She exhaled and watched the smoke linger and full the wide emptiness that seemed to shape her existence. She wondered when the pages of her life lost its ink, when did they become just lines of unwritten words? Where did all her memories go? Were they trapped in a photograph or were they simply hiding outside. She stared out the window once more, watching school children laugh and fall in love, teenagers making new experiences behind the houses that were filled of family's and growth and she sighed, knowing her time was up. She wiped the tears from her eyes as she started to wheel herself away. But as she did, her wheel hit the mug that had dropped to the floor and it caused her flimsy wheelchair to tumble to the ground. She lay on the floor helplessly and called out for someone to help, but the only someones she had, she had pushed away the moment her legs gave up so long ago. So she laid there, unable to get up, knowing that in this damn living room, would be where she made her final breaths.

http://ifoundthedarkinyou.tumblr.com/
add my tumblr bitches. : )

Might try to write....

She was always such a nice girl, raised by the birds and bees, she was never unaware of the concept of love. Although she had never taken a step in it, never dipped her toes into the vibrant water that could give such bipolar like reactions, she was always aware by the people that surrounded her. She met a boy, a disease, that would soon turn this healthy girl into a love sickened fool. His smile was her smile and every night she went to bed with it on her lips. He was something else, but although her heart was one big kaleidoscope of joy, it couldn't help but turn and the crystals inside couldn't help but fall short. She hadn't realized but somewhere in between the laughs and experiences she had let him in. He was inside her and each day he grew. That petite little girl had stretched into the shape of him, and it all became uncomfortable and painful, stretching out her bones and crushing her spirit. Then, it finally became too much, he had grown too big and his hands clawed out through her chest. His nails ripping and shedding her skin, her blood seeping through and staining his nails. But it didn't stop there, he kept clawing until he was set free, dusted himself off and walked away unharmed. The tattered girl laid there lifeless, her eyes wide opened as she saw him fall away from her. Her skin wavered in the wind but soon found it's way back to her, and soon a new heart would grow and be ready to be ripped apart once more. But after the clawing and healing, she'd never be the same girl she was at the beginning. She'd never be so innocent.

How long has it been now, almost three years?

I knew a girl once. When she was dead she haunted me from the depths of my ceiling. Her skeleton fingers would pick and knit their way through the plaster and she'd just lay there watching me, so emotionless. The nights I'd cry, I'd always look above to that ceiling and spit insults at her. She seemed to have the ability to cross paths, and sometimes she took me with her. One night I took a walk in her land. It was smoky and mystical and every step felt like a new memory. I sat down under the pergola and watched her memories unfold. I was amazed to be in so many of them. There were the personals, like the time she first got her period and I had to try comfort her about something I knew nothing about. Or there were the more accurate ones, of all the times she pushed me down. Even living, her fingers were skeleton like and cold, and she could change her tune so fast. At only eight years old she already knew all there was to know about misery, but I never knew. The ghost of her held my hand and smiled, even this thin she was still breathtakingly beautiful and she showed me all the pain I never knew about. There was so much behind her, and at so young I never took the time to look anywhere but her front. She nodded at my thoughts and lead me deeper, to new memories, the ones she watched over. Her Mother, sitting at her funeral, with her sunglasses on and her pokerface on display. If we were to play poker she'd have won every game. Her Nana consoling me at her funeral, she was so strong and let me cry into her shoulder, she committed suicide two weeks after this. She showed me her world, and let me know that just because I left her at age 14, her suicide wasn't my doing. After she let me in, she left me for good. No longer would she taunt me, hiding in the ceiling laughing at every time I cried, telling me I was weak to have such feelings. No she left me, but I still see her, when ever I look fast at a person, or see a car like her Mums, I see her, and it kills me every time, because she's no longer there to hold my hand and let me know it's okay. The only thing that I really got from her suicide, is this new found anxiety that everyone I get close to is going to die, and leave me without a hand to hold.

