Stuff from other sites....
01/13/13
Little Thoughts...Nothing At All
I would like to slip into the shadows.
Awkward silence. Awkward glance.
And I want to be sorry.
Hallelujah.
Thank God for a dirty house.
The Power of Emptiness
October 18, 2012
Lost and forgotten, a little girl stands,
Hair of red, and red stained hands.
She lashes out, she cries for peace,
She wants it to stop, but there's no relief.
An emptiness engulfs her, she's suddenly free,
The pain has passed, is this how happiness should be?
Awakes years later, finds she's missed so much,
This little girl, now a woman no one can touch.
A dropped memory, a deep seeded hate,
Reaching out for something, hoping she hasn't awaken too late.
There's still hope, she feels it in her soul,
Praying this heart of hers won't always be so cold.
Facade and mask, she removes them like so
Standing at what feels like the edge of the world,
She's naked, she's broken, she feels high and low,
This path to normalcy, it's difficult she's heard.
An emptiness engulfs her, she's suddenly free,
The pain has passed, is this how happiness should be?
To The Moon, My Fellow Slaves
November 10, 2010
I’m elusive; unable to be detected, tracked, seen. I’m choppy; the next big thing. I have no place but I feel home. I’m not quite lost, nor am I alone. I write as I feel, therefore I’ve written nothing. Words press on my chest and I feel so at ease, so rest-ed. I mock those around me as long as they’re parroting others.
Feel. I must feel something.
I learned to write by hurting. I learned to create by hurting.
Let’s try something new.
My father is a child molester.
My father is a child monster. Molester. Monster. Molester. Monster. Pseudonym, acronym, synonym, syllable, dance, dance, dance, prance. Pretty little unicorn. You touch me and I try so hard not to feel him, not to see him. Not to be him. My greatest fear is that one day I’ll be him. I don’t want that. I don’t want to run and hide and be some kind of ugly. I don’t want to hate myself like he does. I can’t bear to see his face because it kills me inside.
A million lies.
What have you done? What have you done to me? Where is it? I feel so trapped in my own mind. I feel so trapped.
I used to cut. I want to cut. It is the only way to feel alive.
I’m addicted to cigarettes and sex and pain. I’m with him because he shelters me from all those things.
I’m a fucked up little kid.
There’s a light in the house and it flickers slowly.
Perhaps it is easier
August 9, 2009
Tandem switch, tandem switch, tandem, mayhem, chaos, anarchy!
Let these feelings flow free.
You're an asshole. You have no heart.
I'm fucking crazy, insane, depressed, and still no art.
Back away, back away, slowly, slowly, dye.
I chose this? I chose you? I did this to myself?
It is hard to see all the mistakes you're making; it is so hard.
Empty spaces in our atmosphere and on the outside its so clear.
I'm so lucky.
Thank you for saving me from my own desperate pathetic selfish death.
Thank you for force feeding me happiness wrapped in security.
I'm yours physically but I'm not really there.
Chain free, chain smoke, its so much fun being this taboo.
The sad thing is, I really love you.
One day I'll do it. I'll vanish. I'll be gone.
Will you notice? Will I care?
Skin stretched thin.
Things Change (tidbits, thoughts, nothing at all.)
March 12, 2009
I am the Ocean.
I am the Sea.
I am everything and nothing, and some places in between.
I'm undiscovered. I'm the unknown.
I'm the untainted but fragile Sea.
I'm weak and brittle, broken in places: I am coral.
I am quick in the water, beautiful, poetic...weightless.
I'm deep but shallow and unnervingly cunning.
I am warm and cool and uninhabitated.
I am open and willing but too afraid to be inviting.
I want to wait and at the same time I'm so impatient. I'm ready and I'm unprepared. I want I want I want and yet I can't have...but I could if I tried. Everything is in my reach and yet I have grown so tired. I wish it would stop raining, I wish it would warm up again. Everything is so slow.
Things are unraveling. I'm losing my grip. But I'm still okay. That's what I'll always say, I'm still okay. Stupid facade.
Tendency towards the Superfluous
February 6, 2007
I, myself, am intangible.
I dance upon these feelings like leaves which flee from the ground, from the tree, not attached to anything, until the wind dies, and then their journey stops, too.
I, myself, feel nothing.
I flutter and shutter and still there is no more, no more to me than what there was before. I’m merely an open hand, lifeless and yet restless, decaying upon a table.
No more do thoughts exist, but only exit, running from the mind which creates them. They beg for a new home, not wanting to be taken, or made, or worked…they just want to rest.
I’m no blank canvas; I am void.
There is no miracle, no magic, and no love.
The heartbeat in my chest only crushes my lungs…even my own body fights me.
I, myself, cannot laugh. Or smile. Or touch.
When I walk, my feet neither float nor do they graze the surface beneath them.
If eyes are windows to the soul, and I having no soul, then where do my eyes lead?
Often they tell me my eyes convey so much, and I know they are lying, because when they look into me, there is a blank stare.
I, myself, cannot help but hurt and not hurt. I cannot help but see and not see. I cannot help but be, and not be.
Living is the slowest form of suicide.
Self-recognition is the hardest grasp of reality…
And when you touch me, your hand feels heavy, my skin melts beneath the pressure of your contact and I try. I try to focus, but my brain seems to be running. And my blood ambles about in my veins, and though I am still alive, I am nothing.
And by being nothing, there is no gain. There is no reason to continue forth.
I am a stratum of pure odium. A disgrace brought on by mere coincidence.
I am the greatest to have ever lived and not lived. I was born with a heartbeat but no heart.
