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Monday, August 30, 2010

Breaking down

She breaks down, falling back against the wall and
covering her face where the tears slide down.
Controls her breathing for a mere second, then
through gritted teeth says, "I just hate this entire family."
Her mother seems unfazed, but somewhere deep inside the girl watches her crumble.
Satisfied, she continues.
"You're shit parents, I'm a shit person, they're shit people, and we're all dysfunctional and falling apart and...well, look at us. Look at this house. Look at the way we avoid each other, and when we don't, the way we yell. And don't tell me you think you're fair, because that's a lie. That is a fucking lie, because you're just as selfish as the rest of us. No, you haven't always been here for us, and NO, you are NOT available to talk to. Even if you were, I wouldn't want to; no on would. You undermine everything that makes us okay. When I turn sixteen, I'm either moving out with your permission or getting myself emancipated. And trust me, I've got the right evidence and plenty of that to get the hell outta here."
For a moment, the girl's mother seems to cry, almost. But she regains her resolves and speaks.
"Where are you going to go?" Rather than fighting the accusations, she falls for a question.
"Away," the girl huffs. "Away from here. I'll live on the streets; it really doesn't matter. As long as I'm not here."
There's silence.
Complete, and utter silence.
The mother just nods and says, "We could send you to a housing for troubles teens, and you could work things out from there..."
"Mom, I don't want therapy, or any other shit like that because I know it's not going to help. I need to get out of here. It's the only thing that'll make me happy."
Her mother shakes her head slowly. "You're the happiest one out of us all, though..."
Tear-streaked eyes from admitting the truth, she mumbles, "No, I'm just the best at pretending."

After that moment, it sinks it.
"Oh....honey..." The mother goes in for a hug, but is denied.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Glass shelter

Worlds of people crowd together in a shelter, hiding from the falling rain. They're voices chorus together and erupt into a sudden rise as the sky darkens. They're scared, worried, awe-struck, and completely terror-ridden.
But the rain is just so wet, that they must all stay hidden. 
Slowly, as the night goes by, the people fall out, some braving the storm, but most drawing to the edges of the clear shelter, pacing, or collapsing completely against the smooth glass walls. 
No one's quite sure what to say anymore, and the chorus of noise has subtly fallen to short, choppy verses that grow quieter and quieter until silence covers the ceiling in a soft, spoken lullaby. 
As eyes fall shut and hands apart, the world inside the glass becomes cold and still, like that moment of first snow fall each winter. But the people do not notice one another, and break connections as eyes close and minds shut down for the night, locking up the store window's where thoughts can be bought with expensive doctors and tests upon tests. 
The granite flooring seems to freeze over, and teeth chatter in short coma-sleeps. No one will wake, but the world of glass is dreamless. Just as you and I might have a morning shower, or midnight snack, glass people tend to forget themselves and the world around them, and accept the silent, frozen world with a small, goodbye smile.
It's sad to think, however, that a few restless souls pace back and fourth all night long, not quite able to shut their eyes for the last time, to lay their body down to rest. They walk the same path for hours upon hours, unfolding into countless days and months. 
These people cannot move on.

When you die, you stop dreaming. It's sad, but every dream ends, and you must wake up.
When you say goodbye, and lay yourself down in a tolerable position on the cool, granite lose the ability to ever wake again, as your life slips out from under you and moves on. 

If you cannot move on...

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Smoke sinks into the pores of my skin, stinging my eyes.
"It's peeing again," I say quietly, holding my head up to the sky to keep from tearing up. 
She looks over to me from the rock, on her back, and smiles.
"Don't waste the rest," she says, taking it from my mouth and inhaling just the right amount. She takes one more drag, then smiles.
"Blowbacks," she says. "Put your mouth near mine."
I lean forward, and after she inhales, closer, and closer in, until she breathes into my mouth.

I inhale her air, her smoke, and smile.
"There," she says. 
She fluffs my hair up so it's a little teased, and tugs at my dress. My eyes shine silver and green, black rimmed, and my tights rub against the side of the rock as I lean in closer. 
No, I think. Stop.
But I can't exactly stop myself, not really. The scene is just so right.

She's just so right. 

"Vi?" she says.
I shake my head inside out and answer, "Yes?"
She tousles my hair again and says, "Nothing."


Saturday, August 14, 2010


Lights flash, outside. Through the gritty window, I hear sirens bleeping.
Far away.
Up the yellowing walls, and out the reflective glass; but they cannot see inside.
I'm laying on the ground, my head facing up to the ceiling. I'm watching the blood drip from my wrist in the corner of my eye, as it spreads across the floor like poison.
They're calling out my name, frantic; but they cannot see inside.
It's dark, too dark, as the lights dim to a shady grey. The world seems so florescent, but far, far away.
Something in my head pounds hard, so I mumble out a name.
"Life, you fucking asshole," and then, "I've fucking quit the game."

Thursday, August 12, 2010


Pick apart my skin
with a grin, with a grin.
Pick apart my skin with a grin.
But come time to go,
you can't get up.
You've drunk too much,
too, too much gin.

So you pick apart my skin
with a grin
with your gin,
with your silky little fingers
in the wounds upon my skin.

Funny funny words
that we sing,
that we sing,
when you pick apart your skin
without your
silly little grin.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

It's not what it seems

Picking at my skin
to stop the itch,
it's crawling.
Dark scars in circles
so it doesn't look too bad,
I'm not on drugs.

