The End

I've just realized that I was completely mistaken about most of the people I once appreciated.
They've all turned their back on me in favor of gossip, backstabbing and that Bitch Ass grapevine.
I hate that Grapevine.

How could I have known before that they were not what I thought they were - free and spontaneous and in love with the little things in life,
loyal, trustworthy, all the things that I try to be and that I expect from best friends.
How was I to know that they were completely hollow, fake.
They only care about gaining from others misfortune. They will gladly sacrifice any person to be the one with more friends in the end,
to get out on top.

Violence has been tempting me.
Fuck.
Violence is ignorant and I have always tried to react with words but words aren't enough.
Someone needs to beat the living shit out of them, beat the sense into them.
They are so, so, so, so wrong.
I just can't understand who could be so, for lack of a better word, heartless, also shallow.
My fiance was the one to use the word "heartless". While I refrain from such words, it does seem to fit perfectly in with this puzzle.
This madness.

I am now friendless.
And the thing is, I don't have to be.
I could easily suck up to them, play the martyr and get back in their good graces, but there would be no reason for it.
If I were like them, I would do it. Because all that would matter to me is being everyone's friend and staying in their circle.
But I don't want friends like them.
I want friends I can trust.
Friends who won't say one thing to me and an ENTIRELY different thing to another.
Friends who make people who don't even know me hate my guts and make my other friends hate me as much as they do.
I want friends who make me happy.
And these friends, while we've had our good times, don't make me happy anymore.
They actually haven't in a while.

It's just a sad thing to discover that you're alone and that the things of the past have come to an end.
The good times:
morning raves in the car,
group speed smokes,
road trips,
narnia's,
codenames,
"heart to hearts".

Over.
It's the end.
And maybe for the better. Definitely for the better.
I still have the most important thing to me, Dillon, the love of my life. We will never be separated.
He's been unfailingly here for me, through all of this.
He shares my hatred for all but one.
Besides, I'm about to graduate and move on.
I suppose that the severing of my ties to them will only make it easier.

But for now it is hard. And I cannot shake my violent hatred for their betrayal.

In two words, I could summarize:

This sucks.

It Happened

The moment waited for, dreamed of for so long.
If finally happened.
He has arrived and I am filled with warmth, so much the winter breath
can not touch me.
He is taller. But his eyes are still honey.
He is different. But the same in the ways that matter.
And I love him endlessly, so much.

My heart is disobedient to my constant requests for it to slow down.
It is no longer used to such speeds.
It's been slow for so long.

I still feel his lips.

His scent has rubbed off on me like it used to.
For some reason whatever he's wearing is always more powerful than what I'm wearing.
Because all I smell is him, not myself, my own perfume.

He's coming to my house on Wednesday to help me and my mother decorate the
Christmas tree.
Cheesy,
CHEESY,
CHEESY.
I know.
But who cares. I will be with him.

We made it. We really did it.
All the time spent waiting, miles and miles apart, thirsty for sight where all that satiated was
the sound of the other.
He's back and we're still the same.
I think the ultimate pain had to be experienced in order for both of us to know the ultimate happiness.

WE RULE!!!!!

in two months it's a year.
: )

I am the happiest person in the world.

Still

In the summer, we were
vibrant,
alive and warm.
We took our time and fit ourselves wholly into the
routine of loving one another.
Mornings were spent
and nights cherished before this terrible hiatus.

The winter has come and turned me to stone.

I wish I had been still.
More still, so I could better gaze upon the perfection of you.
More still, so I could better remember that perfection.
More still, so I could better realize how luck smiled on us.

Now I am still, though not voluntarily.
I am stilled along with my heart, still here, still loving you and always
waiting for you.

Here Comes The Sun!!!!!!!!!!!

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right
It's all right


He is returning.
Kissing him after those 72 days was...
ugggh. i don't even know how to say it.
perfect.
i couldn't stop shaking.
he's gotten taller.
his eyes are warm still.
i didn't hold his hand in our one minute encounter,
but the words were so bright.

he's coming back this saturday.
going to my school again.
here comes the sun!!



