Have’nt been on here in ages. Just updatting my “novel”, well, transfering I suppose.
No one really follows me on here so I suppose there is no matter. Mindless doings of words.
I had a theory today.
That sleep is a form of suicide. Rapid, sparadic. That each sunrise is a new life.
Who am I kidding? That’s far too optomistic of me.
Is it even worth waiting for this new girl?
We kiss, usually me. It’s odd, I’m always the one to be kissed. Now I’m doing the kissing. This seeing eachother once a week,once every two weeks things has to stop. I tell her I like her, these sweet things yet she instead, now responds with “aww”. Just giving up I suppose. But I’m attached. Why can’t I write anymore? I’m sounding like everyone else.
Going to watch Jimmy and Judy,sob,and take into consideration these pills.
I don’t use this anymore. Well, I’ve more so, neglected this.
Maybe I’ll get back into it. Everything’s changing. Yet it’s the exact same. Back to square one.
rememberedvividly.tumblr.com
Where I post mindless shit like everyone else. Just for the time being.
You stuck it to me alright.
Enough to make me believe.
Believe I was the needle.
I was the needle.
You were the hay.
I would never stray, never stray.
Piece by piece I was surrounded.
Up on your pedistole, I felt mounted.
Calls for the young, calls for the free.
Rooted I am, branch by branch, leaf by leaf.
Now you’re itching someone else.
What you left I can’t scratch, it’s whiplash.
Nothing feels quite like the prick.
Prick of a needle.
One direction it points.
Lead astray.
Lead to ensue.
Lead to the color, golden brown, lead to you.
You were the hay.
So easily you’ll wither.
Wither and die.
Into the deepest cracks of the spoiled soil.
Harder than the needle’s prick.
Don’t think of me tonight.
Something might spark inside.
Torched by a single ember.
Dust to ashes.
Ashes to dust.
It’s all the same.
All from the prick of a needle.
A reason too lame.
One day your ashes will dance.
Dance on the prick of a needle.
Until they disapear.
Becoming nothing more than words of the ear.
You’ll die tonight.
I’ll sulk here pleading “I should’ve died too.”
I’ll be here to remember the words.
“I was the needle.
You were the hay.”
You're reply to my post is probably the best thing I've heard from someone for awhile. Thank you. :)
Why it’s my pleasure. (: It’s really the least I can do. I followed you for a reason. I beleive we are here to connect in one way or another with as many people as possible. I’m excited to see you’re up and posting again as well. :)
Existentialism
A philosophy that emphasizes the uniqueness and isolation of the individual experience in a hostile or indifferent universe, regards human existence as unexplainable, and stresses freedom of choice and responsibility for the consequences of one’s actions.
You shouldn’t hold it in. The tears are just going to boil with your body heat. This will cause a fungus, and they will rot because they have no escape. Your skin will soften and melt away where you will be rotten from the inside out. They are a piece of shit. But the stench still got into you. It was comforting. Like the musty smell when you walk into your house the next morning after a long night out. You just can’t wash it away though. There you are, in your bathroom, scrubbing your pigment away, but the stench is just so powerful. You’re swirling down the drain, and you don’t know how to stay afloat. Maybe it would be easier to just let it happen. But no, you don’t. Instead something inside of you, coming from the black gaping hole inside of your chest has something left. It senses change will come, and it tells you this in the strangest, yet most amazing ways. You dispise it, when you should be thanking it. So let the plug go. It’s not worth your lungs being filled with the slime, or the ride to the botomless pit that is the ocean. A whole nother’ world of things you won’t want to deal with. You will be surrounded by a neverending sea of tears. So salty. It brines your skin. There may be a hand in the end, but they only want to lick the salt and feel your crunch.
I touch myself. Often. It’s not so much that I am a sexual deviant. My needs just have greatly increased. I crave the skin to skin. The sheer exact hell fire heat passed through body to body contact. In all of it’s exact degree. There’s nothing quite the same. When no one is around it only become natural for me. A coping mechanism. I shouldn’t have to cope. Everything is supposed to just converge into a deeper level of understanding for me. Instead it just skims the surface. So on these nights when I feel nothing. I float to myself for a radiating heat, to just, feel like I’m still here.
