| dying. |
[04 Jul 2005|01:04am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
tired |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Nickelback - Leader of Men |
] |
Well! This journal sort of fell through. Hm.
Shall be deleted.
Thank you so much for your interest, but, yeah, I suck. Wah!
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| repetitive dreams |
[07 Jun 2005|05:51pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
spacey |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Graham Coxon - Freakin' Out |
] |
strange music in the background and my fingers bleeding paint. pink and black and blue. the sky is turning grey but it was white before, blue and white and peaceful.
now the wind has picked up, has started to turn cold and bitter.
there is a strange soundtrack playing in my head and i can't figure out what it is but its repetitive, over and over and over again "sleep sleep pretty, darling, pretty darling sleep" over and over again.
i look at the rain on the cars and think that one day i want to be a broadway star.
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| vicious and unprepared |
[22 May 2005|09:35pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
vicious |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Mew - Eight Flew Over, One Was Destroyed |
] |
I pull the pillow to my mouth, and I scream.
And I keep screaming until my throat is bleeding, until I'm not screaming anymore, I'm coughing blood, hacking it up, and my throat is burning, and I'm crying because it feels good, in a sick painful way, in a way that I was begging for.
And the red stains the pillows a sick dark black-orange, spattered and hideous and ugly.
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| she tears my clothes and burns my eyes |
[14 May 2005|06:05pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
pained |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club - Love Burns |
] |
Having stood against his chest before, I know how hard it is, how quickly he breathes when he's nervous. He sucks in deep breaths quietly, so no one knows, but his entire body shakes with fine tremors you can see from the back of the classroom.
I wrap my arms around him and press my face into his shoulder; he stops shaking for half a second then harder and harder, until it feels like he's breaking underneath me.
I think: he's not crying, but maybe he wants to.
He tells me all the time, he doesn't hate me. He doesn't hate me. He doesn't hate me. I say, laughingly, but maybe a bit seriously and a bit painfully, yes, you do, you do hate me. He just shakes his head and gives me that queer little smile.
Maybe, I think, I only want him because he doesn't want me.
I release him from the hug and tip a salute. He's already looking the other direction.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
PS: As much as I adore being praised, please don't comment on the writing. If you have something to say about the actual content, neato. But yeah. This isn't about the writing.
PPS: This is a different boy than the last post. Heh.
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| such a bitch. |
[08 May 2005|01:13pm] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Blink 182 - I Miss You |
] |
It's been four years. I'm tired. I'm cold. I knock on the door, and smile wanly at the girl who opens it. She gives me a shy, confused smile. "Hello?"
"Hi. Is he here?" I want to ask her name, but I don't. I don't want to know.
She nods, lets me in. I stand in the doorway, rain in my eyes and ears and I'm blinking furiously when I see him. He gives me an appraising look, then blinks in recognition. A pale flush rises over his cheeks, and I shrug, looking at my shoes. I've inadvertently tracked mud into the house. Embarrassed, I take a few steps back and wipe my feet on the mat.
"It's okay," he says, and his voice has changed, turned softer, dryer. The girl (wife, fiance, lover, girlfriend? I can't see either of their hands) hovers in the doorway, glancing at us. I'm intruding, and I feel embarrassed again, fingers tugging nervously at my jacket zipper. "Sit down?"
We sit, and he stares at his lap. The girl retreats away; there is the noise of pots and pans being muffled. He's got a ring on his finger, and I bite my lip. He starts to speak, but there's nothing to say.
And I kiss him, and his mouth fits against mine like I always thought it would, dry and a bit chapped, and then he turns away. He tastes of sugar and soda. I tug on my jacket again, and he coughs. "Don't."
I look away, and his wife is there. She smiles, warmly. "Staying for supper?" She didn't see.
I shake my head and hug my elbows; they feel boney under the red jacket. I stand up, and hold out my hand for him to shake. After a minute, when he doesn't take it, I drop it and smile at the girl (the wife, fiance). "Just came by to say hi. Have to go, now."
