[x]

don't go if you've got more to sayand last night i saw you, the real you
the you that i had buried under layers and layers of
blues and greens
from trying to find something
that was almost you
but not quite.
and i didn't cry
i didn't shatter into a million stupid pieces
i froze
like you were a car with high beams
and i was a scared little deer.
cause i hadn't seen past this you i made up
for so fucking long.
but i remembered
that you didn't catch my attention at first.
but when you did.
my god
i couldn't look away.
and i wish i had have stayed
with my eyes closed.
cause i was so proud of myself
for tearing my heart
away from you
and out of underneath your skin
or between your fingers

001 i am a whirlwind of
bruised knees
(purple)

an aching heart
(dark blue)

twisted guts
(red)

&
a regret that could
crumble mountains.
(green-green-green)

stuck to the back of my throat.yesterday i saw you in cracks of my staircase
and inbetween the pages of my class novel.
you look like hell, and i thought the
darkened circles under your eyes
resembled the colour i think my
love for you would probably be.
its saddening that the thick oxygenated
purple and red mix is kind of like
what i saw once one one
of those anti smoking commercials
spilling forth from a dissected lung.
thats what you are.
you're my personal cancer.

waste.distance is the worst thing ever
and i think
'if these people were closer, everything would
just be so much better'
but then i stop
and remember all the people in my town
who i barely see
and the thought
s
i
n
k
s
to the same place
he sits
he's my bottom
my rock bottom

unlovenot all self harm comes
in the obvious form of lines up arms or down thighs
of throwing up insides and self worth
into toilet bowls with the sounds
that make you wonder how you're not dead.
she picked at her lips constantly
cracking and splitting
peeling and bleeding
it stung
more than expected
and it bled
more than ever anticipated
even after she's been doing it all day
she drank her tea that was still steaming
still made her hands flinch from the
far too hot porceline
but she parted lips
and felt it force it way down
burning and splitting
her lips and throat
before settling
like molten in her
ash filled stomach
tiny fingers
pinching, squeezing
pulling on skin
making underneath it
burst
and bloom
her blood like water colour
exploding and spreading
and mixing over
thighs and stomachs
no-one thinks to notice
the bruises
they're accidental
right?

039i spent 3.50 on this coffee from some hole in the wall and its not really doing anything to ease me or wake me up from this shaken state i'm stuck in, but its helping my hands keep still or away from trouble.
you're avoiding. talk.
the barrister put two sugars instead of one, its too sweet, but i'll drink it anyway. look. i haven't gotten anything spilled on me yet.
god dammit, just stop it. you need to tell me what the fuck happened last night. there was blood on your shoes and you jumped out of your skin when i touch you even the smallest amount. where did you go?
just. out. with. some friends.
you are so full of shit you know that. your right fingers tapping. that's your tell.
well done. i'm still not telling you, cause its not your business.

039i will write about you until i run out of
words in my blood
or breath in my lungs.
whichever comes first.

pressure.she was cracked in places only she could feel, and where the blood could only be tasted, and not seen.
her lips, fingertips and inside her chest. she learned that there are certain body parts prone to being cut or bruised, and her white laced knees could attest to that. but there comes a time when cutting your leg on the coffee table or pinching your stomach with your belt buckle, isn't an accident anymore. its something more, and you know it is. but you can go so long without ever admitting it to yourself, and even longer for anyone else.

dissipation
sometimes she wanted to tear the skin off her arms and dip the bared bones under water
and see if they still swelled and grew into logs rather than the twigs she craved.
it was as if there were little sandbags under the surface and they were delicately lined
and the water would sink inside them and grow and bulge and drag her under
(sometimes she does, sometimes she considers herself the bird in the bush:
dewy feathers doing nothing but chilling her to the bone; and she floats, head hung,
waiting for the currents to make her less than the nothing she considers herself to be)
but the weight is invisible, and despite its insistence
and the grey she feels all over, her feet won’t reach the bottom;
her toes are the only thing losing feeling--
she painted them red. cherry red like summer’s lovechild even though winter
had already found its home beneath her bed; red and quiet and refined like
the paper women she’d seen in magazines. she wore spring blouses with flowe

003its easier to say
"i'm fine, just tired"
than explain the water rising
when really they just asked out of politeness
and don't -actually- care.

Untitledthings she's destroyed this year;
two washing machines
from the pockets she fills with rocks
when the rains come and she wants to drown
the corners of all her books from flicking
bending and shaking edges
whenever she thinks of you
you stupid boy
her first car
crumpled in a ravine
and it left a scar on her stomach
that she sometimes can poke
and feel a lump that science can't explain
and she thinks it physical sadness
resting
waiting
the entire box of plates
that her mother gave her for moving out
and making it on her own
well, she almost made it
but something about them
being under the ground left
her shaking uncontrollably
and the tears slid underneath fingertips
and she lost the grip
and didn't notice until she'd ran to phone
and left a trail of her insides
along the corridor.
her heart lines
or whatever it is that lets the happiness in
they're sealed shut
tight and all she can do is
stare
at things that don't notice her
whatever it was that connected him
and her
and let the sparks

0012.- talk to cats or trees
and empty your bucket
full of emotions
on the ground into the roots
and lets something become of it
that isn't a bruise, or a tear in your skin
or a lovers headache.

pale blue.no-one should ever have to spend so much time focusing on
trying their damnedest not to self sabotage.
but the ache of january was too well known to ignore
even when it wasn't there
for years in a row
it still lingered
in the way of old bruises
and silvered scars
that she thought of tearing open
to see if something was still trapped inside
something to unleash.
even if it would destroy everything
cause the ocean leaves traces
of wherever its been
with salt haze
or dark lines marking depth
but she was okay with the salt
it heals
and naturally cleans
so even if she chokes
and splutters
and stops breathing
it won't hurt.

