(no subject)
there is a girl i know who sets her soul aside to watch herself wither. she dances on fire and plays in hot coals, willingly taking burns, showing no signs of weakness. her dexterity is an unconscious effort. she masterfully handles herself and her hands are controlled. her demeanor is unmeasurable as she collides with your body.
she takes in every moment. every glimpse of happiness and every last slight presentation of despair. she fills her fingers with your feelings, she spreads on herself your entire collection of emotions while she lies on her back taking it in. and while it happens she rests easy on the concerns of someone else. numb to herself she relies on your inability to repress yourself from your actions. encased with self indifference she stares solidly into your eyes, tearing memories from your brain to feed herself intangibles.
she cannot touch them. she cannot hear them. she cannot smell them. she cannot see them. but she can taste them in the back of her throat. and they sit there silently, indigestable. and when she coughs she feels your pain. she holds in her the most stifling thoughts, deep desires, self consuming obsessions, all belonging to others.
and when she looks in the mirror, masscara fixed neatly on her lashes, she sees herself doused in the sentiments of others.
and she tells herself she's glorious.
nobody has seen her hands grip this tightly.
laurenb.
and i continue to speak softly.
she takes in every moment. every glimpse of happiness and every last slight presentation of despair. she fills her fingers with your feelings, she spreads on herself your entire collection of emotions while she lies on her back taking it in. and while it happens she rests easy on the concerns of someone else. numb to herself she relies on your inability to repress yourself from your actions. encased with self indifference she stares solidly into your eyes, tearing memories from your brain to feed herself intangibles.
she cannot touch them. she cannot hear them. she cannot smell them. she cannot see them. but she can taste them in the back of her throat. and they sit there silently, indigestable. and when she coughs she feels your pain. she holds in her the most stifling thoughts, deep desires, self consuming obsessions, all belonging to others.
and when she looks in the mirror, masscara fixed neatly on her lashes, she sees herself doused in the sentiments of others.
and she tells herself she's glorious.
nobody has seen her hands grip this tightly.
laurenb.
and i continue to speak softly.