She laid there, dull and disorientated as she watched the pages of her notebook fly without effort against the cool wind. They would pick up speed and then with a sudden stop float in mid air to different destinations. It was like a wild delusion as every page of her life seemed to have stolen a different colour from the rainbow. These normal cliche white pages were now vibrant highlighters that stored in each colour the emotions of a teenage girl. These pages were her past, every secret that used to mean so much to her, now floated aimlessly in the wind. Her diary held nothing but pathetic analogies of things she couldn't bare to repeat, so she let gravity loosen its hold and take her old life with it. Perhaps a young girl would find it and see she's not alone, or maybe an old enemy will find it and hold it captive, torture it for answers that laid knitted between the faded blue lines. The only thing this newly evolved creature cared about was her future that needed no pages to remind her of what was in store. So she laid there, her thick sunglasses covered up the pages that searched for a new owner, and she smiled knowing her past was the past, but the future was anyones for the taking.

I guess I just worry about you

He drowned himself. He laid there in a shallow paddling pool forcing himself under. When the water levels dropped, he'd just add alcohol to the mix, getting drunk off false pretences and false endorphins. This was his laughter. Who could ever laugh dehydrated? Who could speak? Who could ever be miserable with vodka on your side? It stole his wisdom away and keeped forcing him to stumble deeper into its trap. He'd say his I love yous clenching a bottle with no one there to say it to. He didn't realize that liquid could have strength, it was the biggest weight on the barbell and it made him sink to the floor. It would lie to him and reveal his deepest secrets and biggest fears. It was like a sheet of temporary joy, but it was never tucked in or stable, it was loose and thin and never stayed to the morning. Instead a sober depression would take its place. He would lie in that shallow pool for hours, drinking in the alcohol he had sweat out. He wasn't okay, and no one seemed to notice.

Hmm.

His skin was like pastel, each skin flake fell so easily off him. His blood was thorns and angry faces, clogging up his veins. His eyes were dark moons, that followed the sun wherever she would go, but sometimes he had to stop, be dark, quiet and transcending. Transparent and cruel. His temper was shot by green hazes of smoke, and his smile was as fake as the teeth that sat there. We weren't allowed to use his tea, his razors, his fear. The days that were most hardest were the days he couldn't eat, he'd just sit there, watching his beer gut shrink and feeling his liver cringe. She was innocent, she never knew the full story, but there laid his medical bill, filled up with sickness and when they first occurred. Her phone buzzed with happy faces and "I like yous" and all she could think of was how long she was clueless. If she could just inject her own blood into his, and that would be the cure he needed, she would.

I feel lame knowing who could read this.

Vines and silhouettes were her usual tendencies. They ran up her legs and twined together til she would fall. It was all force, a decision she felt she had to make, or else the thorns would rip into her flesh and eat at her insides like zombies in a feeding. She kind of just waited, checking her silhouette to see when it would leap out of the symmetry and push her, but her silhouette was beneath her. She had already fallen at her own will and the vines were nothing but petals. Her silhouette mimicked her every move, but this time it was not mocking her, it was leading her to the silhouetted man. He stood with a mask, and her heart raced to who he was, but pulling the thread did not lead her to a rip in her skin, or a reflection of her own. Instead shined a smile that stored and lingered deeply into her soul. His arm clasped her waist like a humans arm should, not winding, snapping or craving into her like the vines previous and when she didn't know what to do, his hand would appear to comfort her own, and that same goofy smile would appear right with it. It was a different feeling; to feel. It was different to want to grab this persons pain and store it in her heart knowing very well that this organ was now strong enough to not be killed by it. So they walked off, hand in hand, comfort to comfort and the vines did not follow. She looked back towards her silhouette, and simply saw her own holding hands with his, and she didn't mind.

I have weird thoughts.

>His fingertips guided gently across her face, smooth but with a bite. His touch was obvious and detected. His eyes were like puppies sulking and pleading, although unlike puppies, when sad his tail never went down. There always was a please after his thank yous and his thank yous were minor. From the outside he was nothing but a smile and a personalty. On the inside he was nothing but a raging noose of hormones, that wrapped themselves tightly around anything they could find. He'd take a girl by her hand, and make her feel alright, then rip her soul from her body and eat her flesh. He'd steal her dignity and force her to run naked, while he'd dress in her clothes and stand by the blind and give off her scent of innocence. Sometimes he was different though, there captured in his heart was a hint of guilt, that ran through his blood once every year. These days, sometimes were the worse, where the girl could run home with her skin intact but it would leave the girl hurt. Why did he suddenly not want to mistreat her? She'd heard the stories and suddenly her virtue was not desirable? The man would not touch her, because the guilt had sunken in and he could not ruin her by mixing his musky, off putting scent with hers that smelt of honey and hope. He'd spare her, and to make up for his good deed he'd rip his teeth into another honey tasting flower, that bleed and bruised. There were lucky ones and there were unfortunate ones, but both felt the same in the end. He was a monster, his teeth snarled. He was a monster. He was a destroyer. He was a man.

