Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Blah! ! !

You are as predictable as a box. At times I thump you and there is no sound. You're filled to the brim with ideas and creations that have yet to be constructed. You can't hear me through your inner madness that drips like slime from your tear ducts. I scream at you to hear me, but like a pizza man at a loud party, you can't hear me clearly enough to answer the damn door and see what I have to offer. You're lost inside of yourself, as always, unable to see the fact that an entire world revolves around you. If only you would come out of your head, hermit. You'd see that there are things out here worth having. I don't think you'll come out, though. I think you're locked away forever. In the construction paper, crayola crayon fantasy world you slapped together when everything else fell apart in your life.


At other times I thump on you and the only thing that I can hear is this large, overwhelming void that has absolutely nothing in it except for yourself. And for all of the silence that you endure, it would seem as though you still can't hear me. There is never any answer to my knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door. The party is over. The guests in your head have all gone home. But I'm still outside in the rain, screaming at you as loudly as I can and you don't even look up. You're at some great divide within your soul, I'm sure. There, with Kurt Cobain and Virginia Woolf to keep you company, right?

Your books and your television and your fish and your cat. But where the hell am I supposed to be? You are either so full or so empty that there isn't any room in your life for me to fit. Not properly at least. I belong to no one. I belong to a great empty nothing. You belong to your "things"... I belong to absolutely nothing. I don't fit into your head. I don't fit into your life. I sure as the hell don't fit into your heart... So if you can't stand to touch me, and can't stand to be less than three feet from me, what in the bloody hell am I to you? I attempt to cuddle and kiss you like normal girlfriends, but God no! Heaven forbid that lasts more than five minutes, right? Six minutes would be torture and ten would be certain death. What am I??? Your chauffeur? Your buddy? Your pal? Your non-biological daughter. You do so love to parent me at times. What am I? Where am I? You seemed "so into me" in the beginning. Your words, not mine. But as my Mother reminded me, that is SUCH a cop out response to everything. So maybe you just wanted me around to fuck so you could break your year and a half abstinence, eh? Using me like everyone else? Oh I simply can't wait to muse over you later. At least I can forget about Bryan now, though. At least I got that much out of this.

I'm sure tomorrow will bring a sense of normalcy. You'll be your chipper dipper old self. Chirp about some hell awful printer or television show until I'm screaming internally, wishing for once that you'd stop acting like some God forsaken hippie who's smoked pot all day and eaten Cheetos and watched Scooby Doo. Wishing your TVs would break and your computer would die. So you would HAVE to pay attention to me. But you still wouldn't. Your books would suddenly become the most important thing in the UNIVERSE! You'd rush madly towards them, like lost lovers of yours, devour them, page by page until paper ribbons are coming out of your anus. You'd suck the very marrow out of everything, everything except me.

You said you enjoyed "complex people" and that's why you liked me. I was complex. Or so you implied. I think you really enjoy complex people because we're stupid in your mind. We're easy to coerce into bed after five days of meeting and easy to keep around to drive you places. So easy to use and throw away. Maybe that's what really happened with your "lost love"...she was so much like you that she grew tired of you instead of the typical reverse and went out in search of something more....complicated? ;]

Ah well - my maddened rantings have worn me out.

Into a cold blue morning your blade crashes,
Driven deep into the fabric of the sky,
Splitting it's satiny sheen in half and letting me see things I never wanted to,
Leaving me to search again in your eyes for truths,
Truths of affection that simply don't exist,

The once decadent milk-chocolate lust that eminated from your eyes,
Is now nothing more than a dark chocolate hate,
Bubbling and burning in toxic acidity,
Beneath the surface of your epidermis,
As cold to the touch as your heart,

I poise myself upon the sofa, waiting for you to come back from your internal wars,
Dredging up the ghosts of the closet that's been locked for so long,
That the deadbolt has rusted and broken off,
Praying to God that for once, just once,
You could gaze upon me as if you still liked me again,

But, alas, you do not,
And I wait in the foyer of your world,
Like the patient in the Doctor's office,
Hoping soon to hear the call of her name,
Signaling her chance to be seen,

Sunday, September 27, 2009

White Hot Razor Blade

Diamond rain falls from her eyes in sharp little pieces,
That burst and break upon the wood floors,
That echo the quick "click-click" of her patent leather heels,
Reminding the ghosts that they are never alone,
And herself that she always is,

Trickling down it splashes upon her fingertips of white,
Ivory flesh that masques her brittle bones so well,
Confusing the world into some hallucination of her beauty,
A lie of make-believe that she is more lovely than the rest,
The worst lie of all,

Her ebony hair falls down her back limply,
Shining from a health that somehow forgot to bleed itself,
Deep into the dark recesses of her brain,
Where the infection of madness took up residence and broke her,
Drove the sanity from her eyes and lips and hair and lungs,

