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her.she is one hundred percent alone, minus him.her.4 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
meet her.
she has milk white skin, and jagged bones. her eyes are pale and soft, and could make you surrender under her breath (and they will.)
every night she goes to sleep with a man who touches her, and she feels sick. and she wishes he'd just leave the hair in her face.
(because it's easier to hide tears that way.)
she dreams at night.
her milky skin is spilling over unfamiliar fingers. the freckles on her back match the ones in his eyes, and she feels safe. she offers him her heart, and he closes it into a box.
(she wakes up feeling nine
watching you spin.you're a disco dancing, drama queen with dirty hair and the permanent smell of stale cigarettes. but god, are you beautiful, twisting and dancing under circular lights,watching you spin.4 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
and vomiting when you're done.(acid does some crazy shit)
your hair was once blonde and beautiful like your eyes, but now it's laying in clumps almost everywhere, because you fucking pull out a strand whenever i'm around, i don't know why i do that to you.
but i never really ever offer to leave, either.
there's that one song that i always hear you listening to, it's the same old shit about love and loss and never being able to forget that special someone, i use to ge
william.dreams make him vomit.william.4 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
meet william.
he has spider-leg fingers and eyes so cold they could stop your heart.
(and they will.)
every night william goes to sleep knowing that someone else is waking up with his only friend, and he wishes he could brush the honey-stained hair from her cheek.
(not the man, who can't even spell love without cheating.)
william dreams at night.
his spider fingers are creeping up the jagged edge of her spine. her skin is the color of milk, and lightly freckled. william keeps her safe, and has made a
still.one.still.4 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
-
her name is alice. there is a slight blood stain on the valley where her lips part, and her eyes are two supermassive black stars that can't show anything but hurt. she can't bring herself to look in the broken mirror puddles that are all over the ground.
(and i don't blame her)
two.
-
she borrows her mother's raincoat because it smells like home. not the homes that are flooded with laundry soap or soft candles burning in the family room, but more like the paint she spilled on the carpet, or the whiskey on her father's breath.
ashes.the sky is all ashes today, painted black with the burnt ruins with what-used-to-be.ashes.4 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
words are all i have left, so i guess i should say them, even if you'll never hear them:
i would've painted the world pink for you, just to make you smile [even though we both know i'd rather it be blue]. i would've jumped off a bridge with you, felt the wind screaming into my skin and fear rushing through my being, just to hold your hand. i would've ripped down all my glass walls if it meant you'd let me in.
we could've drawn a map of the world and then, maybe, we wouldn't feel so lost. but we'd probably screw it up anyway since we're both bad at directio
superstitious sofas.superstitious sofas.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you come around on saturday with boxes marked this way up.
i wonder if you'll sneak my happiness in there, with the dining plates.
something's different about your eyes,
but it'd be demented of me to ask if you got contacts.
so i sit awkwardly on the hard wooden floor
and wonder how you fit the whole tundra into your gaze.
"did you find someone to see Madness with you?" i venture.
i am without a carabiner, i'm bare.
your hands move hastily and the bathroom objects clang louder.
"no!" a small mirror slips like ice from your hand,
and shatters on the floorboards, the fragments like silver snow.
"you'll get seven years bad luck for
nightmares.i. there’s only so much you can say untilnightmares.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
lips crack open and words fall short.
he prays that his rough hands and broken thoughts
can get the point across, but
feeble touches never sounded much like ‘love’.
ii. he talked of how many girls he fucked,
while you told him how many boys you’ve loved, and watched as
the numbers were almost the same.
“sex and love are completely different.” you informed him late one night.
I know. his fingers whispered as they brushed along the curve of your spine, not-quite-lovingly.
iii. the only feeling you become aware of is one of
confusion and murky lightheadedness, th
messages.it's twenty degrees outside, and when he breathes into the air, the smoke spells sex.messages.4 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
but not the loving kind, the kind where taking a shower just isn't enough to get the smell of him off of me.
he's all wrapped up into disney movie, magic shit. when i know that he is just some dirty subliminal message, and i'll get sucked in.(but i'll tell myself it's not my fault, because my sub-conscious should be more aware, and i'll pinch myself to make sure i'm sleeping.)
i know that's not right. (anything to keep me asleep)
wanderlust.00. she was afraid if she held him for too long, she’d lose this feeling – the rise and collapse of weak lungs, butterflies numbing her brain and tricking her vowels into slurs, hearts flooding and spilling over into messy red and white pools of affection.wanderlust.4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
01. she’s all eyelashes, splintered bones and eager dreams, while he’s just newspaper print, rough lips and hopelessness. they met in the turbulent center of a hurricane, swept up in disaster and lost in the redorange flames of another blazing skyline.
