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32you 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.
quietly.i lost track how many times i told you those damned things would kill you. that they would set your insides on fire and burn you alive. or the smoke would seep into your blood and bones and stain you with the faintest taste of lingering death. but god dammit i don't know why i didn't notice it earlier, that was the entire fucking point of the, wasn't it? maybe not in the beginning, but the 5th year in, or after he skipped town and left you speechless each one was a tiny suicide, a quiet, unseen death. each packet held 10 days off your life, maybe more, and they're so much less conspicuous than a gun or a sudden addiction to painkillers.
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
to the same place
he's my bottom
my rock bottom
calamity.the poor boy got a lecture from deaths secretary
"deaths busy enough as it is without walk ins"
"but it was urgent," he stutters.
"it couldn't wait, it was now or never"
he was simply told
"take a number, and wait over there with the rest
who 'couldn't wait' "
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.
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
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
at things that don't notice her
whatever it was that connected him
and let the sparks
too light.everything around her was grey stained and long faced and even the heavens had broken open and threatened to wash the world away for the great loss. but her heart felt the same. her stomach was tangle-free and her boots weren't any heavier than a normal stupid day. and that was the worst part, she didn't feel different even though everything else was.
she'd always expected the earth would collapse, and her knees would give out and she would be doubled over, stomach twisted and mind numbed. but her insides were still warm and didn't match the grey outside at all. the only weight was the guilt over the lack of actual guilt that she knew she should have been feeling. she wanted to cry, and choke and leave her makeup splattered and smeared like water colour over her face but she just stared blankly, eyes glazed at the people who were dying inside over this loss. the only thing she was feeling was that she was the worst kind of person and that he would have hated her. whic
simple math.it was the strangest thing to be complaining about, not liking
feeling -this- human. feeling so fucking vulnerable and exposed, and not
understanding anything that is going on but knowing that its actually
just chemicals that we’ve given names too
and far too fucking weak to handle the tidal wave of shitty chemical reactions you
bring with you.
A Liston the back of a graded test (88 and a few red marks) scalded with tea stains and flecks of fennel:
THINGS I WISH I KNEW
- whether i'm less or more
- what he's thinking when he's
- when i'll find the answers i'm searching for
- if he'll find a better girl in this lifetime
- when i'll figure out that i'm the best i can be
- if he'll ever re-discover me
- when i can finally start living in love and not in fear
hypermesia1. we are driving on the freeway at 75 miles per hour and staring out the window i can't help but get the overwhelming need to open the door and let myself out. four of us in the car, and not a single one of you has a goddamn idea. not even me - for the wake it would bring, the thing i cannot let go of. 1/14/13
2. "where are you?" there is a trace of panic caught in your throat and it nearly - but no, not quite - makes me smile to hear it. when you find me sitting in the tree, our tree, swinging my feet and knocking my knees you have tears in your eyes and you look so betrayed. darling, baby, honey, dear, who gave you the right to play the hero? call my mother and tell her i'm gone? i finish my cigarette and throw those left in the river. there is no salt left in my body. i climbed up here in heels to get a reaction out of you and ah, there it is, there it is - but it's not enough, love, it never will be. 1/14/13
3. your fair-weather attempts at hellos and how are yous are boring me, y
Tattooed in My Tear DuctsI don’t know any big words
and I don’t drink tea and I haven’t read
all the classics and my hair is a startling
shade of ash blonde, if you’re being
generous. I would call it grey. I will not
impress you. And maybe that’s impressive
enough. You will always get an honest
reaction from me.
My mother drinks tea though,
earl grey, and chai and chamomile,
she thinks it will heal her, make her
sleep. But sleep and healing are not
the same things.
I have run from monsters
to find them in my sleep, and by run
I mean get high, and by monsters,
I mean me. If sleep is a mirror
we are all doomed. I’ve seen myself,
eyes red and raccooned, reaching
for some comfort and I had to explain
that my lips swell when I cry. All I wanted
was for you to say that I look pretty when
I have come to realize two things:
one, that everything I want is not good for me and
two, I am not the worst things I ever did.
I am not the worst things I ever did.