Little Thoughts...Nothing At All
I would like to slip into the shadows.
Awkward silence. Awkward glance.
And I want to be sorry.
Hallelujah.
Thank God for a dirty house.
The Power of Emptiness
October 18, 2012
Lost and forgotten, a little girl stands,
Hair of red, and red stained hands.
She lashes out, she cries for peace,
She wants it to stop, but there's no relief.
An emptiness engulfs her, she's suddenly free,
The pain has passed, is this how happiness should be?
Awakes years later, finds she's missed so much,
This little girl, now a woman no one can touch.
A dropped memory, a deep seeded hate,
Reaching out for something, hoping she hasn't awaken too late.
There's still hope, she feels it in her soul,
Praying this heart of hers won't always be so cold.
Facade and mask, she removes them like so
Standing at what feels like the edge of the world,
She's naked, she's broken, she feels high and low,
This path to normalcy, it's difficult she's heard.
An emptiness engulfs her, she's suddenly free,
The pain has passed, is this how happiness should be?
To The Moon, My Fellow Slaves
November 10, 2010
I’m elusive; unable to be detected, tracked, seen. I’m choppy; the next big thing. I have no place but I feel home. I’m not quite lost, nor am I alone. I write as I feel, therefore I’ve written nothing. Words press on my chest and I feel so at ease, so rest-ed. I mock those around me as long as they’re parroting others.
Feel. I must feel something.
I learned to write by hurting. I learned to create by hurting.
Let’s try something new.
My father is a child molester.
My father is a child monster. Molester. Monster. Molester. Monster. Pseudonym, acronym, synonym, syllable, dance, dance, dance, prance. Pretty little unicorn. You touch me and I try so hard not to feel him, not to see him. Not to be him. My greatest fear is that one day I’ll be him. I don’t want that. I don’t want to run and hide and be some kind of ugly. I don’t want to hate myself like he does. I can’t bear to see his face because it kills me inside.
A million lies.
What have you done? What have you done to me? Where is it? I feel so trapped in my own mind. I feel so trapped.
I used to cut. I want to cut. It is the only way to feel alive.
I’m addicted to cigarettes and sex and pain. I’m with him because he shelters me from all those things.
I’m a fucked up little kid.
There’s a light in the house and it flickers slowly.
Perhaps it is easier
August 9, 2009
Tandem switch, tandem switch, tandem, mayhem, chaos, anarchy!
Let these feelings flow free.
You're an asshole. You have no heart.
I'm fucking crazy, insane, depressed, and still no art.
Back away, back away, slowly, slowly, dye.
I chose this? I chose you? I did this to myself?
It is hard to see all the mistakes you're making; it is so hard.
Empty spaces in our atmosphere and on the outside its so clear.
I'm so lucky.
Thank you for saving me from my own desperate pathetic selfish death.
Thank you for force feeding me happiness wrapped in security.
I'm yours physically but I'm not really there.
Chain free, chain smoke, its so much fun being this taboo.
The sad thing is, I really love you.
One day I'll do it. I'll vanish. I'll be gone.
Will you notice? Will I care?
Skin stretched thin.
Things Change (tidbits, thoughts, nothing at all.)
March 12, 2009
I am the Ocean.
I am the Sea.
I am everything and nothing, and some places in between.
I'm undiscovered. I'm the unknown.
I'm the untainted but fragile Sea.
I'm weak and brittle, broken in places: I am coral.
I am quick in the water, beautiful, poetic...weightless.
I'm deep but shallow and unnervingly cunning.
I am warm and cool and uninhabitated.
I am open and willing but too afraid to be inviting.
I want to wait and at the same time I'm so impatient. I'm ready and I'm unprepared. I want I want I want and yet I can't have...but I could if I tried. Everything is in my reach and yet I have grown so tired. I wish it would stop raining, I wish it would warm up again. Everything is so slow.
Things are unraveling. I'm losing my grip. But I'm still okay. That's what I'll always say, I'm still okay. Stupid facade.
Tendency towards the Superfluous
February 6, 2007
I, myself, am intangible.
I dance upon these feelings like leaves which flee from the ground, from the tree, not attached to anything, until the wind dies, and then their journey stops, too.
I, myself, feel nothing.
I flutter and shutter and still there is no more, no more to me than what there was before. I’m merely an open hand, lifeless and yet restless, decaying upon a table.
No more do thoughts exist, but only exit, running from the mind which creates them. They beg for a new home, not wanting to be taken, or made, or worked…they just want to rest.
I’m no blank canvas; I am void.
There is no miracle, no magic, and no love.
The heartbeat in my chest only crushes my lungs…even my own body fights me.
I, myself, cannot laugh. Or smile. Or touch.
When I walk, my feet neither float nor do they graze the surface beneath them.
If eyes are windows to the soul, and I having no soul, then where do my eyes lead?
Often they tell me my eyes convey so much, and I know they are lying, because when they look into me, there is a blank stare.
I, myself, cannot help but hurt and not hurt. I cannot help but see and not see. I cannot help but be, and not be.
Living is the slowest form of suicide.
Self-recognition is the hardest grasp of reality…
And when you touch me, your hand feels heavy, my skin melts beneath the pressure of your contact and I try. I try to focus, but my brain seems to be running. And my blood ambles about in my veins, and though I am still alive, I am nothing.
And by being nothing, there is no gain. There is no reason to continue forth.
I am a stratum of pure odium. A disgrace brought on by mere coincidence.
I am the greatest to have ever lived and not lived. I was born with a heartbeat but no heart.