012so you drink alone in your room
trying to make it all
go away.
but your double vision and double filled lungs
are making the ghosts
in your chest restless
and oh god your co-ordination is shot and you're
just kicking the air around and next to demons.
never connecting.

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More from =ohsparrowsong

336.does it count as a sign
some grand
NOTICE THIS AND PAY ATTENTION
THE UNIVERSE IS TRYING TO HELP YOU
if its something you put there intentionally
and for this exact reason.
and when does divine intervention
become a fucking coincidence?

the city is my witness.there was a fire, in the pits of her stomach, filling her with warmth that wrapped around bones and flourished on her skin like war paint. it made her fight even when the rain was pouring down on her, like a shower of bullets. it was in there when she was sleeping, making sure that she continued to breath and not let anything take her away from the mission, the war that she was going to win.
she had baggage that was heavy, and she was starting to notice it more and more as the years started to change from a trickle to a hurricane force that was threatening to completely destroy her. oceans rising, the flames licking her ribcage, and bones creaking under weights that just kept growing as each month passed.
the flourishes on her skin were becoming darker and less like trophies and more like tiny deaths that she couldn't shake. there were places that were permanently discoloured, angry and sore. the fire gave way to tangled thoughts and a twisted stomach with a constant sinking feeling, a

10.april 10th.
i have lost this battle.
but oh
i am not losing this
mother fucking war.

this is not the time
or the fucking place
to die.

save yourself.i have been crying almost uncontrollably for several days now, and i am torn between love for everything you've
done and hate for the single thing you did. its not like i never saw this coming, i did. but fuck. nothing could ever have
prepared me for this. prepared my chest to be so utterly crushed in an instant. all of a sudden everything was swallowed up
by overwhelming sadness and i wanted so badly to blame you for everything, and just sink into nothingness, or drown it in a
few dozen bottles of anything i could get my hands on.
if you've given up, well so have i.

napowrimoapril 1st
i just sat there
words lodged in my throat
eyes burning with tears that
i wasn't going to let escape
while you broke
into pieces i couldn't fix.
april 2nd
you gave me stained fingertips
the same colour as your belly.
i still dont know if its from
your poorly rolled mentol's
or if its the colour of
the deepest regret
i've ever felt.
april 3rd.
i tried to write this poetically.
with oceans and stars
and metaphors
so large i lose
connection.
but i can't
some things just
aren't poetic.
april 4th.
you're body was
black and blue
but oh god
there was colour.
there was colour.
and colour means life.
right?
even if its clinging on
by its
fingernails.
april 5th.
i think i've broken
in half
two clean
separate parts
one determined to love.
the other begging to die.
april 6th.
'you're not in this alone'
yes.
yes i fucking am.
now go away.
april 7th.
can i please just
curl up
and cry this
all out
let it soak into
the sheets
and even if i
have to burn
everything
i will
cause i want this gon

90.it was always a god damned contest with you.
my bones were charcoal grey and too heavy
well yours were pitch fucking black and unbearably so
i couldn't breathe when someone said that one name
you literally did stop breathing.
i hit you.
you stayed still.
the white traveled even faster
than your hands did
to shove the bloody things
down your fucking throat.
and i blamed myself
and i hate you for that
you unbelievable bastard.

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32

by =ohsparrowsong, Feb 1, 2013, 6:17:40 AM
Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / General Non-Fiction / Stories & Vignettes

_{you were gone before it even sank in that you were really there.
habit is the worst thing, cause it made me so blind to the fact that you could
just as easily be snatched away from me.

i should have hugged you at least four more times

i've spent the better half of a year being your definition of evil and insane
at the same time. i've known better than everything i've done, but done it
anyway. god knows i've repeated the same tedious/dangerous/stupid
actions over and over wanting/expecting different results.

you wouldn't be proud of me for anything anymore.

but i'm still mad at you, i'm sure of it. if you waded through the
rising tides, or peeled away my blue like old house paint, you'd find something
that screams how you broke everything inside me. and how you were one single event
that taught me that just cause something ends, that doesn't mean its over.

and that i will waste every single change given to me.

the only thing you ever told me that i listened to, was to rest occasionally. just breath and
sit and let the quiet put things back in their rightful place. things are far too tangled
and disorganised for some simple quiet to restore anything now though.
and i just sit and wait for either a miracle
or a bigger wave.}

32by =ohsparrowsong

Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / General Non-Fiction / Stories & Vignettes

©2013 =ohsparrowsong

_{its 1am here right now.
and i should be in his arms sleeping.
but lucky me is right back to aching over you.

when the fuck did you sneak back in?}

*hazeltown Apr 10, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

this is one of my favorites.

Reply

~30SixDegrees Feb 27, 2013 Hobbyist Photographer

I hate that I can relate to this so well. But it is beautifully written.

Reply

=ohsparrowsong Feb 27, 2013

Reply

~apocalyptic-thereom Feb 20, 2013

Beautiful writing technique and unimaginably amazing imagery, this was beautiful.

Reply

=ohsparrowsong Feb 20, 2013

_{thank you <3}

Reply

~violetense Feb 19, 2013 Student Writer

sit and wait for either a miracle or a bigger wave.
Great image.

Reply

=ohsparrowsong Feb 19, 2013

_{thank you <3}

Reply

~Lacewinged-Beauty Feb 2, 2013 Writer

^Interesting.

Reply

=ohsparrowsong Feb 2, 2013

_{good or bad interesting?}

Reply

~Lacewinged-Beauty Feb 2, 2013 Writer

^{An I'm not sure yet kind of interesting.}

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