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,

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,

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...

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,

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.

Bleeding Love

Deep within your smouldering midnight eyes,
Way down into your white-hot core,
I beg to be lost forever,
Wrapped up along with the passion of your soul,
That dances,
Eloquently, yet without reservation, wild-eyed in the full moon,

That fiery hunger,
So fiercely ingrained in your very bloodstream,
That it shot through me like a sterling bullet,
Leaving me, bleeding beautifully, upon this empty dance floor,
With lips that are dripping my quietest kept secrets,
Like crimson liquid oozing from my pumping heart,
That beats so brokenly for you,

And here I lay,
Begging for you to cease it's petulant pounding,
For with every miserable pulse it screams, "I love you!"
Causing it to fall from my mouth again, against my will,
Defying me!
...and there is nothing I can do...
Yet you simply gaze downward at me and smile impishly,
With your smouldering eyes that have me,
So gleefully lost within your entrapment,
That I almost forget,
I am still bleeding to death on the floor....

Bag of Bones

I watch the door in suspenseful hope of your return,

Black wood encasing red like the stone around your heart,

That prevents love to seep from you at any crevice,

Through any pore,

If there is any love left in you that is,

My shattered thoughts have wandered, aimlessly,

Into the folds between realities and fantasies,

Forlorn,

Wishing you would find me there and quixotically indulge me,

Just once in a midsummer night's dream,

But dark skies weep a black & chilling rain,

That falls in waves, so lost over a world that weeps as well,

And I, I am just sitting here on your couch,

Wrapped up in a blanket that provides about as much warmth as your arms,

Absent-mindedly sucking the life from my last cigarette,

Your mirage has faded from me finally,

Blown away on a hot morning breeze,

That has left me, stranded in a desert once more,

Forcefully ignoring the fact that I've been fooled yet again,

I move onward towards the sight of green,

But I know, yes I am certain,

That it is always just another hallucination,

Another ghost of happiness in the distance,

That once I reach, will somehow vaporize into air,

Leaving me here, having been alone all along,