writing mood
HIM
To me he’s just a name-just the quintessential flavor of what a memory should be. To me he’s just a lingering mouth, a look about the eyes, laughing up and down with oblivion to his impending fatality. To me he’s just a story, a stroke of fear, a tear in the seam of the chasm of expected, a terrible looming. An undiluted hush and secrecy that hits with such unmatched ferocity-so bewildering-a hanging; surreal. And now: wild lust for fulfillment, such ecstatic agony, hyper extended grief, and I can’t really feel it. If I could offer relief, I would be eternally peaked, unregretful I’d mourn forever. I’d give myself up to the horror, to the visits by night-ghosts, I’d let the dead press themselves to me, against me, I’d swallow them up. I’d surrender to the engulfment, become enveloped, let them cling to me in the dark, spread contagious shadow where I went; spread a perverse excitement. The people are intrigued with the unknown; they feed off of it like mongrel strays. Ragged, ragged, and ever-hungry; voracious in their immobile quest, in their false nobility, in their greed. And here’s what I want: purging, liberation, the ability to withhold my own power, and no more life-force dragging me up to the dogs. The seed of evil is the seed of hate and absolute desperation, and this I want no part of. I don’t ever want to be just a name. I hope he never has to be again.
DRAWN
I am tangled in my own disease, fighting, gliding down the lane on my bike with my feet up.
I am hollowing out my self, so prone to collapse one measly fingerpoke could do me in.
I'm wandering around outside, when it's dark and the sky's so full.
I am waiting til my eyes can fill in the very same way, when wonder will seep into me at every sight.
I am stuck, life-rut where there's nothing else to do but think in past tense, play games in my head, pretend I'm writing a story whenever I'm doing anything at all.
I'm pondering, contemplating, it's hard to have to think about life, what we are, how we end inevitably with loss, or perhaps with realization.
I am lost thinking, drooping brain causing non-sequitor problems.
I am wondering why people are so cruel, so frightened of themselves, of rejection, any pain or feeling at all. I am considering the outdoor beauty which is nearly impossible to do justice to, I try, I try all of the time.
My head is exploding cause I'm so afraid I'll never fall in love.
My mind is straining to make pieces fit back together, slowly fix the ache I'm feeling even now.
Lie to me again (I need you to)
I said "thank you"
when you said that I was pretty
and that you were proud of me
as I thought of reasons
for you to lie to me
'cause when I can't sleep
I draw pictures
of a shattered mirror
and I always look the same
I guess that
not much has changed
'cause I'm still scared
and I
still feel alone at night
and I'm
still not strong enough
to fight this fight
each night I am defeated
and each morning I wake
with another scar
Trying to end this
hurts more
than when I started
I'd probably give up anything
for a night
where my scars don't hurt
and my cuts dont bleed
And I'd probably give up everything
to hear you lie again
to tell me
that you're proud of me
and that you think I'm pretty
Driving around town at 3 o’clock in the morning is like driving through a dead town in a horror movie. There’s no life around but you. Every once in a while a car will drive past you and it seems strange The lights for all the plazas are on, and there are cars in the parking lot, but no people. It’s dead; it’s creepy. The back seat is a disaster area; water bottles are littered all over, my dirty jeans and apron for work are crumpled in a pile, and there’s a mountain of empty coffee cups, every one with memory, all that havent made their way to a trashcan. My car is filthy, but I still haven’t had the ambition to clean it.
I don’t even know where I’m driving to, or why I’m even driving. It’s been an hour since I left my house, and I have no clue where I am. After the fight, I just got in my car and started driving. I couldn’t handle staying there; I needed some fresh air.
Driving with no destination is not the smartest thing one could do. I’m completely lost, and I don’t even know what town I’m in. The town looks so alive, but, at the same time, so dead. It’s really weird; I’ve never driven through a town like this before.
The past five stoplights that I’ve driven through have been green. There are never that many green lights in a row, ever. Something bad is going to happen, I can feel it. I just wish that I could place my finger on it. I’ve got that gut feeling that you get when you know that something’s about to go wrong.
I looked down at my gauges briefly, and noticed that I needed gas, and that I needed it badly. There was a gas station down the road, but there’s only one problem. There are two stoplights in between the gas station and me.
I continued driving as if the stoplights weren’t there, and as if I was not a little afraid of what lay beyond them. Just as I was coming up to the first stoplight, it turned yellow. What a relief, I thought to myself. I kissed the back of my hand and touched it against the roof of my car (a ritual that my friends and me did when we went under a yellow light, it supposedly meant that you would receive good luck). I went under the yellow light to come to a halt, because the next stoplight had turned red.
As I was sitting at the stoplight, waiting for it to turn green,I felt at ease. When I looked up at the stoplight, it suddenly turned yellow, so I sped away towards the gas station. I didn’t even bother to kiss the back of my hand, because I knew that it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. On my way to the gas station I was thinking about how lonely I was. I pulled up to the pump, and put in ten dollars worth of gas.
I went inside and paid the store clerk.
“Ten dollars gas”, I said, as I frantically searched for my ten dollars. I found it, and handed him a crumpled up ten-dollar bill.
He seemed very tired, which one probably would be working the graveyard shift.
“Thank you, have a nice day…err…night”, he replied, sounding very frustrated with himself.
I walked out of the store, and that’s when I met him. Thats when the trouble began.