Not all there and not convinced.

There used to be this place in my head. It was on the right side of my brain and the colour of it changed each time I had an episode. Sometimes it was pastel colours, these happened whenever I was happy, the lighting mode would cause my eyes to shine. Sometimes it would even make my iris's go green. These were the good days that could last from a day to three months. They were always blissful and left me ignorant. Reality's seed burrowed deep in my unsuspecting mind and the roots dug deep in to that special place inside my head; sometimes it wasn't a very pleasant feeling. Sometimes the mood ring changed its colours. It would be like a kaleidoscope, every colour mixing and turning into one rainbow thats shine smiled at you in all angles, but as always the colours mixed too much and turned into shades. These shades ripped and turned my blood into thorns that scraped against every muscle. The place rained anti depressants but my body always fought them off, as something that could cure the pain was always foreign to my immune system. Yes there was always a place in my brain that never fit right, some days it flooded with rain and sometimes it would over heat the town. It was like a young bipolar resting inside this big city in the east. Emotions became extreme and I developed a disorder. The kaleidoscope continued to turn, but on the days my immune system weakened, the pills got through and the kaleidoscope would break.

I'll just write for myself then :D

Her eyes were black. It wasn't something she was born with and it had only happened recently. She couldn't deny it any longer, since the summer, her eyes had turned from a muggy green to an angry coal smudge. Her eyelashes had become darker and taken form of thick spider legs that spaced them self around her empty eyelids. It scared her at first, trying to see the deformity of her pupils, try to find the one that seemed to be smaller than the other, to show any sign of light to it, but she found none. Her eyes were only pupils and she couldn't help but see everything in front of her. People thought it was a good sense, to able to see so clearly around her when people with closed eyes, went without. Never to be able to see the way the sun looked at the sea, how they both guided and drifted together, and yet were so far away, they still always managed to touch. But people were blinded by their small pupils they could not see the bigger picture, that to see everything was a burden. To see the cruelty in the world that sat upon a doorstep, begging for food and a chance at life. To see blood and death slaughtered in front of a child. To see the way a boy would look at a girl, and see that same sun and sea movement and watch the girl stare upon another. No seeing was never a good thing. Her eyes had turned black too soon and she couldn't help but watch everyone move and pass her without force. Her eyes had turned black, she could not deny it, and ever since they turned the colour of death, she couldn't help but see it everywhere.

[NEW] Too many thoughts. ©

She laid with her eyes wide open. Her heart was muffled and stored in the cups of her bra. It didn't seem to beat, but was stuffed and pushed up to be on display behind a thin singlet that hugged her bones and fears. She seemed to lay alone alot, sometimes sitting up, cradling her thin legs that begged for a feeding and attention. She'd just sit, her head resting upon her knees and stare into nothing and see a better world instead. Sometimes there would be a bouncer at the door of this new realm who would simply just rock his head left to right and behind his sunglasses he'd tell her she didn't belong. She always wondered, while starring at his giant build and dark features, did he ever belong, and if he did, why was he kept on the outside? Was there ever an inside? Or was it just another waiting room to a more exclusive club, and did anyone ever belong inside? She sighed and rolled over, crushing her heart along the way. She could hear the many voices of people that loved her, that all were never granted access to her exclusive little world, a world she herself never belonged in. She crushed her head into her pillow, and felt it full with tears. There was a family out there that needed her antidote to cure him, but she didn't know how to touch someone that could break so easily. So she hid. She always hid, and as his face turned pale and his blood filled with poison, she hid in the background, starring into space at the club once more. There was an opening, and she knew he had an invite.