I want this tattooed i
on people as placestw,
the elementary school playground
i still sit on the swings
you were the house i grew up in
and grew tired of,
so very familiar;
every secret door revealed
every hiding spot
i couldn't help but linger
long after it
you are the forest
i have been too afraid to wander in
so beautiful and inviting
so full of poisonous
you were the last car
on a train: temporary,
in transit and moving
nobody can travel
the dusty hotel room
i got comfortable in for
a few days, the one i
found love in
but hotel rooms belong to no one
and i shouldn't have been so
surprised to find that
someone else had been
you were the
girl down the street's
littered with red solo
and not much
you are the back room
of someone else's
the one i've come to hide in
when i can no longe
reflections on firstsyou know what really makes
me sad is that i have no recollection
of our first kiss. i have no recollection
of the first time you tried to fuck me. my
memory stops where i walked into
the room in garters with my best friend and molly
rolled my eyes back while you
made my fingers snap and grasp
at musty sheets. what i do remember
is when i fell in love with
you. it was over several
short and long moments.
1. the water murmured softly
underneath the wood and underneath
our bodies. the rushing of our blood
seemed like too much,and so it calmed
down and pulsed gently like thump.
thump. thump. thump.
and you called me sweetheart and this is
what you said. "i hated you so much because
i was attracted to you. you are so beautiful.
so smart. so talented. i hated you so much."
and then i sang the same song for you
that had made others fall in love with me
but i never felt it the way that i did then.
my voice was almost shaking,
Bad taste.You are a
sad song at the back
of my mouth,
gagging me with
every word I try to
say that isn't praise
of your name and
don't leave me
Tear my tongue from
my cheek, from my spoilt
Let me speak my own
praises of people
who aren't you,
people who could
never be you,
people with hearts
that have not withered,
hands that still know how to
press love-me-tender prints
into my skin and
I still don't know
if you loved or fucked me better.
charlestownthere are days where everything-
reminds me of charlestown
i jump to correct those
who are talking about south carolina
when i remember they're talking
but i can't flush out the feeling
that they're wrong,
or when there are no dropped r's
hitting the floor beneath them
there are days that nothing
but green eyes or gapped teeth
hold interest for me,
and nights where i feel myself
and i dream of you,
and you stand before me
in your newly-shaven hair
and dark-framed glasses,
and i can only feel
the most overwhelming sense
it is nights like those
that terrify me
Please leave a message after the toneMother, I've forgotten
What the sun looks like,
What it feels like on my
Cellophane skin, cold as
Ice, I wonder if I will melt
Too if I try to get a glimpse.
I wonder if the sun is angry
At me for reminiscing with
The enemy. I'd be too, Angry
I mean. I never bothered to
Open the curtain to my tomb
[it is now much too stuffy to
Be a room] and my phone,
[Still connected with a wire]
Refuses to be kind. It must be
Angry too, I think. I might always
Be listening to the voices of those
That might as well be dead, they are
Always saying the same damn thing.
"Where are You?"
"Where have you been?"
"Why are you hiding,
You stupid thing?"
"Life waits for no one, not even you."
"Do you want to die in that room of yours,
Under your flowered bedspread, Surrounded
by the candles your sister Bought you for your
Do I? I would love a change of scenery,
But I cannot move. My bones have grown
Soft While I lay here trapped in the thoughts
Of Yesterday's misery. I'd much rath
eight things that hurt more than a broken boneone,
i have never had broken bones,
but i imagine it would snap,
splinter, pierce my skin.
i imagine it would be
the pieces i cannot put back together
scratching their way out of
this body bag.
i imagine my demons would
not rest until my arms are torn
by the claws of my inside.
i'd imagine broken bones
would not hurt as much
as broken confidence,
(my lack of it.)
fluctuating positions in life.
the backbone of a dreamer
who finds nightmares her companion,
the fingertips of a mother,
pressed against feverish foreheads.
the lips of a teenage girl,
forgetting what truth sounds like.
i cannot remember the last time i did.
knotted hair pulled out at the roots.
nail polish remover spilled into wounds.
lips chapped red.
burned at the stake
dying on a scaffold,
unable to speak.
numbers on the scale,
tick-tack-toe on my wrist.
every blistering insecurity
that sends me spiraling.
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
and naturally cleans
so even if she chokes
and stops breathing
it won't hurt.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More