seaside lettersone.i was never good at starting these thingstwo.did you know some flowersonly open at night?they must not be very afraidof the darki wish i could say the samethree.i can't light my candle anymore,maybe it's telling methat i should stop tryingi didn't really like that blisteron my thumb anywaysfour.i noticed that my veinswere the same color as the oceanand i made myself bleedmy veins lied and blood is red, not bluei guess i just thought i was differentfive.i wish you could read thesesix.i don't know how to write anymoreand i always knew this would happen sometime.but god why now?i still haven't figured out what i wanted to sayseven.this will be my last letter to youand i thought i'd let you knowthat i will never know what i wanted to sayi was never really good at ending these either
she didn't believe in anything but cigarettesmy mother tells me notto cry over spilled milkbut it makes it so mucheasier to forget aboutthe bloody bird layingdead on the bathroom tile
we shouldn't be so afraid of deathi waited for death to wrap hisfrail hands around my neck andfeed me to the unknownbut he just took my hand, fingerslaced between my ownand smiled
the nevergirlyou didn't believe in growingup or growing old with someonebecause you always confessed itwould be so much more magicalto stay young with them foreveryou had the map of neverlandbranded in your bones andsometimes i swear i could hearthose little lost boys howlingand running through your spinei cried the day you realizedpeter wasn't coming and thatyou would never learn how tofly but let's face it, stayingyoung was never apart of the planbut you found a way to notgrow up and i wish you hadn'tbecause now you are a shadow,never growing and leaving everynight just because something elsewasn't bright enough for you
wendy was the lucky onedrowned by somberin a sea of atramentalemotions."black as November,"my mother saidhe went peacefullyin his sleep, they wept17 is too youngfor the hands of deathbut death reached anywaysi knew why he kepthis window open inbelow zero temperaturesand let the cold inevery nighti wonder if his tearsfroze to his cheeks
safety pinsi found you sitting on the dustybed sheets poking holes in yoursofter-than-silk skin with arusty safety pin (you told methey were your favorite)i asked you why and you saidyou loved the way the starslooked and you were hoping thatmaybe you could be as beautiful as them
i'm afraid i'm easy to forgetthis flower just hasn'tbloomed and yet you stillstick around waitingto see if it is just asbeautiful on the insidebut darling i'm only scaredthat when the day comesthat i bare my soulyou will see that it justwasn't what you werehoping for
i love you because you existjust two little boysplaying with matches,they started a spark icould feel in thepit of my stomach and babyare tongues are like daggers;each time we kiss it'sa sword fight i can neverquite win but there's stillsomething beautiful about theway you call me princess.maybe it's because you makeit believable or maybe it'sthe way this wildfireis devouring my being,leaving nothing but a desirefor the way you hold me
asthmaand i remember the grounda supernova; ofdead lungs and oxygen wasted on meand i remember being scaredand i remember asking why becausewhen you're young answers come without a priceyou told me it was because he thoughti would be strong enough to live through itand i remember believing you but how could you be so wrong
lostto tell you the truth,i can't stop missing myself.
.x.the roads are empty, but, my dear, so am i.y.take me back to somethingmore than suicidal thoughts andslacking intentions.
FrostbiteYour eyes are frozen,Your fingers are ice.Your kiss gives me frostbite,Your words give it twice.
bon appetitshe extracts her heartfrom her cavernous centerlike a no-good tooth.coughing, she serves it upon fine painted ceramics.he lifts his fork,spears the meat.chewing, jaw swaying,he samples a bite.then he frownsand spits intohisnapkin.
Dragging Diamonds Down My SkinI wanted someone to callme at midnight, outof breath (out ofluck). Telling me theyneed to talk.But not you."This probably comesthree hours too latebut please,listen anyways."You placed your tongueon my throbbing heart,eager to nurse offthe life of another.You said: "Shred skin to find the bone",I had shed my skin, lulled mybones into a weeping silenceand I still tasted disappointmentin your kiss.I've heard your eyelids creakwhen you open and shut them.I know what hides behind the glassand I do not planon coming back.
Once Upon A TimeOnce upon a time there was a girlAnd she lived.
Nothing But A PuppetI am nothing but a puppet,A thing that you control.A simple wooden toy,I do not have a soul.I am nothing but a puppet,Someone to do your bidding.Your demands from my body,Relentless, unforgiving.I am nothing but a puppet,Your fingers pull my strings.They pull in all directions,Twisting, tangling.I am nothing but a puppet,My strings down by my sides,Trailing closely right behind me,My eternally bounding ties.
In SanityI find myself in a world of white,This place it feels so pure.The Sun's rays are warm and brightI've never felt so sure.I explore the land and all its sights,I enjoy the world's grand tour.I wander around until the nightShows what it has in store.In the darkness, a speck of lightReveals a hidden door.I turn the handle and peer inside,A sight I can't endure.I turn to run, to escape my plight,I dare not to explore.But something inside catches my eye,I can't resist the lure.I awake to find myself tied tight,A voice tries to assure,"This one may finally fix you right,Maybe this is the cure."
Hate and LoveI don't see you as a threat,I don't hate myself,I don't want to be you,I Don't Hate You, Do You?I don't see you as a threat,I don't hate myself,I don't want to be you,I Don't Hate You, I Just Love You.
.in the nighttime you arebetter; moonlightembroiders yourskin and stitchesyou up with apurer love, untilthe morning comes,the sun runs histeeth through yourseams again, splitsyou open
you say I, i say iDo you write with or without capital letters? Why or why not?i write without capital letters not for effect or affectbut because I’m unsure of myself, my words. it’s a question of taste, completely subjectivethis is what i’m told. by whom? i forget, maybe i read that in an interview in the paris review,or at the writing workshop that i used to go to. :thumb370429418: hook, line, and sinker. by setmyworldintomotionit could be completely aesthetic driven,dead bodies float by baesuzy Kinesthetic by creataire empty, full by disrhythmicmight have something to do with,the look of the dot hanging out there, just above the i,Possum and Hiccup by introverted-ghost erosion by RestlessSands soft as water by ersatz-moonlike that.i indent because. by AsterGirl<strong>
War.If someone tells you, "War is hell." They lie.There are no innocents in hell.
.to thestar gazers outon dusty bridges-the ones whocould never seeApollo'schasing grin-keep looking.
KeroseneSmother me in roses; not kerosene.I want to die beautiful.
an introduction to Neverland.this is the story ofa girlwith short skirts andbruised knees,stuck in a placewith white walls andmarble teethedsharks.
making teain a warmed pothot water and tea leavesmeet in an intimate embracepleased by the tea leaves' attentionsthe water becomes a sweet golden nectarbut the water is a cruel loverand she turns bitter if held too longso the tea leaves are left behindtired and used, forgottenthe water has taken what she wants
Moving OnAll I can tell you isI haven't gotten farwalking throughtwenty years of yesterday.
.and goddess,this isn't something i cansweat or starve out of me,i'll have to write and it willbe madness,see i've often thought aboutplacing my head in the pestleand mortar, i wonder if i couldgrind out the hell inside, becomea red pulp on the worktop, andeven the oven keeps tutting at me,it's so easy, just open the doorstick your hand in, feel his forkedtongue on your palm,orange lover, youknow you'rea cowardfor thisand it's truethat the dead are never reallysilent, they grunt and they groanin their damp soil sheets,toss and turn overagain(fill the bath with water, and just drop me in it)
hide and seekeveryone looks to the starsfor inspirationbut maybe if we focused moreon the grains of sandbeneath our feet we mightjust find something a littlemore original