She walked down the painted black streets. The ground was made of bricks and the walls screamed out at her. Her eyes were coated in coal and her smile was vicious. She walked in time of her heart, slow, patient and deadly. There lined men, either side of her and wearing suits. Their hearts were on the outside, made of pale pink paper and sewn on. She stepped up to the first one, he stared out beyond her, his arms behind his back, his posture perfect. He was wearing a mask but she had seen him before. His blonde hair and height gave him away. She stepped closer, her eyes shining and glaring deep beyond the masquerade. Her hand rested upon his heart, her fingers curled around the paper heart which caused it to break, she smiled. Starring out to the rest of the followers, each the same posture, each with a heart she needed to break. She ran down, slashing their hearts, her head went back as her mouth opened and laughter sprung from her own concealed organ. She looked up and saw one out of line, at the very end he stood smiling, even behind his mask she could see his eyes crumple. His brown hair flew out against the sudden breeze and his fringe made his eyes look more deadly. Her eyes turned evil once more and she stepped up towards him. She went to rip his heart, but it was already gone. He smiled directly at her and she looked down and saw her own paper heart ripped and in his hands. Shocked, she ripped off his mask to see who the one who caused this destruction really was. She ripped it off, and her own face stood before her. Weakened she turns, and the men with no souls and only stitches to their hearts gathered around her. Her hands reached towards her face, and a mask was sealed upon it.

misses comments :D This is disgusting :D

They sat with masks covering their identities. First impressions were all a hoax as they embarked their disguise. Innuendo smiles, coated the rooms with lust. The appeal came in transparent glitter which fell from the walls and stuck to young girls eyelashes and heartbeats. Their skirts were hiked and their drinks became mixed. Boys eyebrows raised as their pants became tighter. Puberty was exciting as the girls developed into women, they bleed emotions across the dance floor. Some slipped on the glitter that now covered the floor and their masks untied, their faces were of childrens, stolen photographs from wallets of proud parents. They were babies coated in adult scents and pills. Lust soon filled the room and even the most frigid were taken under. There was no escaping it

Can't get the girls words out of my mind so I wrote how she looked like.

Her skin stretched against her skin, but it wouldn't fit the whole way. Her skin was so tight that it forced her bones to poke through, and the close fit of how close it was to her was her comfort. So instead of asking for a bigger size, she tried to make it fit, by refusing the fundamentals of calories. Her mouth puckered out, as her cheekbones refused to stay in line. Each time she moved her fingers, they ripped through her skin. In her head this was beautiful, in her head this wasn't enough. She still needed to be small enough to fit through the door to wonderland. If she sampled the cookies she'd grow too big to fit through, so all she'd do was drink the liquid until she was small enough to escape.

Her mouth opened up and all that was inside was cobwebs. Her tongue was blackened and nothing moved, there was no inhale or exhale, her insides were empty. Her eyelashes stuck to her cheeks, they could not open. She wasn't even sure what she'd find if they were to open, would they even be there, or was the liquid that kept them stuck down simply the liquid of her eyeballs? She was so skinny now, her ribcage crawled above her skin, her flesh running in fear from the sharp edges of her bones. She wasn't human now, she was stuck inside her own homemade coffin, it was pink, or at least it was, before the insects and dirt got to it. She remembered back to the days of squashing bugs, she used to feel bad for it but now she wished she had killed more. It would be one less thing eating her. Her skeleton scratched at the cage, knowing now that whatever it was that pushed her over the edge two years previous, was something she could of moved past. She wanted her flesh back, she wanted her oxygen back, she wanted her life back. Instead she laid still in a coffin, over hearing the tears and sorrows of people who spoke to her above ground, knowing she couldn't reply, she couldn't scream, she just laid there, and listened.

At first the vines crawled up her legs, scratching and reopening scabs and wounds of the past. They netted themselves against her thighs like stockings. In the dark they looked like spiders legs and eyelashes, lightly crawling and licking at her skin. They twisted and turned, reaching her hips they pulled in from either side to strangle her waist. Her hipbones poking out and her stomach fat moving in from either side, just enough to deform her navel. They got to her breasts and scribbled over them again and again until it was suffocated against her ribcage, the thorns teared in and hurt. They swam against her fingers, the gaps were perfectly filled but her nails were torn from them. Her neck was whipped by them, bruises appearing like the bruises of fruit, making them squishy and leak pain each time you touch them. The vines finally got to her mouth, they forced themselves inside, ripping apart her tongue and gums, they choked her. They kept coming until her body laid still by the immense pressure of this plant, her hands tied and her head choked against the flooring. Her eyelashes fluttered and they started to disappear slowly, the pain of this slowly being dragged away. Until she was nothing but naked, bruised and alone. She still felt it, but it wasn't as bad. This was doable, she could now breathe.