He doesn't look at me as he closes the door.
|
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| her name is natalie |
[04 May 2005|11:59am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
spacy |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
No Address - When I'm Gone |
] |
A setting sun, and the mole on the side of the pathway is flat, the insides rotted out or eaten by small carnivores. The cat basks in the last of the sun, nose twitching occasionally and eyes blinking lazily in my direction. Behind me, inside, I can hear the beginnings of a Jefferson Airplane song.
The birds in the trees are making soft cooing noises. I smile and pet the cat's head; she purrs vaguely, as if she's not sure she wants to.
The little girl on the other side of me is sitting with her knees drawn up to her face, eyes closed. I could see the old oak barrel through her pigtails. I offer her a dandelion, but she doesn't see, so I gently tuck it into her hair and watch the insects crawl over the concrete walkway.
|
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| oh, for summer. |
[26 Apr 2005|06:26pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
tired |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Placebo - Summer's Gone |
] |
The sun is blue over the water. The water is cold, burning cold, and wrapping around me. It hurts to look at the sun, but I do, anyways, squinting underneath the water, only my nose and mouth in the air. I must look ridiculous.
Underneath me, it is dark. I am terrified to lie like this, exposed to the things I cannot see. But I do, and I stare at the sun, and my eyes are burning from the water and it's starting to feel like I can't breathe, but I stay, and I watch the sun, watery and bright.
|
|
| Another Fake Encounter |
[24 Apr 2005|04:59pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
quiet |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Man on Fire - The End |
] |
They're sitting beside, in front of me. I bite my lip, hard, on the inside. (When I was little, I used to chew on the inside of my cheek so much it created a hard wad of skin that would stay for hours.) I poke Andrea in the back and raise my eyebrows at her when she turns around. "You never showed up, you know."
She shrugs her right shoulder, looking uncomfortable. Says something. (I don't know what she's going to say when I ask, I'm not going to pretend something. Maybe her car crashed. I don't know.)
"Still. It was sort of rude."
"I'm sorry." She looks away, then at Ashley, then back in the front of the classroom.
I shift sideways, and stop caring; I have such a hard time maintaining anger. It doesn't matter anyways. I nibble on the tip of my thumb. Nothing really matters, anyways.
|
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| oh, i'm such a skool-girl |
[21 Apr 2005|07:09pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
girly |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Lifehouse - Into the Sun |
] |
Standing in the middle of the inner quad, I'm facing my friends, my thumbs hooked into my pants pockets, and suddenly, hands come up to cover my eyes. They are long-fingered; musical fingers. I smile. "Ashley!"
I reach behind me and wrap my arms around the warm body against me. From the front, laughters and mirth. From behind, an unfamiliar body. This is not Ashley. I scrunch my face into the hand still covering my eyes, and take another guess. "Amy?"
I prod the person's butt experimentally, and give up. I've felt all my friends' butts, this is not one of them. I grab the offending hand and turn around. To my horror and amusement, I am facing The Boy Whose Name Shall Remain Unmentioned, or, to be mystical and unique, John Smith.
"Hey," he says, and smiles.
|
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| just another boring day, in my head. |
[20 Apr 2005|06:19pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
playful |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Placebo - Teenage Angst |
] |
"Ashley!" I cry, and fall to my knees. I wrap my arms around her waist, burying my face against her crotch. "I need you more now than I have ever needed you before. Please, take me!"
She looks at me, bewildered, and then raises an eyebrow. "Kayleigh. Really. Not in public!" Her fingers smooth over my hair for a second, then she grins. "Maybe later, when we're... alone." She gives Andrea a sly look, something she has been perfecting in the months since her loss of innocence. Andrea, engrossed in twirling her skirt around and watching it flutter, does not notice.
I stand, and slide my arm around her waist, looking around the room. My People, they stand in a skewed, ugly circle, looking at each other, giggling, talking, or staring at the ceiling with the depression that comes from early morning lack of homework. Others, the more studious and motivated, are scribbling furiously, hunched over broken and tragic notebooks.
I smile, and slide my fingers into Ashley's butt pocket, groping her playfully. Another day of high school.
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porcelainfake's journal