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Bleeding Memories LorisDegerman 41 16 Hey! what time is it? haakon95 14 12
'what are you scared of?'
she was too pale to be held against the sun: so she leans against it until you can't see her face.
her eyes were chalk-smudges on blackboards, blurred against a backdrop of white-washed walls. her outline was all fade-out and lace, as white as winter could be.
her words were quiet like stains are, clinging to a curtain in the window. just trying to blend into the pattern, or at least not become part of it.
and when she breathes her chest swells with see-through lungs--hoping that if you focus, you'll see right through her glass skin. after all, she's just a smudge of the wrong varnish in your eyes.
she shudders, and tastes all that's hollow drip down her wrist. and today, it looks grey instead of saccharine. regret honey-fills the cracks in her over-dried lips and ice-splintered skin. inklings of every word she forgot how to say. since, of course, they never made it past dead-deaf ears anyways.
knowing you'll never notice she's crying. crying for ever
Red and White
Sweat drips down my hair and into my eyes as I stand under the unrelenting sun. My white knuckled hands grip the darkly painted knife, shaking like a city in an earthquake. I jolt as I feel a hand brushing against my hip, and look down. The hand is mine, instinctually feeling the white leather pouch to check that my other two knives are still there. They are. The black ribbons laced through them flutter gently in a breeze that I havn't noticed before. Now I feel it, the wind grows in strength tearing into my body like a thousand prying fingers, each one existing solely to rip me into pieces. Desperately, my clothes cling to my body. I havn't noticed them either. They are stunningly white. As the carniverous wind dies, I see the clothes for what they are. A loose, sleeveless top and tight jeans. All coloured the kind of white that could blind if you look at them for too long. Why am I wearing white jeans? I hate white jeans. What if I have to walk through mud? My eyes flicker up and sta
Sitting alone, while music is blasting
Trying to drown out the voices, long-lasting.
Music, however, can't be loud enough.
The powers that be are far too tough.
Taunting follows me everywhere,
As they mock my style, my tastes, my hair.
There's no safe haven; I can't get away
From everything this cruel world has to say.
So I ponder my problem; I have so much fun
Imagining ways to make myself numb.
The closest I've been was that one fateful cut,
So I'm drawn to the stone like a squirrel to a nut.
The stone that will make a dull blade fine.
In the dim light, the cold steel shines.
I could just stop there, but there's no other way
To escape from the demons; I know what they'll say.