(no subject)

Rise. Bring me to life. Breathe life into me. If you pour your thick, glittering blood into my mouth, I'll awaken. Reach for me; I've fallen off the cliffhanger of livelihood.

But please save me; I spin around and around. The insanity is all that's left. I put my hands together to pray to you; I put my hands to my chin in the shape of a gun. But, this trigger doesn't work; what is so bad about death? Why can't we die? Perhaps I've never really been alive. It's all subjective. Cast me off the cliff; let me slip down, down, down. I've a thing for self-destruction; I've a thing for the freedom of it. I've a thing for free-falling into the unknown. Let the current carry you to where you're going; let your life pursuede you to live. I am letting go of the rope above the water. I am tearing things apart. I am melting into oblivion. Yes! What beautiful art! it's all I want. Wind in my black hair, a smoke between my fingers. Ah, let me wake up in 1980. Then I will be given the time of day. But I can have it all now as well though; I just lack the courage, no? No, those dark, dog days are over. I have the courage, actually it has me. All the bruises and scars I get from hiking up this steep trail, all the times I will spend lying over a branch crying, all the times I will wonder if the end exists, they will all fade once I reach the top. I know the pain will never go away; that's precisely why I can do this, because I am so free. I am free because of the pain. But the journey here will seem different once I've completed it. Now will look different later. So I will continue to stand up and tie my shoes, not bother brushing the dirt and blood off myself. I hold the rose in my pocket, my blue rose. She will guide me. Her petals are my solace; she is my true love, the only way for me to continue on. It's a joke to think I could quit; there is nothing if I go back. There is nothing in me but myself. And all the while, I spin in this infinity; I'm still singing in my bedroom. I'm still a little trapped back here, but it's just a stop, not like it was before. This little treehouse is just a memory I'm choosing to relive. Someday I'll let you watch me sing in my room. Someday you will care, because I will embody the things you feel but do not say, the things you wish you could be, the things you are.

(no subject)
But my words were a lie through gritted teeth. I can list the silly reasons. One: I do not have the skills, Two: I am too old to start this now, Three: I have always been a loner and am having a damned time finding companions for this journey. I cannot take the world, so I leave it to you. I want to die. I will die, soon. I promise I will let you go, young love. I will let you go... Hope... Passion... Love... you are a word on the tip of my tongue. I am not able to reach the end because I am nothing, nothing, nothing. I am not pretty. No! I am not like you in any way other than pain, pain, pain. I am not like them all in any way other than pain, pain, pain! But my talents, my drive, desire, insanity do not match. The fire is not lit in me; it was dulled long ago by the drugs prescribed to me. I will never be great, be a god, be heard. I am simply who I was years ago except a little older. Oh, cruel world! Why do you not want me? Why can't I be so great? Why is my body riddled with blemishes? I am trapped in this bed, lingering here in the nighttime that never ends. I listen to the songs I wish I could compare with. I cry over the ones I wish I could be half as good as. I scream silently then loudly with my guitar. But, I am trapped in here, yes, do not dispute me. I cannot... I did get out, didn't I? I can see the memory of myself walking towards the front door. So when I opened the door, I must have found that the world is only my perception. I must have entered into a snowy afternoon, a pure white world. I kept silent, listening to the winds around. Just put a finger to your life and never live again. A muted life, for I feel unable. How do I convince myself to continue? How do I carry on? How do I end it? How do I die? Cut yourself open and use your blood to make art in the snow. Does it really matter if anyone were to ever see it? The world has seen it. The unseen has heard your songs.

(no subject)
And the words are not enough. Not mine, not others. Words are not enough, and that is why I cannot be the author I wanted to be at ten. My pain has grown like vines up a brick building in downtown. It is too engulfing now, too widespread to be triggered by words. Or perhaps I simply do not have the right skills to use words for this purpose. I can use words only to rescue myself, only to draw the pictures of my imagination. But, I cannot think my pain; it is felt, dreamt of, loved... It is beyond this. Far too composed are the words, far too determined, meaningful. In this game, there is no meaning, no form or reason. It is the overlaying of different experiences rushing to my mind, crowding around as if the present moment were a celebrity. These layers are melodies. And I will weave them together into one. I will weave me together into one. Do you hear me!? I am coming for you! I am going to tear down this world! 

