[x]

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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?

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' "

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.

11.the internal oceans are more threatening
come winter
it makes them cold
and leaves her shaking
right to her core

its okay in summer
they're warm
and golden

but the icy blues
and stark whites
leave her shaken
and vulnerable

and scared you'll
slip back inside
trying to warm
but really only intending
to break
and burn

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

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.

swell.YOU SPENT THREE MONTHS ON MY COUCH
AND I PERMANENTLY HAD A BUCKET FOR YOU
TO PURGE YOUR INSIDES INTO AT AN UNGODLY HOUR.
BUT YOUR VOMITING MEANT YOU WERE STILL
(JUST)
ALIVE.
AND I'D RATHER CLEAN UP YOUR BODY'S REJECTION
THAN YOUR REJECTED LIFE.

cheap whisky.instead of exchanging numbers
we exchanged horror stories
and compared our
drunken scars

[yours down your side
mine up my arms]

when i looked at you from a distance
i thought maybe you could
cut me open with
your cheekbones

[but you never were
so merciful]

and your eyes were as empty
as the bottles that we
clutched to gain the silver
that traced our bodies

[but the rest of you was full
of lossandloveandhateandblackness]

you said that there was lead in my veins
and you brought it to the boil
and i sat there burning
with bugs being drawn to me

[my destruction was more beautiful
than i ever could be]

i remember you hit me

awake from my dream state.it was a leap of faith
but i wish someone had pushed me
so i had someone to blame

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
too human
too exposed
and far too fucking weak to handle the tidal wave of shitty chemical reactions you
bring with you.

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stinging.lover asked me about the purple
that curved and stretched along
my legs and thighs
bold and bruised against my skin.
i told him
'they're stretch marks'
he ran his fingers along them
and felt them raised
and smooth
but some were rough
and still sore to the touch.
but he didn't question.
just kissed them
and told me he loved me.
he doesnt need to know that i tore myself open
over and over trying to find
this feeling and tear it out of me
he doesn't need to know that.

alright, its okay i guess.she said she wanted to find someone who would be able to read the semi-tones
and breaks inbetween her breathes when she is holding back that sadness that leaves bottom
lips quivering and the oceans of eyes suddenly grows and swells and flows freely down faces.
she wanted to find someone who could read these tones, and find the ache like a map
and poke it with the right tenderness and break it apart and let it disperse to other parts where
they can sit and not weigh so much.
someone who could take the music out of her ears, and know what each song a band means
her heart was feeling. that what sarah said mean she's falling apart but not really sure about
whether she has the energy too. or that bright eyes means she's just a big pile of uselessness
and that her insides are far too heavy for her to sit up straight right now.
and watercolouring is bad.

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

recklesshis head was filled with fluff and his heart wasn't warm enough to care about much else apart from himself in the overwhelming
set of school and corridors that were filled with strangers whose eyes said so much without the help of lips. classrooms were never the right temperature
and he think they purposely made the desks too hard to comfortably rest your head on. stupid boy with nothing of any real concern and no reason
to be troubled. doesn't mean he wasn't trouble. his eyes wandered from the board and his teachers words and landed on her, with birdnest hair and ocean blue eyes. he laughed at her strange clothes or the book she clutched so tightly to her chest, like a lifeline or a extension of herself.
bell rung, a rush a blur of people flew out doors and into the yard, and he followed her, the girl with the heartbook. he wanted it, it worked into his small little mind and he wanted to see inside it. with the worst intentions though. he walked up to her, and points over at something

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stuck to the back of my throat.

by =ohsparrowsong, Jan 24, 2013, 1:00:00 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{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.}

stuck to the back of my throat.by =ohsparrowsong

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{fuck. fuck. fuck.
something just kicked me in the ribs
and i'm too scared to look at the bruise
cause i know its you
you little fucker.}

~violetense Feb 20, 2013 Student Writer

Lovely imagery.

=ohsparrowsong Feb 20, 2013

_{thank you <3}

~Lacewinged-Beauty Feb 2, 2013 Writer

^{You should put the AN up as a piece in and of itself.}

=ohsparrowsong Feb 2, 2013

_{thank you <3}

~Lacewinged-Beauty Feb 2, 2013 Writer

=ohsparrowsong Feb 2, 2013

~azazelin Feb 1, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

^{the colour of love would definately be that colour, love.}

=ohsparrowsong Feb 1, 2013

!travelgirlxx Jan 31, 2013

I absolutely fucking love (hate) the notion of a 'personal cancer.' And I'm fairly certain your 'artist comments' is an effing poem, too.

This is probably one of my faves from you, in all its raw pain.

=ohsparrowsong Jan 31, 2013

_{(this is so old..)}

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stuck to the back of my throat.

stuck to the back of my throat.by =ohsparrowsong

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