Just distract,


Tuesday, August 10, 2010

City girl

Windows line the sky-creepers,
glass panels with sharp edges and dark reflections.

I watch, mesmerized,
but I dare not look inside.

Behind those eyes is a mind I'm far too scared to see.
Behind those lies, it's me. 
I kept going and kept going
and I wasn't counting
and going
and going
and so far
I'm almost gone, but then I'm not.
Somehow I'm still here.

There's this white case I have. It's filled with pills I've collected, all different sorts.
From everywhere, and I know which ones you shouldn't mix, and which ones will knock you out,
and everything.
There's alcohol, which you are not supposed to mix, blades, and pills.
And you know, there's always water to help it all go down nicely.

And that's what I want, this year for my birthday?
But I want my birthday to come early and
and I want to die.
And that'll fix everything.

Monday, August 9, 2010


I kick at the puddles lining the silver concrete,
warming my feet in the luke-warm liquid.
It's a city, and there's the fear of germs and illness,
but I trudge through the water boldly.

No, not boldly at all.
I'm scared, terrified, and soaked through.
Chills up and down my skin, everywhere.
I'm scared, scared, scared.

There's no time for that, see, 
because we have to get home.
But we're only going back to an empty house
with memories, right,
but nothing more.

Thoughts through the walls and cracked windows,
duct tape wrapped around the broken edges.
But it's not enough to dull it down,
and the memories scream, shout at me
from everywhere.

We are happiness,
hear us roar. 

I'm not buying it.
I wasn't ever happy.

Things were always twisted, see.
Even the day I met you,
I knew you were going to kill me.

Maybe not you, really.
But I died. 

Sunday, August 8, 2010

And you and me and you and

Possibly may be going to see an old friend
Possibly maybe but it might not

There's food in the kitchen somewhere
off away
but I'm not in the kitchen

And that's fine good over there
and I'm in here
Off away from everything
off away from myself.

Someone tell me though what makes sense
to you
to tell me what makes sense so I know I've not gone

Friday, August 6, 2010

Waste away, it really is okay

Get out of the water and hide in the wrinkles of the towel, wrapped up so tightly like armour.
No one's home to see the blood seep through the sides.
Sit down and edge yourself up to the wall, letting the tears fall.
It's sad, so sad, but no one cares.
Just cry until your head aches and you're too stuffed up to breathe, then go upstairs.
Smoke filled bedroom, try to get dressed.
Smokesmokesmoke everything smells like smoke.
Breathe in, stop... -wait, is she still breathing?

Slip an over-sized tank-top over your head,
smashed, broken in, flat gold glasses around your neck, tying the chain close like a choker,
and pull a watch with a bigbig clock on your wrist.
Rings on both fingers, ringsringsrings sounding off a sound so horrid no one hears it.
Nails nice and long so you can scratch when no one's looking,
strap a razor to your side just under your dress.

It's fine.
It's fine.
Go outside, smoke until your lungs coughbleed dry.
Until your thighs cry, cut.
Until your head cracks, scream.
Until, until, until you're dying,
But don't you fucking dare live.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Shady words

Told me to grow up.

Things weren't good enough, tinted dark. Things were fucking dark. Revenge. Planning.
We plot. Back against the walls, we looked around the corner and bolted.
Feet beating against the cracked cement flooring.
Water's dripping somewhere, we can hear it.
My thoughts take me back--
Screams after us, we're running. As fast as we can go and as far as we can get.
Into the night, the dark, dark night.
Lights flicker out one by one, by the time we're gone it's pitch black. No one's home.
Blood dripping down my lips, to my chin, to my shirt, to my pants, to the dirt. We're sitting.
You take my hand, blood merges from the both of us.
"We're out," you whisper. You cough, laugh a little.
I see the tears you're holding back and nod, barely able to keep my own head up. Barely able to keep my eyes open.
"Sleep," I whimper.
Your hand on my cheek, pat, pat. "Eyes open."
The world spinning. Around me, beating with my heart; in and out.
I can't think straight.
The night's cool, but around me everything is burning. Every time I open my mouth to speak, blood trickles in.
Metallic and salty; tears and crimson liquid.
"No no no...shit. Stay awake." You look around franticly.
There's no one but buildings and cars, and yellow light.
Pat, pat, pat. You tug on my earlobe, snap your fingers.
"Come on, come on..."
The world blacks out, fading to a bright light in my face.
Blinding, and my eyes shoot open.

"I don't know, I haven't, I mean...she's up!"
It's only your face surrounded by a white light. Only your face.

I open my mouth to speak and taste dried blood.
No, words won't do. Just your face.
Just you.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Nova's back too.

I saw Ellie today.
We talked about absolutely everything and sat in the lake.
We got sun-burnt, and walked to the graveyard together.
Since I took a walk and told her, she says she goes there a lot now. She's the only person I know who will take a walk through the graveyard with me, listen to me ramble about whatever's actually on my mind, and she' genuinely interested.
We spent an hour sitting on a bridge, writing. I wasn't worried.
We talked, and talked, and talked; and she told me I'm the only person who she can look into their eyes while talking to them.

She makes me feel safe.
Worried, at first, but safe.

I've found a perfect friend.
She's interesting in everything I'm interested in, and she doesn't mind walking for hours to strange places, only to end up with bug bites and cuts.
She likes cuts and scars, too.
That's important.
That's really important.

Monday, August 2, 2010


We're breathing until we're not.
Brain shut down
lungs smoked out
We bleed until there's no blood left
and that's fine.