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he wants to die in a lake in geneva
the world is falling apart and all you are looking at is your own reflection. I was waiting to hear your cries as they tore you limb from limb but I don't think you even noticed; the animals caged in barbed wire pens are listening intently ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
The stale stench of cigarette smoke clings to the air around me, as if the foul source is right next to me. Old pretending to be young. Trash faking class. Loud obnoxious voices and over-sized glasses and crooked teeth and too much body fat. I rest my head gently against the glass, feeling the coolness fade into my skin. Too close, too many, ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
every mourning forgets the knight before. -
reading this kills me every time
To Boddah ( Read more... ) -
thoughts from september
I am and probably always will be a nomadic little girl at soul. So perhaps if I embrace that instead of trying to put down roots & worry about the strength of connections, I'll thrive instead ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
and now she returns: singular, perfect. blood on her hands, her words full of metal and fire, never tripping, never falling. tangled so severely in the lights though she is, she wraps the world around her and nothing breaks on the outside. everything will hurt, she knows, will ache until it pulls her apart, but breathing was never so precious. -
(Untitled)
And the day pressed on like crushing weights for no man does it ever wait ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
I have these dreams, you see. Dreams where things happen, and when I wake, they have not happened. It confuses me. Last night I showered in my clothes and forgot that it wasn't a dream. This is not good. Red scrawls across my whiteboard and none in my eyes. Cold coffee and stale biscuits and my stomach roils with acid. I will not fall, I will not ( Read more... ) -
october 7. 2010
I have broken. I have broken, and I cannot find my way back. It is bright, too bright, in this dark little world, and nails shredded from their beds bleed into my sobbing mouth. Mangled, matted hair, knots of sweat and fever, arching my back until it almost breaks; I am not here to argue. Exothermic regularity has burnt the last of my feathers from ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
I am cold, and I am getting very, very angry.