The tears continue to fall and days to pass,
Until finally her tears are falling into a hot bath filled with a million more,
Where her ivory skin is burned red,
From the steaming tears and water,
And the razor blade that split the veins below,

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

City Lights

City lights have always kept me mezmerized. I'm obsessed with getting away into the city. I want to live in a penthouse loft with an absolutely perfect view of the city skyline. All of those beautiful buildings. At nighttime is when I find them in their most exquisite state. Almost hyptnotizing all lit up like that. They put me in mind of a million cliches. Diamonds in an engagement ring, stars in the sky, lights on a Christmas tree...I am obsessed. I've never been fond of Indiana. It's corn fields and WalMarts. There's too many bums and ghetto drug addicts around here. I want something more. Something more beautiful. Something more expensive. More tasteful. More elegant. Something less hickville and more Hollywood. More anything. I absolutely hate this place.

I used to dream of a love that would surpass any wealth I could ever have. Once I realized that that love wasn't real, I began to dream of a wealth that would usurp that missing love. If I couldn't have one, I at least wanted the other. Love or Money...what a pair!

So nowadays I'm dreaming of diamonds, little black dresses, chic martini lounges and penthouse lofts. But most of all I'm dreaming of those city lights. I want a metropolitan lifestyle. I always have, I just never knew what it was called. I want clean lines, wood, stone, and leather, rich colors and deep glasses of wine that never end. I want shallow summers and deep, meaningful holidays. I want sunshine and snow and rain and wind. I want everything I can get. I feel like a hungry vampire and I can never get enough blood. But my blood is escaping from this hellhole. I crave it like I crave air when suffocated. Mostly because I feel suffocated. I feel like I'm dying. I've always wanted to get the hell out of here. I want a way out of this life and I have searched for that backdoor out of here for years but now I see that the only way out is up. Climbing the corporate ladder is the only way out of this place. Money is the key to any door and every heart.

I'm tired of being referred to as "the poor girl who can't afford anything"...

They have all upset me now. I loathe being referred to as poor. I realize I'm lower income than most and that I'm without employment right now. I know that no one understands that I cannot work and hold a job at the same time because it's difficult. I'll show them all up one day, though. I'll be the wealthiest person in this family. I won't be the "poor granddaughter/daughter/cousin/sister" etc etc...

People will be coming to me to ask for a loan. I'll have enough money to give it to them too. I'll have enough money to never ask for it back. I'll be generous with it. I'll be the perfect person. Wealthy, beautiful, and smart. That's what I've always wanted to be. I just want to be lovable. But if I can never be that, then I just want city lights to get lost in...

Monday, September 7, 2009

trying to write

Complacency has come to replace my once tattered thoughs,
That drifted down onto your face, your smile, your essence,
Rushing over and drowning my fears of the absolution that will never come,
Slowly bringing me to the realization that you are as stone-cold as river rocks,

That have been smoothed away and polished by the rapids,
That nearly drowned me in your fantasy world that you've made,
Drowned my will to fly a moment too late,
I have taken off, taken to the sky, where you cannot reach me,

Cannot infect my soul with hypothermia of a new kind,
You are losing me, never really had me, never really will,
I have labored and sweated with the fever in my heart,
Dripping everything but hope from the pores on my skin,

Just another self-infatuated rendezvous is what you've become,
Just another almighty indigo sky littered with stars above,
That came to call on my eyes once darkness fell,
Because we both were left alone, forgotten by the rest of the world,

Giving up on you was the tourniquet to this wound,
That poured and flooded the blood from my veins,
Seeping the last of my decency with it, my beauty,
Leaving me just a corpse in my own right,

And though I'm ugly now and useless and no good,
At least I'm still alive,
Heart beating through the death of our love,
That finally let me say goodbye,

Friday, September 4, 2009

Liar Liar

Talking about myself of course. Sometimes I wish that people were trustworthy. That I could be myself around them instead of being this personification of who I think will survive around them. I get tired of being this mask, this shell of a person. It's too dangerous, though, to be myself. I'm too easily wounded. I love too easily and it seems like everyone just gets the biggest kick out of ripping my heart to shreds. What is so wrong with people that they see something as simple and nice as love and they feel the need to destroy it? I don't get it? Why is it so important to them that they have to kill it until people like me become so fed up with trying to love that they begin to try to stop loving altogether?

Is it really that bad that I want love? Is that like abnormal somehow? I just want someone to be honest, brutally honest, and tell me if it IS that unusual. Has there been some great change in women? Are we supposed to hate love now? I'm just lost. So lost that I've kept this goddamn mask on because I'm scared to death of being hurt like the way I was when I was five. I'm tired of it. I just want someone to love me. I know it probaly sounds pathetic and all, but, I guess I'm so tired of "living a lie" that I would rather be ripped open until I finally bleed to death than to live like this anymore. I just want romance and love. The rest of my life is fine. But I'm a hopeless romantic I guess. I suppose love is the one elusive bird that will always evade my cage.