P.S.:
we've been engaged since semptember.
wondered if any of you readers knew that.

P.S.S.:
sorry i haven't written in a while.
haven't been up to it.

Sunless Universe

One of the things I've come to enjoy the most in life ironically comes right before one of the things I hate the most in life. The ladder being school, especially since the departure of my Love (the halls and classrooms are empty and unfulfilling without him there to greet me and walk with me), the thing I love being the journey to school.

Sharing a vehicle with my friends in the early dawn hours, before the sun has risen, with the music leaking out of the cracked windows and our hearts beating in time with whatever beat we've chosen, is absolutely the best way to start the day. In a sense the experience is a tease, leading me to believe that it will be a good day and I will enjoy myself, whatever circumstances unfold. This is wrong.

The moment I step out of the car is not the first time I feel alone.
Neither is the walk to the building which imprisons me and attempts to force me to open my mind to knowledge I don't wish to receive.
It is the entrance.
The moment I know that after the first period of the eight I will drift through will not give me him.
The place he used to come for me is now barren and gray, his image still there, an illusion, evanescant and shimmering, showing me what I'm missing when I realize that he isn't real.

I don't know why this has happened. I don't know when it will end. But I know that my life is deadened by his abscence. Even the music ride in the morning is tainted by the sadness which has taken residence in my heart since he disappeared. Basically, take every good emotion that I felt when he was still here and his hand was open to mine, and reduce it by half. Then take every bad emotion and multiply it by half. This is what I am now. An extreme on one side, an understatement on the other. The sun shines but not with promise, the wind blows but doesn't touch me in the same way that it once did. The sounds of the night please but fail to bring me the satisfaction that he could with every small and large thing he did. All the things I loved orbited around him and now that he is gone they are spinning out of control into a universe with no solar system because my sun is no longer here to give them a line to travel.

What am I going to do?

Without Him

Wondering constantly where you are, my mind has become entirely
Integrated with the effect of your abscence. Polluted with
The fear of a future lacking your return. There is no such thing as
Home and there is no step
One. No picking myself up from this dusty floor
Underneath the table which should display our joined hands, but remains
Totally empty.

Heaven cannot hear me ask for you. A new sound has surfaced
In my voice.
Mercy has overlooked me.

5/28/08: In People

It is an eye opening experience, discovering people.
Learning for the first time of what lies beneath their skin, a brilliant, manipulative curtain cloaking it.
My eyes are opened and in being so, I know now that
Ignorance is bliss.
My ignorance was bliss.

I can touch no one now.
They are all made of tiny poison ivy stars. To touch would be
To become infected. Visually effected by the cruel lies that each word they utter
is contrived of.

I think I might as well be on a lonely, starving island.
If this were so, I would not search for a way out, merely lie half sunken in the
wet, tempurpedic sand of the scurf on the bay
and wait impatiently for a wave to steal me away.

5/27/08: Losing Faith

I have come to a point where nothing satisfies.
I want to be alone. I want to connect. I want to know seclusion. I want to be close.
There is no pleasing me. I can please no one.
Such a misleading girl has never existed in the world.
And I am still a pine needle, invisible on the surface of the wide, dark sea.

My life is inversely proportional.
I need what I do not want and I do not want what I need.
I do not want to be needed. I only want to need another.
And I despise the roads of the heart but I miss love with a golden, yearning burst sometimes.
I pine for the completeness of being a puzzle piece, and I was for a time,
closely matched with another.
Our jagged edges met and made a smooth picture.
Seperate now, I am reduced once more to a jagged piece of a lost and most likely nonexistent
pretty picture. Perhaps it's all been nothing more than a dream.
And I, the gullible dreamer, allowed myself to be blissfully mislid into a fleeting moment of happiness,
only to better know the biting feeling of not having it, and that of
once having it and succesfully losing it.

