the beauty of gray
Better to write for yourself and have no public,
than to write for the public and have no self.
Cyril Connolly 1903 - 1974
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cage_this
User Number: 1404509
Date Created:2003-10-20
Number of Posts: 1,489
To combat her feelings, she fills up diaries, notebooks, paper napkins, anything she can get her hands on, with fiction. Frantic, mad, senseless scribbling. In the end, when they opened the door to her home, they found writing, everywhere, it said only three words. "I am fine." That was her fiction. There's a tombstone over my heart, five miles back. Somehow I managed to pick myself up and walk on without it. Please excuse me while I scream in your face. Had you noticed I'm only a heartbreak waiting to happen? Somehow it hurts when I'm the only one making an effort. The way "I love you" rolls off my tongue makes me believe this is something far beyond the limits of wrong. Restrain me now, before I commit an unexplainable crime that I'm sure to regret. There is a difference between flattery and flat out lying. I feel dead. It's as though I've gone away and left behind a carcass with a pounding heard, an empty bottle. My need for you is like a run on sentence, never ending, painfully growing and at times, seemingly senseless. But still, my sentences are too long and still, my body longs for yours. Still I write as though these words are meant to be chains, binding us together, woven through our hearts and laced throughout our ribcages. I can feel your heart beating against mine.
Your voice is a gun to my heart and you're breathing bullets of gold.
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EUROTRIP 2006
May 20, 2006 - July 13, 2006
England, Wales, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Scotland,
The Netherlands, Germany, France, Spain
than to write for the public and have no self.
Cyril Connolly 1903 - 1974
LiveJournal
Trading Cards
Paid Account Edition
cage_this
User Number: 1404509
Date Created:2003-10-20
Number of Posts: 1,489
To combat her feelings, she fills up diaries, notebooks, paper napkins, anything she can get her hands on, with fiction. Frantic, mad, senseless scribbling. In the end, when they opened the door to her home, they found writing, everywhere, it said only three words. "I am fine." That was her fiction. There's a tombstone over my heart, five miles back. Somehow I managed to pick myself up and walk on without it. Please excuse me while I scream in your face. Had you noticed I'm only a heartbreak waiting to happen? Somehow it hurts when I'm the only one making an effort. The way "I love you" rolls off my tongue makes me believe this is something far beyond the limits of wrong. Restrain me now, before I commit an unexplainable crime that I'm sure to regret. There is a difference between flattery and flat out lying. I feel dead. It's as though I've gone away and left behind a carcass with a pounding heard, an empty bottle. My need for you is like a run on sentence, never ending, painfully growing and at times, seemingly senseless. But still, my sentences are too long and still, my body longs for yours. Still I write as though these words are meant to be chains, binding us together, woven through our hearts and laced throughout our ribcages. I can feel your heart beating against mine.
Your voice is a gun to my heart and you're breathing bullets of gold.
Make your own LiveJournal Trading Card!
Brought to you by Crossfire_
EUROTRIP 2006
May 20, 2006 - July 13, 2006
England, Wales, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Scotland,
The Netherlands, Germany, France, Spain