02. forever was seven letters too many, three syllables too close to smothering him. words didn’t matter to her a
charlotte.it was halloween and charlotte was dressed as an obnoxious pumpkin, because her mother tries to make her a normal child.charlotte.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(and charlotte will whisper that normal children smash pumpkins, not wear them.)
when charlotte was seven she decided that she would swim far out into old pine lake, and hold her breath until the colors in her eyes turned purple, like the bruises that slid down her thighs and touched apon her fragile feet.
(and it was then that charlotte realized, that no one would be around to save her, and that just wasn't the point.)
charlotte decides to be called "char" because it sounds like something silent
ardor.all I can feel is this pulsing, the infinite beatingardor.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
inside my brain, under my palms, racing through my veins.
the music mixes with your heart sounds and all I care about is that
beat
beat
beat.
it’s like you’re stealing the oxygen from my throat, like we’re
pressed tight enough that there’s not enough air for the two of us,
and I’m lost in the sound of your breathing.
(it’s too cliché to say you take my breath away.)
you burn into me and set my heart on fire, smoldering through layers of
flesh, capillaries and ventricles until you get to the very core, filling it with
fresh ashes and the spark t
annie.annie paints the end of her erasers red, so every time she erases something, it reminds her she is made of mistakes.annie.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and her mother would be proud, really.
annie has long fawn legs and can't remember the last time she actually drank a glass of water. the feeling of being dehydrated reminds her that she can in fact feel, and her father spends too much time away from home.
and her mother re-named herself "alone."
when she was six they found out she was dyslexic. her father told her she just couldn't see things right. annie went home and stared into the lamp light until her pupils dialated and tears ran down her fac
roadsigns.i.roadsigns.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i have searched maps, road signs,
songs, hearts. i have opened my eyes
and my hands to the rain, fairytales
singing in my ears. i have closed my eyes
and let my nightmares and demons
find me, i have
screamed on the insides, heart
barely beating. i have dreamed
of my own destruction, whispered
into the silence, prayed for the answer -
ii.
could i ask you for one last favor?
when you're sad, remember the way
i would hug you. when you're laughing,
remember that my laughter doesn't sound
the same without yours. when you're lonely,
remember that i tried to fill your empty spaces. remember
that i'd fall for you if it saved you
ianeverything starts out blackian4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
but ian sees her in red.
ian is the kind of boy to breathe in pillow cases, and lay in the fetal position waiting for sleep to come, and the outcome doesn't surprise.
(it never comes the way he wants it to).
ian is colorblind in his dreams. he wakes up feeling anxious and restless, because he
monotony.we went to vegas. you drove and i pressed myself against the side of the door and breathed out pictures onto your window. you planned to make it big, and i planned to make it a memory. i fell asleep through the city of lights, and it was then i decided that christmas didn't feel the same, and your hands were always cold, even through your gloves.monotony.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i sat on the hotel bed and thought of how many people sat exactly where i was. you were in the bathroom buttoning up your shirt. i clenched mine so tightly closed my back pressed through the fabric. this was when i decided this is what suffocating was like. you were talking to me but i only remember
The Day I Met God.I met God one evening.The Day I Met God.4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The funny thing is, i wasn't wanting to find him.
ask anything.
God was smoking.
"Why are you smoking?"
"I'm God Kalea, i'm stressed."
We sat atop a big balcony and watched his creations move.
"They're so beautiful", God was breathing hard.
But I know they aren't. they aren't. they aren't.
bipolar hearts.we use to watch Fight Club together, because she said that it made her feel a little less alone, and i could never reply so i held her in my lap.bipolar hearts.4 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
and she told me she was kalea's dizzy mind.
and in real life, you would think nothing of anything really, because she watches the birds fly just like you do. the morning rises on the same side of her window, and she can watch the clock tick away hours, just like you.
and she told me she was kalea's spinal cord.
i watched her pick at her fingernails for too long, and alway
PenumbraHe sprinkled glitter between the sheets of her bed and said;Penumbra4 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
“Now you can sleep among the stars.”