It’s at the point in time where I wonder. Wonder whether or not you’re kicking yourself yet. You should be numb by now. Like me. We were perfectly numb. You’re not though. My mind making assumptions. Along with the notion I’m not good enough.”You didn’t make a mistake. Just the wrong choice for the right reasons.” Leaving even my dead insides to feel cold. Quivering in his arms. Bottom lip could’ve been bitten off. Just what I desire. Take with it my jaw. Words too heavy to entice another. Our hips licked eachother. Taste so sour. My tounge tingled. Sweat so cold. It froze. Color flushed. Thoughts drained. A single image couldn’t take a hint. Winding roads. The curves of your face. I’m lost. Lost in it all.
Sometimes, the life you choose
sierrasrightbrain:
Is really fucking hard.
The moments I’ve had, although so unclear at times have lead me to believe that sure things are “really fucking hard” but for some reason I grow stronger. The weight on my shoulders can be so unbareable. Than I realize the scars and bruises left behind are a rememberance to aid others with, that just makes me realize that I don’t need to surcome to those rainy days with my eyes so clouded. Clarity will come and it will bring with it everything in a new light. It’s been difficult to come to terms with all of my constant questioning and overexerted right brain. That shadow of doubt in the back of my mind just dies down long enough for me to cope with the idea that Everything will eventually work itself out.
Chest heaving. Eyes rolled back so misconstrued. Moon held high. Sunrise behind your brow. Dreams disembowel. My tounge becomes a myth. Words silenced with it. So now my chest is open. Breaths misconceived. Can you feel how brash?Lungs like the Milky Way. Corresponding swirls. Constellations across the sky. Shooting me down. Dancing with the bodies. Strangers below the ground. Birds above pick at my chest. A melodic euphoria. Illusion at it’s best
I learned something fantastically strange today. Something I don’t want to know, but I do know, and it became engraved into every nerve and tick in my brain. I’m afraid to learn too much about it, that it will become something so imperfect and uninteresting. Something so complex as “love” being controled by an imbalance. Oxytocin. It evokes feelings of contentment, reductions in anxiety, and feelings of calmness and security. I had began to question if this “love” was even a reality. An actuallity. Something I was striving for. Dedicating countless hours to. This thing, that was going to in the end effect my self worth. I can’t see it. I can’t touch it. Can’t taste it. Can’t smell it. Yet it’s been inside me this entire time. I just feel like things would be so much easier if I cut open my skull. Pulling back each layer. Disecting every thought. Removing the imbalance. It makes me feel like I have a problem.
note:God, I’ve had a creative firecracker up my ass these past couple days.I’m thinking lack of sleep has had this effect on me.
Bye for now. Suicide Girls Must Die needs serious watching after only getting 35 minutes in for undisclosed reasons. I mean a girl can only take so much before things become unhealthy for her.
As much as I would desire to even share the same air as you, let alone touch you, darling, really, you would’nt want to touch me. I question everyday if I am even alive. Are these “breaths” that I take just stalled gusts trying to go through the solid mass that is, me? I don’t exist. I never have. Everything around me is “living”, outliving me.Surviving,enduring,persisting,lasting,remaining.I feel like I’m a decaying matter. Lost for all to never find. Now that I think about it maybe I do want you to touch me. You could “warm” me. Make me feel alive, just to know I’m even worth this space I crowd with my exalted stench.
These words escape from my mouth. From my lips they depart. Decents of a better mind. Why are they in my thoughts? I’m nothing worth a passing glance. Nor the rememberance. Voices under my bed. Quiet as they come. Pacing. Lacing the carpet. My body is flattered. Spine shattered. Expressing it’s dismay. Fitting into the picture. Framing those thousand words. Asserting it’s worth. It’s a shame. Every sigle one. Gone to waste.
Pools of anticipation. Too shallow to dive headfirst. Your body still gave birth. The tree house wasn’t what you claimed. It’s a shame. I expected so much. You expected the rush. Morose to say the least. Every floorboard creek. Every tree branch. Just scraping the insides of my ears. A gutted pumpkin in the wake of Halloween. I couldn’t deny the heat radiating from your body. Just seeping through our clothes. Drenching my skin. Liquified. What else could I have done? Marrow cracking. Skin shattering. Your arms, they bared a weight that was just the right size. I did’nt need to see your face. So ashamed. Yet it’s you who’s eyes I bury the blame. Knees knocking. Clenching so deep. Carving your latest inuendo. Thoughts as far gone as I could manage. They should have kept things clear. Waging a war. Letting my dismembered parts to disapear. Your breath was too much. Seams on my lungs popped. My body to float on. Submerged by these suburban clouds.
