Knives

It feels like a million knives are stabbing every part of my body, and I never wanted it to be this way. To feel like this. I thought the bridge to death would be this warm, empty chasm of nothingness, but it's not. It's worse than life, and I know why. I took it. I didn't let the bridge come to me, I walked to it, and now I want to walk away from the dark shadowy figure pulling me in. Is this what's it like for everyone? Will this be the last thing I see? Or is it just my imagination, is it just me, my mind, playing tricks on me, again. That's why I pulled the plug, right? To get away. I pulled the knife out of my parent's kitchen drawer, and I closed my eyes, pushing with as much force as possible, but it just didn't seem like it was enough, so I kept going, and I saw the wooden kitchen floor, stained with my own blood. I didn't want to do this to them, but there was no other way, right? The figure is get closer, but I know, I can see it, now, it's all clear, life is better than the nothingness that awaits me. I will be nothing. I will be gone. Will they come home soon enough to find me? Did they already? Am I under the florescent lights of white life-givers. Are they trying to save me? I want to fight. I want to be free. I want to bridge to slowly sink away from me. It's looming over me now, the darkness, it shouldn't be doing that, should it? I'm not going to make it out, am I? I succeeded. I did always say I could do anything that anyone said I couldn't. They said I wouldn't, but I did. I made it. I'm getting warmer. What was wrong before? Why did I want to leave? It's better than I thought it would be. I don't want to fight.

I'm free.

Love: Expressed Through Open Palms, Closed Fist, and Tight Lips

Am I worse?
Do I hit harder, if not literally, figuratively?
Do the imprints last longer?
Do I say sorry?
Am I like him?
Am I worse

I don't want to be like that.
I can't be like that.
I am nice.
I am kind,
But my hand hit her skin.
Am I worse?

What kind of mark did I leave?
I see your face frozen in shock,
In pain,
In front of me.
Can I be becoming this monster?
Can I feel this rage boiling inside of me for no reason?
Can I feel this hatred boiling inside of me,
Exactly where love should be?
Will I be an empty chasm, like him?
Will I be worse?
Am I worse?

I don't want to be like that.
I love you.
Open palmed,
I know it didn't sting your flesh,
But I can't see your heart.
I can't see the heart that I already know is bruised, broken, and cut.
Did I make it worse?
Please tell me that you didn't see him when you looked at me,
Tight lipped,
Angry Eyes,
Open palm.

I know what it looked like,
The monster inside.
I've seen it for too long.
Tight lipped,
Angry Eyes,
Closed Fist.
Another gash sliced through your heart.
Please tell me this one wasn't deeper.
Please tell me this one wasn't worse.
Please tell me this one wasn't the worst you've ever felt.
Please tell me you'll forgive me.

I promise I'll never do it again.

Tight lipped,
Angry Eyes,
Open palmed,
Closed fist.
We are the same,
Aren't we?

Cadaver

Purple-blue skies shimmering above us as we dance under the treetops and their dripping fingers.
Our movements are still.
We are the rivers.
We are the soil you tread over.
We are one with the purple-blues and orange-pinks.
We are one with the shimmering movement across the sky.
We are one with the twinkling blues from the darkness,
But we are not silent.

We can make a difference.
We can feel no pain.
We will bear no burden nor injury.
We will fear no more.
We will be described as little of what we are.
We are much larger than what we are reduced to,
But we are not silent.

We are someone.
We are lovers.
We are friends.
We are gone,
But we are not silent.




Dedicated to the Cadavers donated to science and inspired by Mary Roach.

Crazy

Smile,
I will not be unmasked.
I will not be set free.

Telling that truth,
I am nothing.
Exposed.
Empty.
Naked.

Lies are not evil so much so as they are a protection for the person saying it and the person believing it.

Exposure is evil so much so that the person saying it has no protection and the person hearing it must bear the burden of keeping it.

Truth in Lies post #1

I just wanted to give you your daily dose of encouragement by giving you a little story about me. Me, myself, and I. I am a very weird, strange person and I don’t deny that, but I am also very insecure, and I can’t deny that. For me, the hardest thing in the world is accepting myself and my flaws. I want everything to be perfect, so I guess that makes me a perfectionist. I have many things I do not like about myself, and that makes me feel inferior and uncomfortable and extremely jealous of those who have (or seem to have) absolutely no problems with themselves, and I find it utterly incredible that while I’m sitting here dwelling on everything I want to be and sitting on that latest idea that pops into my head and not wanting to share it because I’m afraid, and I feel, for some reason, writing makes me less afraid of what I am and what I will become if I fail. I know that if I fail on this particular blog there will be no particular embarrassment, or really any consequence at all, but in real life I am afraid to even shout out something that I know is right. Why is that? I have absolutely no idea other than the several ideas that I have that I am too afraid to share. Now, I wish that things were different and I wish I could say that I didn’t want to put everyone else’s feelings in front of mine, but that is not true. I want everyone to be happy, but somewhere in there I lost the happiness that was intended for myself and maybe it was the way I was raised, but that is me, and when I’m not putting my happiness last and everyone else’s first, I happen to be making them miserable by hitting them where it hurts, and I do it on purpose when I’m hurt and I hate that about me, but I’m not saying I’m all negative, and I know, right know this doesn’t sound very encouraging, but trust me it is because I know one day I will break that shell and (hopefully) I will get a step closer by writing this and basically exposing myself as I have before on this blog whether or not you realize it, but this writing is me, and when I say the crimson stains are leaking from her heart to the ground, I’m secretly talking about me, and I’m slowly telling my story, and breaking open that fear to SPEAK. Now, that may all be swell and dandy, but what does it mean for you. Well, I by all accounts am completely crazy, BUT I say to all of you, right now that is better to be completely crazy and comfortable than shy and hidden away, especially in your writing. That purple-red dawn that creeps into the sky I’ve seen and I want you to see it and feel it as your reading my story, and as I SPEAK because it is beautiful if you give it a little bit of time, and I will finally be heard.

I am not a killer.

I am a person.

I am not a sociopath.

I am like you.

Please don’t judge me based on my story.

This is me.

I'm Back (Sort of)

Well, welcome to the new year. (Late!) Ok, so it's been about a month since I last posted anything, and I did say in my other post that I was going to try to post more over my winter break, BUT that never happened. Anyways, now I have midterms coming up, (Yay, midterms?) and I've been super busy, which is probably not a very good excuse. But if it makes you feel any better, I used this winter break as time to work on my old book from TWO WHOLE YEARS AGO (Time really does fly).

Anyhow, I started a new book (not writing, reading) called Stiff by Mary Roach, and now, I'm getting even more sociopath comments than usual. Well, today, I was saying how next year, I'm planning on taking anatomy and physiology because NOW I'm planning to become a nurse/ pathologist technician. Well, I heard rumor that in some anatomy/physiology classes they dissect cats, and I said, "I could never dissect a cat, I would much rather have a human to dissect." Conversation stopped. Keep in mind, I have friends with similar crime/death/science-y passions as myself, so this is the first time I've said that and gotten a negative reaction (Note I said the first time I've said that AND gotten a negative reaction from other people my age. (Sidenote's sidenote: I have said this phrase many a time to my mother's horror)). Anyhow, that leaded to the other participants in the conversation to have other questions like, "Are you a sociopath?" I think it's because I said the "I would much rather have a human to dissect." with a bit too much enthusiasm (I can tell, even through my typing, that I just freaked out a number of you, my pretty little readers. Mwhahahaha.) Regardless of your fear, I felt the need to scare inform you all that I will put more actual writing (and post) back on soon.

Thanks so much for reading this, and go and write something for me!