She woke cold, exhaling icy comet trails, and wishing she’d reminded him how empty space was; (wishing she’d remembered to tell him all she wanted was to sleep among his arms.)
. i'm sorry .
She collected atoms and draped them over his shoulders in pearlescent strands until the shadows of his skin sweated starlight. Her eyelashes brushed against the flesh of his wrist as she shut out the sight of his empty eyes, her lips/mouth/heart kissing the white marble wave hiding the pulse in his arm. (a blistered thumb spanned the r
achromatopsiai.achromatopsia4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
'technicolor' isn't a real shade
so stop calling it your favorite
especially since these days
all i see are inbetweens
i've got this brand of blindness
that doesn't let me drown in the blue of your eyes
or taste the honey-coated golden of your skin
all i see is grey.
[and you never were beautiful in black and white.]
ii.
you like to talk in what-ifs and maybes
with oversaturated swirls of indifference
but you don't seem to get that it's those things i'm missing
with my eyes slowly falling into these patterns of grayscaled simplicity
my mind's searching for clearer answers in this scrabble board mystery
so as you stumble o
things worth remembering.we could sing soft lullabies under the stars,things worth remembering.4 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
songs about happiness and dreams
and a perfection that's flawed, a perfection
that's reachable.
a perfection that's you.
.
we'd go to the park, maybe,
just to watch the wind kiss the flowers,
and you'd name all of them.
'just because they're lonely',
you'd say. 'just because
they need love too.'
you need love, too.
.
if your heart was a color,
it'd be bright, beautiful, and
crayola would be jealous.
.
you deserve dreams and hope,
a happy ending and a fairytale
worth believing in. you deserve
happy days, smiles. you deserve
a penguin named stuart and chocolate,
a comet and an
some sort of apocalypsethree things i want nothing moresome sort of apocalypse4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
than to never happen:
another bout of nuclear war,
the moon falling from orbit, and
this.
a colour is on the inside of
my eyelids that draws itself
pretty when my movements slow
and silence, when my heart is
gilded with lead leafs, regretful
and hooked on a curled telephone
cord or a radio transmitter between
two trees.
there's something catastrophic,
there's something played out
like a shakespearean tragedy,
there's something like the moon
crashing and crushing, there's
something like a broken bone
that is a personal apocalypse.
if i could sit beneath a tree and
decay until i was dirt, i
jaded sun, faded moon.jaded sun, faded moon.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
well i blame you and your dutch courage, cursed fruit falling too far from the tree
slurred "i can show you eden, and i promise you you'll regret it in the morning."
i'm good at the following things: listening, playing pool to save my life,
whispering all the right things in your ear, finding the front door the morning-after.
tonight you're in the doldrums and looking for someone who can make your ears ring
like the radio that alarms on every six o'clock - the song you throw your fist at;
the flavour of the month is you and every cigarette smoke that surrounds you like art.
there was a boy, not long ago, who showed you what it's like
the ways we destroy ourselves.one.the ways we destroy ourselves.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we were silences stretched out,
lingering in the pitter-patter of muffled
heartbeats. we were broken glass
digging into too-fragile lungs, we were
the shaking of the nervous earth beneath
our feet. we were bitter unforgiveness and
the screams of the world around us, we were
empty spaces, we were
everything but beautiful.
two.
happiness is on vacation.
three.
life is a sidewalk, he told me. life is a sidewalk,
and regret and pain and tears are the cracks,
and sometimes, he tells me,
sometimes, you can't fill them.
four.
there's a shatter in the next room, a broken
breath, a shaking in the bones.
we're all broken,
darl
letters from no one.dear someone,letters from no one.4 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
i know you probably don't care.
i know you're probably busy watching tv or dealing with your own problems, or maybe you're busy laughing and chasing butterflies. maybe you spend afternoons in the grass, smelling the sun and tasting life.
maybe you don't have time to worry about me.
but i'm going to pretend you care. i just want someone to hear me, honestly.
i don't expect you to understand or care or even listen.
i'm just hoping that you will.
dear someone,
i guess i should start by telling you that i wish i didn't have to live anymore. free time is spent wondering if there's any way i could possibly suffocate myself.
i
Sta.sh
