(no subject)
More sribbly bits from a few days ago. Caution is recommended, some of these are a bit (okay, more than a bit) morbid. Apparently, I am a bit disturbed. Still, I like writing these, it's fun. Um, yeah. Enjoy.
12/8
Sometimes I can't sleep.
Sometimes I make enemies out of my own thoughts, and I say to myself god, what is your problem?! But I never listen.
Sometimes I can't stay awake.
My eyelids droop and my spine slouches over as if there is some great weight holding me down. Maybe there is. I can never remember.
Sometimes I hate her so much I want to scratch my vocal cords out and watch them vibrate with my screams, blood and skin drying under my chipped fingernails.
And sometimes, I forget why I was ever mad at her at all.
...
Lights flash and the floor vibrates and she whispers "What's your name?" and I smile because she really doesn't remember, at least not at the moment, and I say "Frost," and she says "What?" and I say "Frost, like frosting on a cupcake." She takes in the glitter and the beads and the layer of white sparkles on my cheeks and the soft pink glaze over my lips and she says "Oh."
I smile a little wider and run my tongue across the piece of metal protruding out of the skin right beneath my lip, this little bit of pain amidst all this sweet softness and she glances at it before letting that grin spread across her face, those little fangs peaking out in an effort to scare me into nervousness. She never has been able to make me afraid.
...
I will make something dangerous out of you.
She is wispy and moist, floating above my head with her eyes wide and her heart split open, her darker-than-natural blood dripping across her collarbone like muddy water leaking from a broken sink.
I need to understand her in order to escape her, but the more I learn, the harder it is to ignore her likeness to myself.
...
Last night a bottle of chlorine toppled over and cracked open. The liquid was smooth and clear with an odd yellow tint that reminded me of bile. It tasted like the swimming pool you drowned in when we were eight. I bleached all of the dark clothing. My children didn't eat their dinner and my husband was late getting back from work. Sometimes, I wish it had been me who had escaped instead of you.
...
Years and years ago we picked strawberries together and patched up our clothing with scraps of mother's old yellow dress. We waited six months, and when she still hadn't come back from her daily shopping, we began to forget her. But I have left you now. I have left our shell of sleepy smiles and hidden confusion in order to find reality, and maybe even Mom. In the end, I don't think it was worth it.
...
When you find me I am too tired to remember my own name. My tongue is dry, my lips swollen, my eyelid is still bruised. I remember running from a monster until I forgot why I was afraid of it, until I slipped and fell to the concrete of some unknown city. I am too young, too awkward, too soft beneath my hard skin, but you cradle me, carry me back up the twenty-seven steps to the twenty-seventh door and set me on my feet again. This is okay. I will still die, but I will feel some modicum of stability while I do it.
...
Of pain and honesty she speaks, her conviction wavering only once at your name before solidifying into the hardness of a women on the path to stability. She breathes in the nervousness, the exhaustion, deep into her lungs and lets it back out in the form of quiet, calming sobs. Resignation brings a certain sense of contentment, an acceptance of a deep blue sorrow that will linger deep inside of you for the rest of your life, though you may never feel it again. It will be alright. This is all she can say, even as the tears fall, even as she begins to mend the rip in her world. It will be alright.
...
Sometimes she cries and weeps and dreams of dead children and broken toys. She is not okay, but she does not exist, so we can let this one go.
...
Sometimes I see this odd little bit out of the corner of my eye, this heart-wrenching piece of no one and nowhere concentrated and compact in a clump of sad, pathetic little nothing that could eat you alive. I don't mind. It kills me every time, but I don't mind.
...
Electricity rushes through him and nestles into his fingertips. His veins sing with it and his heart flutters faster, faster, as if he were panicking or in love. I still remember him, but I no longer care for him. Electricity and water have never mixed unless it is to create an explosive current of deadly conductivity, and I don't know that my bloodstream can handle another one of those.
***
12/9
Untainted and unnamed, it is purple and red like a dark bruise blossoming on her cheek. She is still small; the pain is something she will hardly remember. But the scars will last forever.
***
12/10
Degrees of separation
Hang in the balance.
Twist me up and set me loose:
Memories binding me to you
Like handcuffs and chains,
Link by link
Harsh word by insult.
I may forget you,
But I will never forget the way you make me feel.
...
Fractured me, pretty you,
He whispers lies in my ear
Like sugar-coated gumdrops.
‘Tis the season for merriment
And cold, cold fingers attached to
Red, red hands.
Fractured me, pretty you,
Oh, you won’t believe the things
He tells me about you,
The laughing faces and the cruel tongues.
Ladies should not allow themselves
Exposure
To such an environment,
Such ideas.
Ideas which cause
Such actions as these.
I slipped you three
Sugar-coated
Pills.
The pills were just fine,
The poison
Was in the sugar.
---
I don't know that I like where I took this last one, I mean, there are phrases in it which I adore, but I don't think I like the story it tells. The second scribbly bit is (most likely) a companion to a poem I wrote a bit ago that I've still got to finish. Fun, hm? Anyways, tell me what you think!
