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. 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. 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
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. 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.
charlotte.it was halloween and charlotte was dressed as an obnoxious pumpkin, because her mother tries to make her a normal child.charlotte. 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
mertha.i like to seperate my thoughts into names, to keep them in order.mertha. 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
lightening bolt eyes.he has lightening bolt eyes and one fucking killer smile.lightening bolt eyes. 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
william.dreams make him vomit.william. 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
still.one.still. 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)
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."
True and HaikuArt is lingerie;True and Haiku in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
silk and satin draped upon
our starving egos.
One LessT i cksOne Less in Free Verse More Like This
are a consistent bed partner
not to be confused with the humming of ceiling fans
or the thrumming of cardiologist fascination
not to be mistaken for
the soft exhalation
in tangled threads or pallid flesh;
certainly they are similar
and quiet audible reactions
can drown within each other
if you listen
StonesTake your time, intravenously;Stones in Free Verse More Like This
like patient stones that never try
but polish over
as other shapes pass.
Destroyer of WorldsEach moment I witnessDestroyer of Worlds in Open More Like This
a treacherous crime,
destroyer of worlds...
the passage of time.
And even if time
has started from start,
created this realm,
a glorious act...
I know that all mountains
get old and descend.
And time, like all others,
will end in the end.
Much to tired to sleepSoMuch to tired to sleep in Surrealism More Like This
I eat this pan filled of dough
I break he fingers I sing with
I'm much to tired to sleep, much to lazy to do nothing
I am surrounded by shit and stones
Im neither a bug nor sword
Im Neither intoxicated nor sober
You are fucking explicit
I am touching up on pass memories
The worm had its way with everyone
9.11 is...9.11 is... in Philosophical More Like This
The day I died
You were listening to the hand stains slapping against skin
The day you died
I was executing an electronic rythm with it's corpse
To explain the way I enjoy hand wrapped sponge cake
Would be...practically inpheasable
Light and dark is starting too
bring us down, wouldn't you agree
Eh hem...turn off the lights will you?
To say my head is hurting
Is the equivelent to saying
We all have aquirred a taste for champagne
Which is not as good as it sounds
Pokemon Creepypasta- .000Pokemon Creepypasta- .000 in Horror More Like This
Numbers. That is the first thing I remember. Numbers filling up every part of my design, in the same way that cells fill up a human. In every part of me, every detail. Numbers. They made me more than just a mass of pixels, randomly arranged. They gave me strength, they gave me a personality. Numbers made me a Pokémon. Along with me, 151 pokemon were also made. All of them were mere copies, inspired from other life forms. I was the only one who was truly unique, for I was the one who connected two powerful pokemon species: kangaskhan and cubone. I was born from the suffering of a baby kangaskhan, over the death of it’s mother. That was my original form; a baby kangaskhan with no mother. I would stay by the body, and when only bones were left, wear her skull and carry her bone as a weapon. I would then be identified as cubone. Thus, I joint two powerful pokemon families together. I was proud of my identity, although when I was created in the first games, pokemon red and blue,
Letter to the WorldA note in a bottle,Letter to the World in Free Verse More Like This
a message for the world.
'If I scream as loud as I could,
would you be able to hear me?
Thrown into the ocean
for the sea to swallow
the single sentence.
As the sea swallows its prize
she lets out a horrible hollow cry
for the world to hear.
The world does nothing
but capture her scream
and store it for later
when it asks why she cries
and why she hurts.
For if she screams as loud as she could
would the world listen?
Or is it just a message in a bottle
meant to be swallowed by the sea?
YouYou in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The reflection in the Mirror is no longer broken,
The flower in Bloom no longer stained,
The song that I Sing is no longer sad,
The Unconditional love I feel is no longer strained.
The Supernova I see is an explosion of desire,
The Unknown no longer compels me to fear,
If a Hospital is where I seal my fate,
Let it be known I died loving You, my dear.