25 July, 2011
16 July, 2011
ne suffit pas
Someday she will lose everyone, and her lies and her love will tangle her up into a ball of defeat. She will cradle her memories like a boy she once knew. And when she dances, there's no music, just her shoes tapping and her sleeves gathering, and her breath catching no one around.
She will lie on the floor, idle and disgraced. With the smoke trailing out of her mouth in a swirl of sinless guiltless disconcerting puffs; like her dreams. Heaving sighs and tired eyes, her face a mesh of her false truths, all of them spawning rabid on her skin. She will be a fraction of what she was and she will have no one.
Her feet light on the floor, creeping like a ghost in the halls of her home. Her things will haunt her, pictures and dressers and bathroom mirrors, ribbons and colors she wore when she was the solar system. She will stand there, in the middle of what was once comfort and realize that her safety had been stolen.
Someday she will lose everything, and her sanity and her fingers will tangle up into shards of glass. She will write in red, on her walls and on her skin. She will hang her money from noosed ties and tie her career to her bed posts. She will strangle her time with her nails, her knees digging into his guts as she presses down harder, begging him for more.
She will lose herself. In whiskey and bed sheets. And she will refuse to be found.
She will lie on the floor, idle and disgraced. With the smoke trailing out of her mouth in a swirl of sinless guiltless disconcerting puffs; like her dreams. Heaving sighs and tired eyes, her face a mesh of her false truths, all of them spawning rabid on her skin. She will be a fraction of what she was and she will have no one.
Her feet light on the floor, creeping like a ghost in the halls of her home. Her things will haunt her, pictures and dressers and bathroom mirrors, ribbons and colors she wore when she was the solar system. She will stand there, in the middle of what was once comfort and realize that her safety had been stolen.
Someday she will lose everything, and her sanity and her fingers will tangle up into shards of glass. She will write in red, on her walls and on her skin. She will hang her money from noosed ties and tie her career to her bed posts. She will strangle her time with her nails, her knees digging into his guts as she presses down harder, begging him for more.
She will lose herself. In whiskey and bed sheets. And she will refuse to be found.
06 July, 2011
When you want to crawl into a hole because you feel like you bother everyone around you because you're hyper at the wrong times and deep when it's uncalled for. You know that mood when you just feel like telling everyone how awesome they are, how much you love them, how much you just want to be next to them and how thankful you are that you ever met them. I have those moods. Don't judge me.
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