High

She looked up and felt the colours flow freely into her eyes, absorbing all it's light. Dilated and confused she blinked and could feel her eyeballs against the flesh now covering it up, her eyelashes tickled. She coughed up smoke and watched as it danced and swayed in the cold autumn breeze, twisting and turning like transparent shadows and silhouettes. She started to laugh and felt her bones lightly ease up on their grasp on keeping her stable, her limbs felt like jelly and every time she touched it, it wobbled with delight. She looked to the mirror and saw her smile take up three quarters of her face, so high it forced her eyes to ease to a close. She felt the air whisper and lick at her ears and she sat there with nothing but toxin in her head. His name was just a story, a story she found boring and never had the time to read it all. His smile was dull compared to hers right now, and she knew as she danced with mystical creatures, it would bother him. The sky begun to close over and the clouds stopped flashing, the world was now at her feet, the storys suspense started to build up again and her smile had faded. Sometimes we can feel good, but only for a short amount of time. Life always catches up.

Dream. Crap writing skills.

His body heat was burning at her skin and she felt as his hands wrapped around her waist and kind of sunk into the dip of her spine. His smile was new, his hair was curly and dark and his posture was something else. His shirt was a dark blue and matched exactly how she secretly felt. She started to kiss him, and as she did she'd break every so often to watch his mouth smile back, but it wasn't his smile. She looked up and noticed he had changed completely, but instead of breaking apart she moved in for more. She couldn't stop smiling, because he changed into the person she wanted, and she kept going until she looked up once more and saw he was back to the first guy, brown hair and all, and he wasn't the person she wanted. Her eyes lifted open, eyelashes scratched against her rough dry skin, her mouth sagged down into a frown and she hated herself for dreaming of him. He wasn't coming back, she'd have to settle for the man in blue.

It disturbs me to read back on this one

Maybe I'll get as sick as last time. I'll go to stand up and be in another world, where Disney characters giggle and hold your hands and you're there just waiting to put your arm around me. Maybe the sky will be a beautiful rainbow that dances each time you smile. Even pain will feel orgasmic, each time that happy knife cuts down on your skin, skittles run out from your arms. Until you're so low on sugar you fall to the floor. We'll wake up, with a bruise upon our heads and realize there is no we, just only me. They'll take my temperature and my weight and tell me I'm dangerously below my BMI and I'll explain it's because the skittles wanted to be free. I'll walk out of that mental institution, with my Mothers eyes upon my loosely fitted jeans and she'll care, and maybe you'll care too. Maybe it'll be like last time, maybe it'll be just a fever and a girl too depressed to eat.

:(

Her eyes stung, all the moisture had been bleed dry and her eyelids ached and arched to try get some sort of liquid inside. She just stared at the wall, her vision didn't have enough life to it to make it blurry. She laid in her empty room and had a craving to rip down everything in there, so it would suit her feelings. Her knees banged up against her chest and she waited to hear her heart beat, but there was no movement, no sound to it. She wrapped her arms around them and felt the torn skin and bruises she didn't mind a few hours earlier. They were dark and deep, and painful to touch and maybe when they fade everything will be okay again. She nuzzled her head into her pillow and pretended it was all just a dream, that he hadn't just said what she thought she heard. She waited in the emptiness, feeling the space stretch out and knowing that even miles away it still wasn't enough space for him.

I love writing about silhouettes

Her silhouette swam out in front of her, danced and detached itself from her, it circled like leaves do over dead souls, swimming up and down, arms lacing out as her hands flicked against the wind. The girl without her shadowed figured quivered feeling almost boneless. She called out to it but without it she was nothing but a untuned guitar and a guitar without its body. Just a neck with strings. Her silhouette flew back into the girl and boys eyes bulged as her body took place. She was just a silhouette to them, a silhouette that sometimes left them boneless.