(no subject)
Did you know this life does not matter? Did you know the things you think are may not actually be? You may reach for the edge of a cliff that breaks off; you may leap with blind faith into the arms of pain. My wrists, bloody things, know too well. The stream of red is thick, lustrously delictable. I cut myself open to taste my own blood. Will it bring me solace? Ah, yes, these words do not matter; they mean absolutely nothing. Whose benefit are they for? Only my own? Will no one ever hear my cries? Is the prison too deep below? Can I escape the cages kept around myself, a monster? My hair is made of raven feathers; I am the death master, with my talon like fingernails, my black eyes and heart. I am lingering in this room, this prison. It is here that I find my desire for death. Because I am so alive, but I am also so alone. No one will know! What a pity! How unfair... My life's journey is to be a pitfall, a trust fall into the raging sea of agony. When I try to reach my hands from the bars, I find only those who do not want me. The floor is dusty, spotted with little droplets of water, my tears. Ah, but we must not forget, my friends, that this life does not matter. My inability to break the chains holds no meaning cosmically; there is no destiny, no fate, no time, no love, life, death. It is all irrelevant. Drown me in the blackess; yes...
But in these dark times, I am saved by the spider's gifts. Hope is given to me, slim, dreamy hope. I can see the past lives of all who have been before; will I never be too? They must have gone through this room, no? Cannot I escape as well? Their sihouettes are beautiful, shining in the shadowed cavern. The spider weaves his web around my soul, imprisoning me with ideas that may never pan out. So bound am I to this life; so bound are you as well. Sing with me: we cannot live nor die!

(no subject)
I'm going to need something stronger
For the pain
I'm going to need to forget
what I'll never gain
I turn to you: "These words will not go on any longer."
I will not, and I shake my head, fall to the floor sobbing. Whatever.
I don't need to be a leader; I don't need fame, and I don't need infamy either. I need a warm voice to assent mine. I need someone to blow air through my fallen leaves. I need the waves of another mind to draw out their pain the way I do mine. Then we will weave the strings together, crafting a thing most extraordinary. I do not need to be the leader; I just want to be a part.
So destiny wrecks my heart
A cackling smile, much like my own; am I banished to vanish, alone? You will never find what we had, a cracked stone on the shores of Maine. It was the ruckus of smashing, breaking, bashing in the outer shell so quickly, simply that made us so fascinated, fascinating. I was so infatuated. No, I've not forgotten the smell of cigarettes yet, though I do hope you no longer smell that way. The inner crystal was beautiful, a sweet lavendar like lupines on the side of the road that mother pulled over to pick when I was young. But of this, I no longer really care. I simply need anyone, someone. Is it part of my allure to be alone though? Is it what will fuel my music? I do not have siblings, so I grew up bored and in solitude. I can be the leader, and I will be unless someone else is by default. But, my eyes are shadowed, and my smirk is subtle. I lurk; I stalk; I prey. Why am I the monster within?
I am destiny who wrecks my heart
Play with such an insufficient art, go ahead. You know; I know that it's all in your head. You were never meant to be; get outta here, kid. Just fucking leave. I will fade beneath the blankets of this bed. It's like when I was thirteen, and I hid here, encased in my world. I will not come back this time. Yes, I see you looking, gazing at me from the corner of the hallway. What are your eyes saying? Is it just your presence itself that makes a statement? I never went back through the door; your key is long gone. You cannot leave me, love. Is that what you're saying? Is that the softness of your effeminate eyes? You do not seem to give me the time of day; your back against the wall and a smoke alight between your teeth. Why are you so mad, so standoffish? Why don't we make love right here on the tiles? Why don't you... Why are you angry? Your hand grips the front of my hair; you're holding me against the wall you were just leaning on. Your eyes are narrowed. You're trying to tell me something. Your form does not matter. You cast the cigarette away. Your gentle, pale finger parts my painted lips. Then your mouth has captured mine; your hands are caressing my body. You are soft, safe, otherworldly. Take me. There are times when we are silent as mice, white as snow, delicate and feathery. And to be fully-formed, to be strong, you must embrace the single notes that seem to be weak. Most times we are metal, with spikey hair and short-tempers, the tendency to throw things and cry. Most times we do not show the world our love, but I think I want to. I want to show the world my passion and white, feathery weakness. For sometimes I am a girl, and other times I am not. The secret isn't simply to take the world for your own but to let the world take you. Break the wall, and do not second-guess. I do not care, nevertheless.

(no subject)
The gun lodged beneath my chin, I steady my trigger finger. Let me die, world, c'mon! It comes easily, naturally even though I'm not well-versed in bullets, guns or violence. It fires up through the bottom of my mouth, landing on my tongue. I've dropped the handgun onto the tile floor with a clatter. I frantically claw at my throat, searching for blood. Where is my blood?! I lick around the bullet in my mouth; it's hot. Then, with a defeated sigh, I reach my fingers into my mouth and retrieve the poor little metallic capsule.
I cannot be
like you, like me
who who who I want to be
the me I see
let me die, world, c'mon!
give it to me, world, c'mon!
Cannot be so why do I hang on
Cannot live so why drag it out?
I can't be free
like you, like me
what what what I want to be
is the me I see
If I would
break the mirror in my hands
I could
fall through this earth like quicksand
But I can see, no, can I be?
let me live, world, c'mon!
give it to me, world, c'mon!
I will be; just hang on
Cannot let life drag the living out of me, yeah!
I will be
like you, like me
free, free, free
wild as the sea

