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)
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.
(and sometimes, she swears she can smell her mother's sadness.)
when alice was little she remembers playing freeze tag with her mother. she remembers feeling anxious, and now she feels sick. "if daddy touches you, stay still, and don't make a sound."
her.she is one hundred percent alone, minus him.her.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
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 ninety nine percent alone.)
she's in a nightmare
lightening bolt eyes.he has lightening bolt eyes and one fucking killer smile.lightening bolt eyes.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
let me introduce you to whom i call "fire-fly."
he has ice white skin and something about the way his hair falls that makes me wish mine would conform to such a beauty.
looking at you for so long makes me feel. Really feel.
he calls them fire-flies but i say lightening bugs.
fire burns hot against his skin, and i can feel the heat in his heart
but lightening bolt eyes can destroy you.
but god, it's so beautiful first, but only at first.
he calls me his "freckled girl" and i call him my heart
and he says that i shine underneath the sun
like it was made for me, and only me
but he has telescope eyes, and those can see to the stars.
he has razor blade hip bones and they stab into me while i dream
lightening bolt eyes and freckles like stars
and in my bed at midnight is the perfect galaxy
and for a second we make one constellation
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 face.
and everytime she spelled "love" it came out as "unknown."
annie has an uneven heartbeat, and when she holds her breath everything turns black, and silent,
william.dreams make him vomit.william.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
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 tiny door, where he keeps her in his heart.
(he wakes up next to an empty pillow, with an empty feeling)
william writes a book in his nightmares.
she is in every chapter. her legs stretch across every page, and taunt him with sex, and things that spiders are not allowed to touch. she holds
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, and distant. when you say a word so many times in a row it just doesn't sound the same anymore.
(because charlotte wasn't the same,anymore.
charlotte's first b
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.5 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 get mad at you for giving in to such conforming types of art.
but now i just let you go, because last time i actually made you cry.
"would you rather fly, or read minds?" i told you i'd rather read minds, and know what everyone thinks, because you can fly on a plane anyday, but no one ever thinks the same.
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 can't remember if her eyes are really green, or blue, or where the coffee stain is on her favorite yellow jacket.
(the left sleeve, he could never forget.)
ian is neutral. black hair, black eyes, pale skin. he doesn'
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 always decided i would leave as soon as they started bleeding. her arms are full of scars where she thought she felt something crawling up her skin, only to find she was still alone. i told her i was here, but she turned over(and i can still hear her uneven breathing)
and she told me she was <i>
messages.it's twenty degrees outside, and when he breathes into the air, the smoke spells sex.messages.5 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)
if and when he holds my hand he squeezes 3 times, and that means "i love you." and i am aware that i should squeeze back 3 times because that is just courteous to do. but for some reason i squeeze once, and that just means, "okay."
(there is this part of me that wishes my subconscious could catch
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 crying of a girl in the next room, here is where i considered the fact, that i just can't cry anymore.
i told you i feel my flesh tighten when i wear dresses, but you insisted. you hit the elevator button and as the door closes, my stomach sinks. i study the man next to me and wonder if he slept through the drive here. it's then that i decide t
roadsigns.i.roadsigns.5 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 -
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 from the
scratches, remember the color of my eyes,
remember the sound of my breathing. remember
the good and the bad, remember the secrets
and the inside jokes and the songs we listened to.
remember all the things we understood
without ever saying, remember
that i love you.
i have forgotten how to fall asleep
without the pitter-patter o
mertha.i like to seperate my thoughts into names, to keep them in order.mertha.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my lonliness is named mertha, and she'd like to meet you.
mertha sits by me on my bed and we draw pictures of tulips and snails and wonder when that math test was. she takes my hand and grips it slowly, while singing that song my mother use to sing when i was 4.
(and i wonder exactly how she knew the words.)
mertha walks with me in the rain and understands that i don't like to be asked questions in the morning. sometimes when i'm sitting in the bathtub with no running water she won't leave me alone, and mertha knows that she is unwelcome.
(but she stays because she knows i'll come back to her)
she hangs over my head when i'm getting dressed in the morning. mertha pulls on my flabby skin and reminds me t
hematophilia"did you crawl in through the hole in the fence again?"hematophilia5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"then why are your knees muddy? and your elbows scraped?"
"because i saw a dog get run over on the highway by an eighteen-wheeler last night."
"yeah. i saw its guts unravel like streamers, like those snakes-in-a-can."
"yeah. there was so much blood; i rolled around in it, and it smelled like dirt and pennies."
"yeah. it's stuck under my fingernails, too. i can't fucking get rid of it."
"is that from rolling in it?"
"no; i scooped some up and put it in an empty vodka bottle so i could paint with it later."
"why'd you have an alcohol container in your car?"
"i forgot to throw it when i was at the redemption centre."
"that's for your anger management, right?"
"you'd paint with a dying dog's blood?"
"dead, not dying. and it was this really great shade of red that you just can't make with acrylics."
"how about watercolours?"
"i fucking hate watercolours."
"oils take foreve
maybe, i'm a metaphor.its like im six years old again wrapping my fingers around someone elses hand. its as if im lost and i dont even care to be found. and its too bright out and the sun is sparking uncomfortably, igniting our bones under the skin. its like im sleeping on the sidewalk and its leaving indents against the side of my face and the backs of hands. but it wont matter in the morning since the world is on fire. and all i am is a held breath that wont put the flames out. or a rain cloud without the silver lining that will pour all this worry away.maybe, i'm a metaphor.4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
its like im sixteen all over with my fingers tight around another glass bottle or the edge of the sink. its as if im drowning in the past and i know i wont be saved. and its dark in the room and im breathing too loudly through my mouth since i cant keep my anxiety behind closed lips. its like im kneeling on the bathroom floor
dew that tastes like saltwatershe left 9 messages on his answering machine:dew that tastes like saltwater5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
"when i grow up, i want to be a quick-change artist."