About a friend

She turned, awaiting her luxurious dress to twirl out in front of her, for her hair to turn gracefully and light around her bony shoulders but all she got was a slow fragile movement, her runned down nightie barely moved. She had made her way to the mirror, waiting to see something beautiful in front of her but all she saw was dead butterflies, their wings torn and curled into themselves as if even at death they had to protect themselves. Her eyes had drooped, her lips bruised and her eyebrows needed to be attended to. Her hair was like rags, the material so worn out the thread was at different lengths and moving in opposite directions. She expected to see the eyes of a 17 year old but instead saw the eyes of the dead. Starring at her eyes once more she saw them cry. A motion that apparently happened so often she had become numb to it. Her swollen lip begun to wobble and her body folded into itself, her wings draping over to try protect her; the dead. She peaked her eyes up just for a moment to notice the steps of a man in the distance, her man, her death sentence. She bowled her fragile head down once more, her hair breaking off onto her legs and she felt her body turn into dead butterflies as he approached her.

Pretty much me writing

Black vinyl ivory crawls up her hands and slivers along her fingers, twisting and suffocating them. The thorns prick and tear at her skin and her blood creeps down to her notebook. She knows the evil that's stuck there, but only hidden by a golden clasp, the keys waiting patiently on her desk. Her pen sits near and flashes black and although she hasn't touched this secret world in so long, the ink steams. So many mistold truths are stored in this one book, a place that not only herself but the vines around it wont let her open up. It's like a place inside her head, that keeps trying to force these memories out of her ears but they never leave and she can never tear them from the notebook or from herself.

About a friend.

She sits there and watches her friend crumble up like a fast forward life span of a newly formed rose, slowly decaying and falling and snapping into itself. Her edges are brittle and all she wants to do is fix it but frets that any movements could break them. So she sits there, knowing she holds the moisture that could cure them, and knowing that it now would be too late. Watching, she just waits there, feeling useless as nature takes its course, taking note when the dried up flower falls upon their sun, and knowing all the while that the sun is at fault to why they fall so weak.

Everything felt too perfect

She fell to the floor and felt the soft squashy bubbles of endless flooring. The walls felt like candy floss and smelt of lemons and something bitter. Everything was a light calming yellow, including her clothing and the amount of clashing made her itch. Everything looked and felt perfect, but too perfect. Suddenly the lack of colours and conversing company started to get to her. She found herself banging her body against the walls, craving to feel pain, to feel anything other than the stuffed comfy wallpaper, but every hit just felt like a jumping match on a bouncy castle. She ripped at her clothing, at her skin but still nothing bleed. She stood naked, bared and waited for the laughs, waited for the feel of anything evil, but nothing came because she was alone and the only person who held the key to get her out was miles away. So she just sat there, tugging the shredded bits of her clothing over her as a blanket and huddled up, rocking; she waited for something different, something harder, something more realistic.

Think about you this time last year, and think of you right now. Is the person of last year the same as this years? Or is her opinions, morals and needs completely changed?

Pain makes you grow

He grabs her by the throat and pushes her to the wall, she screams but he interrupts by forcing his mouth to hers. His hands are like wild fire and spread through out her body as she cries from the burn. Misled by her cries he moves himself closer and then forces her on to the bed. Her eyes roll when she realizes her strength is at its limit and soon she tires and waits for it all to be over. Starring at the ceiling she counts the dents and cracks that creep across it, keeping her focus, she knows she's one of them herself. Something that is broken, and yet still fragile to break further, something that will always need to be improved and something, that could ruin a perfectly good thing. He grunts and gets up, starring at the worthless object starring in shock. He closes his eyes and forms words in a calm voice, "I did this for you, one day you'll thank me." He leaves and she just lays there, contemplating his motives and wondering if by any chance she had provoked it. She stares up at the ceiling once more, and notices dents she forgot to count, and thought to herself once more, that even if something is ruined, it'll take some time to see it.

I hate when something keeps dragging you down, forcing your head under and all you can do is try to breathe, thinking it's going to help you, but it's only going to choke you and full you up with a new sort of substitute for oxygen that really just works as an anchor, weighing you further down.

I can't deal with this weight on my shoulders, and talking about it doesn't help at all.

True story :L

He walked forward and each step felt slower than the last until they seemed to drag out and steal away hours, or maybe it was just slow in comparison to her own beating heart that beat so fast she was waiting for it to tire itself out and stop. Using this slow pace as time to think of her next step, but she couldn't think at all because her heart was beating in her ears, loud and fast it felt like her own personal rave happening in her head. Suddenly as if by magic he was right in front of her, his arm wrapped around the back of her, hand resting on the curve of her spine. She cringed and dared to look at him, he was smiling and she realized she had never seen him this pleased in his whole life. Writing down the mental note of his smile she sighed and leaned forward. Because sometimes we do things to ensure that the only one who gets hurt is ourselves and we're the only one who gets hurt, right?

