In a Bottle Think of the man that got away with murder; the silent victory he feels each night when he can truly say that he's lived another day alive, uncaught. It must course through his veins like the cries of the victim, most desperate and piercing, unrelenting, setting his body aflame with the giddy sparks of anxiety. He would feed on this, suckle from the breast tainted by the black corruption of death and lessen, etiolate. This man would roam the earth as a shade, eternally elsewhere, preoccupied with the sharp curve of her passionate lips and how now more than anything they spelled out his inevitable doomIn a Bottle
StatementI'm sorry. I'm sorry that you words are so ugly, that every syllable leaving your mouth sends shudders of pure revulsion down my spine. I'm sorry that I can't listen to anything you're saying without feeling the prickling red heat of a murderous rage as I fantasize about how one day I'm just going to flip the fuck out.Statement
On who? Anybody. You. It doesn't matter.
No no no, I don't want words. Words fucking smothering, surrounding, suffocating threatening useless meaningless empty. I dream of silence. These dreams consist of long stretches of nothing mixed in with slow-motion clips of me regurgitating every organ in my bo
MusingsImagine if these walks lasted forever. That there was no destination. That these indistinct streets were just that.Musings
Envision the shadows: perpetually cast.
The sirens. Always.
Singing, calling..
We could walk forever like this. We could walk forever and never once take a breath, never speak a single word. Let the night tear through us, embed itself into our flesh. Wear it like royalty.
For, what else is the night?
I oftentimes wonder if we're worthy. I see its blindingly beautiful coat, its gorgeous sheen, and I feel like a thief gleefully running away with my priz
Trench Canyons separate us, an emptiness that divides more thoroughly than any wall. If we were to speak, the vast distance would only whittle away at our words, reduce them to indiscernible echoes. If we were to walk, gravity's pull would slow us to a crawl as the bare ground made raw our skin. So we wait. The days are long, the sun unforgiving. My muscles creak with disuse at the thought of movement. There is nothing here but the wind, eternally hinting at the soft tones of your voice, surrounding me like a symphony ushering on the inevitable night and its impenetrable darkness. &nbTrench
MunchausenI stuffed your mailbox with ripped up prescriptions for you to piece together, I tore a chorus of mouths onto my skin screaming need and please and wrote reminders in blood on all the mirrors until I collapsed on the tiles;Munchausen
I relax the cracks in the porcelain, issuing you a search warrant and like a Russian doll I split personalities
until I reveal tiny Chaos
nesting inside my corsets – and you diagnose her with Munchausen syndrome by proxy.
But you are not Christ,
you cannot will a crippled raven to fly
like a dove at the magic w
Padded White RoomHAHAH.Padded White Room
A mental institution, that's where I am. That's where I am, that's where you keep me, that's where you think you can break me-- but you see, that's what you think, because you can't break me-- ohhh no, you can't. I make sure of that; I hide in my corner and I stare at you and I refuse to talk, but sometimes I scream. You make me scream, sometimes I can't handle you, but in the end, I'll win, that's what I'll do. I'll win so bad you won't know what hit you.
You came in, and you watched me for a moment before you turned away. You looked up at my white ceiling in a completely interested fashion, as if there was a
CleanI remember that day when I picked up your scent and my eyes snapped up. I remember the looks the class exchanged when you stood to recite your year ten English poetry. I remember how I printed off copies left on one of the school computers. I started writing that year, infected by the words you coughed. I scouted you for the next three years, sniffing at you when you passed me.Clean
By seventeen my hair had grown long and dark, I had stopped using fake tan, and you had grown messy and handsome. They made us play icebreaker games at the beginning of senior year, like herding ourselves between the two poles of the room to ind
lol
--
nothing can't be nothing because it has a name, and if it has a name, it will get a face.
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