Move

I kept trying things.
Count downs from ten.
From three.
Moment searching,
Self insulting.
Useless.

It must happen so fast
That I don't even realize when I start to
Move.

Her lips were soft.
They tasted the same as before.

You Won't

Yesterday the syllables drifted
Out of previously sealed lips. They still
Undulate. Unused, disregarded. I
Wish to continue.
Only action satiates and every second spent
Near you or away, the wish remains awake. Please
Take me somewhere. I want your lips.

Storage

Sitting in this humid cube,
There is nothing I miss more than being held by you.
Over the years I have faded. What
Remains is the shaded silhouette of a memory.
All that surrounds me is nothing.
Gaze upon me just once more. I am
Eternally photographed. Eternally stored.

Shotgun Sinners

Still sleeping in my head:
I see your lips and feel the
Need to pass my smoke from me to you. The
Need to pass a touch from me to you. Never
Ending night transforms me. Now I am
Red, a feather of lead. Just like he said. All this
Still sleeps inside my head.

Strangers

I am often fixated by strangers.
They are new.
Unexplored.
A braille canvas.
And I am the electric nerve endings
Like spiderweb winter trees
Itching to satiate hungry fingertips.
Needing to know.

Strenuous

Simply fill me.
This is what I need. A temporary
Relief from every single day.
Enough to stop my thirst from dissolving me.
Nearly every second spent with you is a
Universe escaped to in which I am not strained.
Overjoyed at the absence of chains.
Unleashed.
Simply fill me.

Depthless

Deprived of depth,
Eager to prove otherwise, the
Prescott writes in flourishes.
The words he excretes cloak the nothing underneath.
He'd be loath to know his emptyness is no
Longer secret. Through his actions he teaches
Each person of the Prescott he wants them to know.
Still a few have discovered that he
Steadily hides his spinning, ephemeral soul.

Ignorant Conformists

She and I are often joined at the hand.
We laugh and talk and walk like they each do.
But we are different.

We have parents.
We have algebra II classes.
We go to school every single day like they each do.
But we are different.

Our clothes, our speech patterns,
our idiosyncrasies all fit into some category or another
as each of their own do.
But we are different.

We are different because we are more than friends.
We are different because we have invested emotion in one another.
We are different because we share kisses.
We are different because we do not hide.

Ultimately, we are different simply because we are both female.
The matter of sex is trivial, yet so important to those who like to point their fingers
and judge the way we choose to live.

They use God in their defense.
They throw his name into any argument claiming that people like us burn.

But someone like me, who has always been like this and knows
there is nothing i could have done differently to change who i am today,
knows that God loves all of his children.
Because I, apparently doomed to b u r n, love God.

I know that God loves me.
Regardless of the fact that church has never satisfied me.
Regardless of the fact that I pray rarely.
Regardless of the fact that I think other females are beautiful and soft
and I have the capacity to love them as I would a male,
God does love me.
He put me here. I lead a fortunate life, scattered with scars though it may be.
All life is scarred.
Experience itself is a scar.
Some scars are beautiful.
Some are meant to be hidden.

My girl and I are not a scar.
We will not hide.
We are loved.
We are the same in the only ways that should matter to the pointers.

I will defend.

Rice Paper

Remembering the start.
I am a nostalgic piece of rice paper floating.
Can anyone aid me,
Eerie and transparent on the brisk, fog cradled air?
Perhaps this numbness is temporary
And a bird will pick me up and show me where to go from here.
Perhaps a strangers hand will give me a quick, sharp tear.
Even in my disorientation, maybe the stranger will
Regard me with pity, and tell which half of myself is correct.





I have been discarded.
He wants to take it back but I am hesitant.
My pain was irrelevant last night.
A half of me misses him and needs him.
A half of me can not forgive him.

I am so lost.
I am torn.

Everything I Say Is Wrong

He always asks me to never stop loving him.

Irrational.
Pointless.
Unnecessary.