:/

As soon her feet touched the ground she disengaged her mask and rearranged her face. Her silhouette twisted, turned and floated into her room. She knew that her body cast still stood at the door waiting until tomorrow for her to reappear. Her soul was soaring around her room. Her thoughts spilled out and soaked themselves into every crest of her room. Desperate seeking. She was lifted to her bed and fell asleep instantly only to wake to her body watching her from her window. It stared motionlessly and waiting. She sighed and collected the drips of her mind from the floor and twisted them until they leaked into her body, inside herself once more, but like this, she never felt so out of it.

Wrote awhile ago ©

Do you think it's possible to spend your whole life holding onto a rope, only to have someone tell you that the rope is nothing, and you've just wasted your years grasping air. No matter how real it felt, no matter the burn it gave you, it was never there to begin with. Do you think you'd be able to let go, once you've learnt the truth? Or would you simply stay there, clutching nothing, in hope that maybe one day, if you hold tight enough, it'll become what you've always thought it was.

"I wanted to explode, to pull my ribs apart and let the sun inside."

This ones fun to look back on

You stand there thinking that the world is surrounding you and as you stand you feel strength flow through every cress and skin flake you have. Stretching out your fingertips to grasp each delicate piece of dust that dares to fall upon you. The brave ones each applauds as you flash them your smile as if to say "do not be afraid." You breathe in and let them dance down your esophagus, sprinkling magical pixie dust as it goes. You open your eyes slowly, feeling each eyelash laugh and tickle your cheek, but the sight is frightful. Suddenly the dust has become too much, it chokes you and all you can feel is the pixies wands stabbing your insides. You realize the world doesn't surround you, but has left without you, and as you stand strength and ability leaks from you and slips into the drains and cracks of the cold hard pavement. You're all alone and the girl you wanted has taken your strength, but instead of using it she lets the ground soak it as she watches you dismember yourself and show your weakness and breakage. She stands there thinking that the world is surrounding her, and so she breaks it.

Old. Almost 2 years since she died..

Needles standing up on edge suddenly stomped on every time you speak her name. Her face now resembles death and agonizing pain. Her smile no longer fills your heart with joy. Her birthday is something we all dread to bare; wont be celebrating it this year. Fear drizzles down your neck when ever they mention the place of lost souls. Each and every one of them constantly being stepped on. Insects have their feasts upon the things that were once your only meaning. No more photographs, only teared memories, too painful to seek. Her smile is held deep within you, although you could never shine it to the world. For this smile has be contaminated with a drenching smell. The smell of death. We shall not speak her name, for nobody can understand the gut wrenching pain you feel every time that one syllable drops from their lips, so lightly and carelessly it kills. There is no bigger misfortune than losing a loved one, no bigger than the haunted memory that glides next to you always. You can't imagine the images that seal themselves inside of me. Maggots feasting into my mind. I'll never get over this

Wrote it awhile ago

Her tongue rolled around in her mouth, sliding against her need to be brushed teeth, tasting the plaque and bitter sweet drinks from a few hours earlier. Secrets and plans are stained to her teeth. No matter how much she thrusts her brush against them, they can not be washed, swallowed or spat away. The taste is vile and regretful, but still her mouth stays closed. No matter the force; her lips are sealed.

Does anyone remember the time when we couldn't buy our emotions and sell them off in packets and papers. When to be happy just took a snuggle from our favourite stuffed animal. We've become reliant on the mysteries kept safe in a bottle, so curious on the magic one taste will do. But even we should know that the liquid will evaporate and all we'll have left is a hangover and a suitcase fill of fuzzy memories.

We all start out as limited edition. Kept in our sealed departments, never thinking of a life outside of the box. We grow, we start to develop an understanding. We begin to comprehend how valuable we are, we start to understand temptation. We want someone to break the seal and expose us. There's a different world that's been bragged about. You want to break free with anyone but then that's it. You're not special, you're no longer a desire. No matter how hard you try to undo it, the damage is done, you can never reseal that box. You're no longer priceless, you're just a doll.