To me he’s just a name-just the quintessential flavor of what a memory should be. To me he’s just a lingering mouth, a look about the eyes, laughing up and down with oblivion to his impending fatality. To me he’s just a story, a stroke of fear, a tear in the seam of the chasm of expected, a terrible looming. An undiluted hush and secrecy that hits with such unmatched ferocity-so bewildering-a hanging; surreal. And now: wild lust for fulfillment, such ecstatic agony, hyper extended grief, and I can’t really feel it. If I could offer relief, I would be eternally peaked, unregretful I’d mourn forever. I’d give myself up to the horror, to the visits by night-ghosts, I’d let the dead press themselves to me, against me, I’d swallow them up. I’d surrender to the engulfment, become enveloped, let them cling to me in the dark, spread contagious shadow where I went; spread a perverse excitement. The people are intrigued with the unknown; they feed off of it like mongrel strays. Ragged, ragged, and ever-hungry; voracious in their immobile quest, in their false nobility, in their greed. And here’s what I want: purging, liberation, the ability to withhold my own power, and no more life-force dragging me up to the dogs. The seed of evil is the seed of hate and absolute desperation, and this I want no part of. I don’t ever want to be just a name. I hope he never has to be again.
DRAWN
I am tangled in my own disease, fighting, gliding down the lane on my bike with my feet up.
I am hollowing out my self, so prone to collapse one measly fingerpoke could do me in.
I'm wandering around outside, when it's dark and the sky's so full.
I am waiting til my eyes can fill in the very same way, when wonder will seep into me at every sight.
I am stuck, life-rut where there's nothing else to do but think in past tense, play games in my head, pretend I'm writing a story whenever I'm doing anything at all.
I'm pondering, contemplating, it's hard to have to think about life, what we are, how we end inevitably with loss, or perhaps with realization.
I am lost thinking, drooping brain causing non-sequitor problems.
I am wondering why people are so cruel, so frightened of themselves, of rejection, any pain or feeling at all. I am considering the outdoor beauty which is nearly impossible to do justice to, I try, I try all of the time.
My head is exploding cause I'm so afraid I'll never fall in love.
My mind is straining to make pieces fit back together, slowly fix the ache I'm feeling even now.
Lie to me again (I need you to)
I said "thank you"
when you said that I was pretty
and that you were proud of me
as I thought of reasons
for you to lie to me
'cause when I can't sleep
I draw pictures
of a shattered mirror
and I always look the same
I guess that
not much has changed
'cause I'm still scared
and I
still feel alone at night
and I'm
still not strong enough
to fight this fight
each night I am defeated
and each morning I wake
with another scar
Trying to end this
hurts more
than when I started
I'd probably give up anything
for a night
where my scars don't hurt
and my cuts dont bleed
And I'd probably give up everything
to hear you lie again
to tell me
that you're proud of me
and that you think I'm pretty
Driving around town at 3 o’clock in the morning is like driving through a dead town in a horror movie. There’s no life around but you. Every once in a while a car will drive past you and it seems strange The lights for all the plazas are on, and there are cars in the parking lot, but no people. It’s dead; it’s creepy. The back seat is a disaster area; water bottles are littered all over, my dirty jeans and apron for work are crumpled in a pile, and there’s a mountain of empty coffee cups, every one with memory, all that havent made their way to a trashcan. My car is filthy, but I still haven’t had the ambition to clean it.
I don’t even know where I’m driving to, or why I’m even driving. It’s been an hour since I left my house, and I have no clue where I am. After the fight, I just got in my car and started driving. I couldn’t handle staying there; I needed some fresh air.
Driving with no destination is not the smartest thing one could do. I’m completely lost, and I don’t even know what town I’m in. The town looks so alive, but, at the same time, so dead. It’s really weird; I’ve never driven through a town like this before.
The past five stoplights that I’ve driven through have been green. There are never that many green lights in a row, ever. Something bad is going to happen, I can feel it. I just wish that I could place my finger on it. I’ve got that gut feeling that you get when you know that something’s about to go wrong.
I looked down at my gauges briefly, and noticed that I needed gas, and that I needed it badly. There was a gas station down the road, but there’s only one problem. There are two stoplights in between the gas station and me.
I continued driving as if the stoplights weren’t there, and as if I was not a little afraid of what lay beyond them. Just as I was coming up to the first stoplight, it turned yellow. What a relief, I thought to myself. I kissed the back of my hand and touched it against the roof of my car (a ritual that my friends and me did when we went under a yellow light, it supposedly meant that you would receive good luck). I went under the yellow light to come to a halt, because the next stoplight had turned red.
As I was sitting at the stoplight, waiting for it to turn green,I felt at ease. When I looked up at the stoplight, it suddenly turned yellow, so I sped away towards the gas station. I didn’t even bother to kiss the back of my hand, because I knew that it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. On my way to the gas station I was thinking about how lonely I was. I pulled up to the pump, and put in ten dollars worth of gas.
I went inside and paid the store clerk.
“Ten dollars gas”, I said, as I frantically searched for my ten dollars. I found it, and handed him a crumpled up ten-dollar bill.
He seemed very tired, which one probably would be working the graveyard shift.
“Thank you, have a nice day…err…night”, he replied, sounding very frustrated with himself.
I walked out of the store, and that’s when I met him. Thats when the trouble began.