"there was no dew on the grass this morning."
"please talk to me."
"i think i'm in love."
"i love you."
he called back and answered:
"when i grow up, i want to be happy."
"there was dew on the spots you cried on."
"we've already said too much."
"i miss you too. just look up at the stars and remember that a thousand miles away, i'm looking at the same stars."
he didn't answer the last one.
for every day he didn't spend with her, she wrote his name on a post-it note and taped it on her refrigerator.
one day she ripped all of them off and decided to start fresh; there was no more room.
she decides that now she'll stick a post-it note on every day that he does spend with her.
that would save a lot of post-its.
she writes his name on a heart-shaped post-it and sticks on the refrigerator door.
one for the day they met.
she frowns when she can't
speechless,-speechless,4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
i'm not going anywhere;
im going to live fast and die young.
they'll find me waiting for them, cold and alone and everybody will cry for two and a half days and then again when they celebrate my life, and then it will be over.
so peaceful, so quiet.
when it's over,
promise me you'll love him like you mean it - as i cannot.
i've tied too many weights to his broken ankles and his tears will be so hard they'll break the world into parts, but hold his hand, kiss his forehead.
and when the world ends,
tell him he's going to survive.
because he is.
photographs of us.one.photographs of us.5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
the first thing i noticed about you was your smile. it pulled me in, and i was a fool for not resisting.
i guess you could say i loved your smile more than i loved you.
we watched a thunderstorm from your porch, leaves and rain falling down, wind howling, thunder roaring.
you said the flashes of lightning were beautiful, and you watched them with your eyes closed.
but i couldn't bring myself to close my eyes, not even for a second.
i was too busy staring at you.
we were standing on a bridge, watching the water run run run beneath us. fireflies danced in the air, playing a game of tag that i could only watch; never join.
your voice broke my thoughts. 'isn't it amazing how humans can link one piece of land to another with bridges like this one?'
i could only nod and wish someone would invent bridges to link people.
bridges that no one would ever knock down.
'love is a lie,' you told me. it was winter, snow falling around us, and i reached for your hand in the cold
roamin'i named him charlie.roamin'4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
charlie was the sort to sit on the concrete rather than the bench three feet away because it was ironic, his guitar case under his shoes and a cardboard sign on his lap that read, "roamin'." charlie was maybe twenty, with too many deceased train tickets and copper-plated coins turning in his jeans. i would bet the contents of his pockets that he couldn't remember where his hometown was anymore, what his mother's face looked like, or why he left.
i wanted him to hold his sign the other way, i wanted to see if there were more permanent-marker words scrawled on the back. i wanted it to say, 'drive me somewhere,' or 'take me to the west coast, take me back east.'
i wanted to drop my shopping bags and throw open my passenger door and tell him to jump in. his guitar case would go in the backseats and he'd kick his feet up on the dashboard and leave muddy traction prints along it.
i'd tell him to empty his pockets, see what he's got, make him chip in for gas money. i'd dr
reflecting upon reflections.flesruoy evol t'nac uoy fi em evol t'nac uoy dnareflecting upon reflections4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
rorrim a ni gnikool er'uoy dna
em ta kool
.uoy ees t'nod uoy dna rorrim eht ni kool
.hturt ees t'nod uoy dna rorrim eht ni kool
.seituaeb thguat-fles ro sretupmoc ton era ew
.gnihton si ereht erehw esnes fo
,gnicaf-tnorf otni su secrof taht
ytilanoitar dellac gniht a s'ereht
the ways we destroy ourselves.one.the ways we destroy ourselves.5 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.
happiness is on vacation.
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.
there's a shatter in the next room, a broken
breath, a shaking in the bones.
we're all broken,
darling, but some of us are empty, some of us
are just dead inside.
and nothing can wake us up anymore.
death is not knocking on my door;
i'm knocking on his.
someday.i. i will alwayssomeday.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
be waiting for my
(would you like
to wait with
giving up and
sound awfully nice.
(you are the reason why
iii. i believe that words
can paint rainbow
sunsets and rivers and
happiness and golden
skies and things full
(im still trying to figure out
iv. writing non-fiction
makes me feel horribly
for everyone to realize
im nothing special.)
v. i dont want
to anyone. i
only want to be
mine. i only want
(i like to pretend
wanderlust.00. she was afraid if she held him for too long, shed 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.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
01. shes all eyelashes, splintered bones and eager dreams, while hes 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 didnt matter to her anyway, shed much rather have his fingers rack her ribcage in the rhythm of could-be verbs and his cumulus eyes lock her into a cloudy state of moving and being, of acting and re-acting, of loving and being loved.
forever was whispered between inches of flesh and heat, between bedsheets and silk.
03. he hates even numbers and speaks in ru
and i'll be the painter.your skin is featherand i'll be the painter.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
white, and i imagine
littering your face
with half-moon marks;
the noises you'd make,
like a chalkboard,
and i'm going to be the nails.
will be thunder,
a train screeching to a
are full of our dreams,
and i'll bring the nightmares
to the surface;
your skin is feather-white,
darling. you are a canvas waiting
to be drenched
The Day I Met God.I met God one evening.The Day I Met God.5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The funny thing is, i wasn't wanting to find him.
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.
How do you tell God that?
"Why do people rape, and murder and steal?"
God's mouth is the shape of a sinking ship
his face carries the wrinkles of one thousand dying souls.