I tell him, finally, that I love him very much but would he please stop talking like that.
I said,
Why waste our limited time together
worrying about things that are merely hypothetical.
My halted love is merely a speculation of the future.
It is putting pressure on the present.
On our relationship.
I tell him all of this in the most reassuring, not accusatory,
way possible.
I really tried so much to make it the most harmless it could be.

But everything I say is wrong.
And before I know it we are arguing.
And he is playing with my necklace and not looking in my eyes.
Smiling at my friend who is playing behind me.
Agreeing with every damn thing I say.

He says he is upset because I care about nothing.

Obviously I care because I'm attempting to reassure him that
his fears are groundless and they are wasting our time.

I suppose what he wants is a girlfriend who will always mope and
harp about the possible doom of everything she loves.
Constantly sludging around in a gloom.
This must be what he wants.

I do care so much about him.

But I refuse to create an eggshell path for my words.
Words are valuable and should be used carefully and wisely,
but they should not be limited.
They should not be confined.

In a nutshell, this whole situation is bullshit.
And this blog is the cushion for my frustration.

If there were a real cushion, it would be threadbare by now.

I wish he could trust me.
That's what this is all about.
His inability to trust me due to the many people who
screwed him over in the past.
I like to think that by now, he knows me well enough to trust in me.

Obviously, everything I say is wrong
and I am quite often mistaken.

Day of Silence?

Today, a good portion of my school
excersized their rights of silence.
They did this in support of the gays.

I am anti-homophobe.
Homophobia of any kind is ignorant and childish.
It is hateful.

I understand and support the right to protest
things that one disagrees with.

But why with silence?


Words are power.
They are louder than any silence will ever be,
except for, possibly, the silence that follows death.
I could defend a friend, a gay, or denounce an enemy
more powerfully with words than i could ever without them.

These protesters walked around my school
with "VOW OF SILENCE" papers taped to them.

T-Shirts were written on.

"VOS. End the harrasment."

"I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together."

"Straight but not narrow."


The last two were my favorites.

Believe it or not, I at first participated in the silence of my peers.
Many of my friends chose silence.
But merely an hour and a half after I had started,
I realized how opposed I was to it, personally.
Silence gives one nothing to do but think.

I quit soon after my true opinions unearthed themselves.

Later that day, I submitted my opinion on the inside of the door of a
bathroom stall. Ignorant, I know, but a spur of the moment action based on
my quick passion for the subject.
I wrote in blue sharpie.
Not dark blue.
Light aqua.
I wrote:

Vow Of Silence:

God created all people.
We are all his damn children.
Stop whining.


Looking back, I'm not satisfied with how I worded it.
But I do not regret putting it there
on that ugly, world map blue
door.
It was chipped anyway.

A New Acquaintance

I have recently been acquainted - for the first time - to the feeling of being left.

He tried.

In those rushed minutes imbetween classes.
Everyone else was moving quickly.
We two were slowed down.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong with you
or are you going to be quiet all day?"
I hate it when people don't reply with words.
After his shrug, the initial silence continued.

Approaching a corner, he quickly moved me close to the wall and we stopped there.
I think it was a split decision he made.

Looking back, the play of events is confusing because
he told me twice that he really loved me and when I told him that I knew he did
he said it: "I think we should break up."

The classic break up words of every movie and every book.
The genericness of the words are excused due to the fact that there is really
no other way to say it.
Unless you want to talk chemistry.
But I think chemistry is bullshit.
It ruined my GPA.

I said no.
He repeated himself.
I said no again.
That he could try, but it was not going to happen.
I kissed him on the cheek
and walked away with a bounce in my step.

At first I felt nothing.
I felt the same way I looked.
But then I didn't look the same.
From the back I did but from the front my face was contorting in slight ways.
My eyebrows slanted upward on the inside
and my eyes grew shiny.
I didn't realize how sad I was that he wanted to leave me
until I knew that the only reason I would be crying would be sadness.
Then it really came down on me.