(no subject)
My love,
let our souls kiss while we are apart.
I see your being travel into mine
I feel you in my heart
I hear your whispers in the night
I taste your lips when I lick mine
I inhale your scent from my pillow
Meet me, my destiny, beneath the weeping willow
But for now, while I am away,
do not dismay
You know that I will come back
you know that I am with you
I am your own, and I love you

(no subject)
I have the feelings I cannot say; I have the heart I cannot express
Because I know I'm far much less than the best
Let my lonely mind take a rest!
Let my blood bleed from my chest!
What is electricity?
Run through me
Stay with me
Play with electricity
Must I sustain it?
I have the notes that do not compare; I have the bleach in my hair
Because I want them to stare
Tell you life is unfair
Tell you we do not care
What is rare?
Run through me
Lead me there
Put it in your black lined glare
Play with your body
Do I have to give it up?
What is electricity?
Will I stay with me?
Satanic martyr: I will die for the potency of my blood
I will die for the sanction I love
I will die
For electricity in, in, in me
I've got electricity in, in, in me
Is it in you too?
I'm shocked by the vibrancy of you
Can I have some of that too?
Feelings we do not say; hearts we do not hear
Where do I put this cursed fear?
in, in, in me
in, in, in you
Let it be me too
      be, be, be me too

(no subject)
But it wasn't, has yet to be, my own music that has saved me. Rather it has always been the music of others. Because of this, can I never make it to your godlike level? Am I doomed to be one of the many who admire, who wish and feel that they could be the same, but for some reason are not? Am I doomed to never break the wall in my heart?
It's kept me for its own for too long, has it? I've been dreaming of the misty field that awaits, but those dreams never blossomed until now. How much of a disadvantage am I at? Will that disadvantage someday add to my appeal? Will the difficulty of the road make the destination sweeter? If I lust for success, the elusive, provocative idea that she is, will she never let me touch her sweet skin? How can I get back to the freedom I had when the bricks of the one wall tumbled down? Isn't this just a new wall? Isn't this just another cage? But I like this one better. Is that a constant, imprisoning yourself in the hold of your choice... if you're lucky? Still I come to peace; it does not matter if I remain in this position forever. I can do what I want; I can be what I want. Even though no one knows... Even though no one appreciates my art, I will continue making it. But, obviously, I long for what the others have had. I dream of the taste of success. And maybe if I wasn't alone with my music, maybe if/when I find comrades, maybe then I would... I don't know.
Do you see it, the radiant glow in my bones? I cannot not do this. I won't stop this time. It's quite tragic that i'm so alone; it's quite tragic that I will most likely never... never... I cannot stop. Do not try to cut me down; I am immortal. This dream and i will never die. Even if I never get to ride the high, other than inside myself, I will keep trying. Even though I'm going to get old even quicker because i was kept captive, no, because I had not the strength to break free until now. Even though I don't make friends easily, even though I'm not a vituoso, even though I am inhibitted still by what I try every day to shed... Even though
Just cry until you forget what it is you thought.

(no subject)
There is one more thing I must scavenge for in the forest of today. Before I cast off my memories to the abyss, before I crawl into my daydreams, I will entertain this idea. I am walking through the woods. The night is dark, somewhat chilly, and leaves crunch under my shoes. The air has a gentle pine scent; the stars are slightly visible through the canopy of leaves overhead. I have a gun with one bullet. The area is poisonous, riddled with monsters that prey on human life, human dreams... If you are bitten by one of the monsters, which manifest as pitch-black shadows, you become one of them. This is a game to me, as I long ago was bitten, yet I did not turn. Every now and again, I see someone struggle, but I am too late to shoot the beast.
Then one night, as I sulk around kicking stones, I am caught in a scuffle. A stranger, fully human, is about to attacked by a monster; the shadow lingers behind a great tree. The unsuspecting victim is, will be, taken, unless the monster is stopped. I have a bullet in my gun; I could save this person's dreams. The things which cross my mind in this moment are my own mortality, specifically the idea that I may be killed/mutilated if I cannot defend myself at a later date. Remember that I only have one bullet. The most moral thing to do would be to save the stranger, yes? I outstretch my hands with the gun wrapped in them, my finger hovering over the trigger. I squint in the semi-darkness, aiming for the heart of the shadow. But, hold on just a moment. Could not there be another instance like this in the future? What makes this stranger's life more valuable in my eyes than that of a future stranger? Are not the lives equal in theory? Two separate instances, they are completely the same, if we disregard time. However, there is that uncertainty, the uncertainty of whether or not a future stranger shall appear. My finger shifts shakily, firing the gun, killing the beast. The near-victim is startled, runs to thank me, offers me food. I am glad then that I did not save my move for a future moment which may never have arisen.
This forest is a life and death situation; the strangers that lurk are presences of your own mind. Do not hesitate to pull the trigger; do not wait to save the "right one." Do not wait for your time to come, or "they" will eliminate you.


Log in