12/8
Sometimes I can't sleep.
Sometimes I make enemies out of my own thoughts, and I say to myself god, what is your problem?! But I never listen.
Sometimes I can't stay awake.
My eyelids droop and my spine slouches over as if there is some great weight holding me down. Maybe there is. I can never remember.
Sometimes I hate her so much I want to scratch my vocal cords out and watch them vibrate with my screams, blood and skin drying under my chipped fingernails.
And sometimes, I forget why I was ever mad at her at all.
...
Lights flash and the floor vibrates and she whispers "What's your name?" and I smile because she really doesn't remember, at least not at the moment, and I say "Frost," and she says "What?" and I say "Frost, like frosting on a cupcake." She takes in the glitter and the beads and the layer of white sparkles on my cheeks and the soft pink glaze over my lips and she says "Oh."
I smile a little wider and run my tongue across the piece of metal protruding out of the skin right beneath my lip, this little bit of pain amidst all this sweet softness and she glances at it before letting that grin spread across her face, those little fangs peaking out in an effort to scare me into nervousness. She never has been able to make me afraid.
...
I will make something dangerous out of you.
She is wispy and moist, floating above my head with her eyes wide and her heart split open, her darker-than-natural blood dripping across her collarbone like muddy water leaking from a broken sink.
I need to understand her in order to escape her, but the more I learn, the harder it is to ignore her likeness to myself.
...
Last night a bottle of chlorine toppled over and cracked open. The liquid was smooth and clear with an odd yellow tint that reminded me of bile. It tasted like the swimming pool you drowned in when we were eight. I bleached all of the dark clothing. My children didn't eat their dinner and my husband was late getting back from work. Sometimes, I wish it had been me who had escaped instead of you.
...
Years and years ago we picked strawberries together and patched up our clothing with scraps of mother's old yellow dress. We waited six months, and when she still hadn't come back from her daily shopping, we began to forget her. But I have left you now. I have left our shell of sleepy smiles and hidden confusion in order to find reality, and maybe even Mom. In the end, I don't think it was worth it.
...
When you find me I am too tired to remember my own name. My tongue is dry, my lips swollen, my eyelid is still bruised. I remember running from a monster until I forgot why I was afraid of it, until I slipped and fell to the concrete of some unknown city. I am too young, too awkward, too soft beneath my hard skin, but you cradle me, carry me back up the twenty-seven steps to the twenty-seventh door and set me on my feet again. This is okay. I will still die, but I will feel some modicum of stability while I do it.
...
Of pain and honesty she speaks, her conviction wavering only once at your name before solidifying into the hardness of a women on the path to stability. She breathes in the nervousness, the exhaustion, deep into her lungs and lets it back out in the form of quiet, calming sobs. Resignation brings a certain sense of contentment, an acceptance of a deep blue sorrow that will linger deep inside of you for the rest of your life, though you may never feel it again. It will be alright. This is all she can say, even as the tears fall, even as she begins to mend the rip in her world. It will be alright.
...
Sometimes she cries and weeps and dreams of dead children and broken toys. She is not okay, but she does not exist, so we can let this one go.
...
Sometimes I see this odd little bit out of the corner of my eye, this heart-wrenching piece of no one and nowhere concentrated and compact in a clump of sad, pathetic little nothing that could eat you alive. I don't mind. It kills me every time, but I don't mind.
...
Electricity rushes through him and nestles into his fingertips. His veins sing with it and his heart flutters faster, faster, as if he were panicking or in love. I still remember him, but I no longer care for him. Electricity and water have never mixed unless it is to create an explosive current of deadly conductivity, and I don't know that my bloodstream can handle another one of those.
***
12/9
Untainted and unnamed, it is purple and red like a dark bruise blossoming on her cheek. She is still small; the pain is something she will hardly remember. But the scars will last forever.
***
12/10
Degrees of separation
Hang in the balance.
Twist me up and set me loose:
Memories binding me to you
Like handcuffs and chains,
Link by link
Harsh word by insult.
I may forget you,
But I will never forget the way you make me feel.
...
Fractured me, pretty you,
He whispers lies in my ear
Like sugar-coated gumdrops.
‘Tis the season for merriment
And cold, cold fingers attached to
Red, red hands.
Fractured me, pretty you,
Oh, you won’t believe the things
He tells me about you,
The laughing faces and the cruel tongues.
Ladies should not allow themselves
Exposure
To such an environment,
Such ideas.
Ideas which cause
Such actions as these.
I slipped you three
Sugar-coated
Pills.
The pills were just fine,
The poison
Was in the sugar.
---
I don't know that I like where I took this last one, I mean, there are phrases in it which I adore, but I don't think I like the story it tells. The second scribbly bit is (most likely) a companion to a poem I wrote a bit ago that I've still got to finish. Fun, hm? Anyways, tell me what you think!