I couldn't think of any reason big enough to end our relationship.
I leaned back against the world map blue of the tile wall with my hands on my knees
and my sights on the ground and really felt it.
I tried to memorize it.
Usually I am the inflictor of this feeling.
The inflictor of a feeling I have rarely felt because I have never been left.
The abandonment of my family does not count to me.
I didn't choose my family.
I choose my boyfriends.

So in the end,
breakup: failed.
Relationship: hurt but intact.

I am angry.
I am livid at his quickness to punk out.
If he thinks our miniscule quarrels are a big enough deal to leave me
I don't know how he expects to last past the threshold of high school with me.

I also thank him for awakening me to the pain of being let go.
Though I'm sure the pain itself is much worse than that of what I felt in those quick moments ensuing his attempt,
seeing as my severing was not completed, I do now have a small taste of
what it ultimately must sting like to be left.

Alaina has grown.
Three cheers for her.

Sickness

Being sick is just about the most terrible thing
a body could go through.

A drain to the mind as well as the body, you find yourself
in a vegetative state.
Generally useless to everyone and anyone.
Knowing of how purposeless your sickly existence is
does not help you in the least.
It merely drives you to continue in your miserable way,
the moldy squash,
without change.

Typing on this keyboard has never been so tiring as it is now.
My fingers feel as if some elf or gnome has tied resistance rubber to each of my joints
and lightly coated each letter key in rubber cement.
My legs are numb.

I can honestly vouch for those silly people who claim to get high off of cough syrup.
This method of snatching an altered reality is indeed factual.
Unfortunately, I am so not in the mood for a high.
It wouldn't be so bad if I couldn't still feel that underlying ache.
As if some horrible power is squeezing my bones.
I can hear them creaking and moaning.

Ibuprofen is useless.
Even in overdoses.

Letter For A Liar

Justin.

Just wanted to congratulate you on succesfully disconnecting, pissing off and/or single handedly destroying your relationships with all the people who ever stood up for you when no one else did.
Three cheers for you. How's it feel? I bet you're soaring.

You may feel as if you are in a secure spot, seeing as you still have certain people on your "side". But if you'll think back a ways, the people on your "side" are the only one's in this whole mixup who ever snuck around and played the backstabbing game with you. In a way this could be good in that you now have an entourage of fellow decievers to share your games with. It could also be bad because you are easily swayed by what others say. Obviously. And they must surely see this. Think about what that means.

You believe just about anything you hear. You don't think about whether or not the person telling you things would have a reason to hurt you or the person they're talking about.
Did you ever think that whoever said those things about Dillon talking shit about you did it because he or she was mad at Dillon and
wanted to witness repurcussions for made up actions so he wouldn't have to confront Dillon or do anything himself? Did you ever think that you were the one who was getting played?
If you hear something about a friend, someone you actually care about, if there's anyone in this world that you've ever actually cared about, the first thing any fucking regular person would do is TALK TO THE GOD DAMN FRIEND.
Did your ability to have a mature conversation die with your ability to handle anything the right way?
SO MANY PEOPLE have been there for you and listened to you and NOT BELIEVED ANY OF THE SHIT OTHERS
SAID ABOUT YOU. So many people stayed by your side when no one else did. And you failed to do the same.
This might prove that we, the ones who were at one point your real friends, were stupid in ever putting our faith in you.
Maybe we should have listened to what everyone was saying about you.
Your lack of faith in people is pathetic. And your lack of confrontational skills is just as pathetic.

I try to think of a single time in which you SUCCESFULLY confronted someone with your actual point.
Gave someone the complete and honest truth without confusing anyone. You claim to be good at this but in fact
you suck the hugest, fattest ass at it.
Usually what you do is feed what's on your mind to the friends who you know will gossip about it and wait for it to
travel along the grapevine until the person you originally wanted to hear about it finally does.
In a way, you and all your current friends are pawns to one another.
They use you and you use them. And you each decieve yourselves.

