NightmarePlot twist: you can't wake up.
ControlControl is everything. Self-control, that is. Control how you act, what you say, what goes into your body, and maybe — just maybe — you'll be able to control you are. Power is addictive; my drug of choice, but it comes at a cost. You see, what you don't learn until it's too late? Sooner or later, the need for control — controls you.Generally, I’m a good kid. I pay attention in school, earning the high grades that decorate my report cards. I may not be especially popular, but I certainly have friends. I usually do as I’m told, don’t flagrantly disobey rules, and I try hard to please people. I retrace my steps in my mind, searching for the slip — the fall — that landed me here, on this cool, clammy table, wearing not much more than a requisite thin gown.A crisp knock on the heavy wooden door to the exam room startles me, bringing my attention back to my predicament at hand. After
Catch me if you canI’m the anorexic at the local gym whom everybody watches but nobody looks at.I’m the bulimic at school whom everybody pretends not to know about.I’m the girl in your gym class with too many scars to be telling the truth.I’m the kid with her head down in the library who is always “fine.”I’m the boy who 'fell down the stairs'...again.I’m the child who doesn't show up for school lunch because it's too expensive.I’m the teenager living a double life in front of your very eyes.Catch me if you can.
ShameWater runs clear; stains still here.
CathieSalt-and-pepper hair contrasts sharply with the crisp, starched pillow;bone-thin arms resemble bed rails--tears in my arms, the morphine drip in your vein.My inner rage refutes your calm acceptance.You ask if we are waiting for you to die: no.We are waiting for a miracle,we are waiting for you to heal--We are waiting for something that will not happen.We are stretching for something that is out of reach.We are holding onto our obsolete hopes, the small fragments of our livesso closely, we cannot see the bigger pictureof eternity.In a paradox, God is calling you clearly,but we can't seem to hear His voice--only the silence ringing in our earsas the monitor stopsyour breathing ceasesyour face un-creases--and, for the first time in years,you run Home.
Mimicrymildewed [ghosts]haunt the c.r.a.c.k.s in the w do not a mistake l their voices l for s
todaybailey says:today could have gone so much betterif i had woken up without a cold sore.shania says:today could have gone so much betterif i had woken up and not had bedhead.zoe says:today could have gone so much betterif i had woken up when my alarm went off.i say:today could have gone so much betterif i hadn't woken upat all.
Lesson learnedShe fell first, and scraped herself up on impact.By the time you were ready to let to and trust that she would catch you, she was no longer there.She picked herself up, dusted herself off, and moved the fuck on, because she's stronger than you.And you were left holding the pieces when you hit the ground.
Lucidall this time she's seemed so nearher angel face you hold so dearshe'll find you in that darkest timeher eyes will speak sans reason, rhymein time you will remember thingsof birds and bones and broken wingsof deadly secrets, shattered dreamsthings left unsaid and silent screamswith open heart and open mindstand in the rain and you will findthat healing lies in these things trueand to remember changes you
The IntrovertAlone I am weaker, but safe.
A Mortal's Love TriangleLoved by Life; betrothed to Death
Breaking EvenBroke her heart.Broke his nose.
Left BehindShe stumbled, but he didn't stop.
InevitabilityNothing escapes its end.The end.
Existing vs LivingDying is inevitable.Living is optional.
My Favourite Love Story...Just you and me. And her.
The Craft of the CraftPoems are sculpted.Stories are woven.
Because I Love You"Because I love you"Saved me.
The Path of EnlightenmentThe hardest road leads to yourself.
Blasphemy"Heaven has room for gays" -God
ReincarnationCould you ever love me twice?
Meta-PhysicalFought writer's block.Lost the plot.
DefinitionPretty: Proof six letters mean nothing.
ForecastScars: map of past, not future.