You do not take people, use them for what you need at the time and then throw them away.
Reread that sentence and tell me what it sounds like.
Does it sound to you like something an asshole would do?
MAYBE BECAUSE IT IS.
You are an asshole.
A very misguided, sad and lost asshole.
But you still are one.

We would all still be here for you if you were to come around and snap out of this bullshit state you've been in.
We know you're smart enough to know what's going on if you actually open your eyes and try to see it.
But you don't.

What you've done to Brandon, me, and numerous others is not okay.
We pretty much can't stand you for it and think that you have a lot of things coming to you.
You really fucked up.
But this was necessary.
This whole letter.
If not to make you feel like shit, to make us feel better.
Or both.
If this letter fails to hurt you, simply tell someone loud and clear, send it through the grapevine
you've become so addicted to and someone will be sent immediately to kick you squarely in the balls.

Quite sincerely,
Alaina

Becoming Inaudible

I dreamed I died.
My lungs were polluted by one of my best friends
and I could feel my blood slowing with my heartbeat
and my legs going numb and my breathing slowing,
becoming inaudible.
Something saved me.
I can't remember what, though.
And I also can't remember who I was with.

When I woke up in the morning,
I visited the guilty best friend like I do every morning.
Or at least every once in a while during the times
my friend goes away.

That dream is the first I've ever had in which harm comes to me
instead of someone else.

I used to dream of the destruction of others
and my inability to stop it.
One scared me so badly that when I woke from bed in the hotel
my father and I were staying in, the first thing I did was
walk to the door, open it and stand outside in my t-shirt and underwear
to make sure that I wasn't dreaming anymore.
I was shaking.

Video Killed The Radio Star

Music is definitely traveling swiftly on a downard slope.
The rock of this time does not include the long solos, bountiful chord variations,
applaudable stage energy or full lyrics that the legendary rock of the past had.
Songs are shorter, less complicated and conformity is rampant.
Even the strugglers against conformity are conforming to the rest of the non-conformers.

The radio dissatisfies.
Fails to satiate my thirst for something that means anything.
A select few C.D.'s tickle my pickle.
Only one artist in particular can touch my soul.



Music gets me high.
Everytime.

Every once in a while, I'll listen to the sound of silence
in order to better appreciate my next run in with music.
The sound of silence awakens the sound of music.

The Chaos Effect

I put them in his hand.
His smile is always wide and clear.
I love it when he shows it to me.
I put them in his hand.

Sometimes I wonder how I came to this place.

It's that one fork in the road that changes everything.
Life is a tree.

You start at the trunk.
Move slowly upward until you meet your first fork.
Left handed or right handed maybe.
And slowly there are more and more forks in the tree.
Like roads.
First to overcome or cower under the fear of riding the bike.
Second to keep or remove the training wheels.
To go with dad or stay with mom after the divorce.

Later branches are a joint or a cigarette.
Possibly the denial of both.
To tie one's shoe at this intersection or the next.

That's the amazing thing.
The first intersection could hold a devestating car wreck in which you are
whisked away by the flipping truck and die almost instantly.
The second intersection could involve you getting gum on the bottom of your shoe.

The butterfly effect.
The Chaos Theory.

Life is a tree.

I put them in his hand and watched him smile.
I remembered how I came to this place.
My tree is beautiful.

Sporatic Breathing

The microscopic extraterrestrial behavioral patterns of the human race are the filling in the pie.
The index finger tugging at the skin beneath the thumb nail.
The tapping foot.
The wandering eyes.
The squinting.
The upper and lower teeth drawing the skin of the cheek imbetween.
The "ahem"'s and "mhmm"'s of the man on the subway in 21D across from you and two to the left.
The sporatic breathing.
The foggy windows in the passers-by preoccupied faces.

I enjoy the tapping of these lightly textured, black, buffed keyboard keys.
The itch on my ear reminds me that my ear exists and this is how I hear the conversation across from me.
Hidden from my view are the social instincts of my peers at work.
Hidden from my view by the computer moniters.
They think they're not flirting.

We all think we're not flirting.
This is a common deception that we use against our naiive children subconciouses
as a way to keep from feeling guilty.
You can't feel guilty about something you haven't done.
Lie to yourself and you'll never know you did it.
If confronted about it, your lie will be even better because you won't think it's a lie.

I often imagine myself telling the truth about something that hasn't happened.
If it's already happened, I can't imagine it. I can see right through myself.
But if it hasn't happened and still remains a virgin situation, strictly hypothetical,
I can imagine it all in my head
and hear my answer
and I think, so this is what I sound like when I'm being honest.
Then I put myself into a lie and say the same kind of thing I said as an honest girl.
It's like practice for my next show.
Curtain rises, girl lies, girl smiles nonchalantly and bows.
Scene.

Violet

We were reclined, entwined
Like two recumbent vines
Stretching across.
Winding, winding. Finding time
In which to listen to
Gravel grinding on a sleepy
Shore.
Spreading, blooming.
Thin spiderweb veins on the skin of the sky.
Shining, shining.
Dancing slow upon the violet velvet,
In love with the night.
Looking back,
Not wanting the sun to catch up.
We were molded, melted.
Two autumn candles whispering.
Singing silent songs to windy windows
From the sill where we watched.
Gazing at distant blue,
Entrancing hue,
Our place of play before the day.
Sleeping, dreaming.
Lights in the night, streaming.
Flown from the world to shimmer with the stars.
Shining, shining.
Dancing slow among them.
In love with the silken night.
Your skin,
Velvet.
Looking back,
Praying the sun will never catch up.

The Softest Kind

You fill my soul with music.
Serenade me
Penetrate
My heart with strangeness.
New sensations.
Manipulations.
The softest kind.
I left behind
The memories from when
I was blind.

Lock me in a chamber
Where I will remember
The coldest December
Before I was yours.
Every time it pours
I'm reminded of the doors
That I can not walk through
To leave and get to you.

And in your absence,
The merciless distance
Mocks our resistance.
I'm hearing it now.
I miss the sound
Of the touch of your lips
On my fingertips.

Crouch

Crouch

I am the ribbons.
Peeled from your sadistic wall.
Stripped in stripes and torn.
Reading lines inside your eyes.
Crouching inside like beetles.

People Suck

People suck. This has been established in so many different occurances in my short life. People suck because they relish the dramatic. People suck because they love power, especially when it's taken, not earned. They suck because they enjoy watching horror movies in which people are subject to the loss of their limbs and blood and usually life. They SUCK because this gives them a rise. I suck because horror movies give me a rise.
People suck because they try to use coupons in Kroger and when the new cashier doesn't understand how to use them, they fight to the last breath for their god damn 29 cents even if they have to drag the manager over. People suck because they search everywhere for the slightest opportunity to be assholes, as the asshole's common speech pattern is now seen as satire. People suck because they threaten to beat the shit out of someone who is your friend and when you tell them to go fuck themselves until the day they die, they laugh. People suck because they beat their children. They suck because they steal and lie and they're selfish and they look out for Number One.
People suck because they have no idea that Number One is not themselves. Number one is the guy standing next to you who just dropped all his shit on the floor. Number One is the janitor that has to clean up after everyone without being thanked for it. Number One is the invisible kid in the hallway, but before his silent subconcious snaps and he guns the whole school down.
People are superficial and pretentious and conceited and mean and vindictive and vengeful. I am vengeful right now. A thirst for a petty kind of vengeance is what drives me to write about how badly people SUCK. You suck. I suck. Everyone sucks. Maybe not all the time, but we ALL suck. Sometimes, all the time, every once in a while, everyone sucks. If you think you haven't at one point really sucked, you suck just because you think such a thing. People suck because I'm ranting in this blog and I've used all this parallel structure and anaphora, but it doesn't matter because no one will read this. And if they do read it, I won't ever know because they won't comment on it and I don't know this site well enough to know how to tell if anyone has read it.
Help me. I haven't been this angry since I saw school racism.