Tuesday, November 26th, 2013

In order to be someone's last, you must be their first or their best, for those are the only ones that a person truly remembers. Losing my chance for one, I must race for the only place avaible. Am i losing my breath for nothing? Fighting a war the first will win? Or racing, forgetting I am never good enough? Is my good not the best to delete the past? 

Monday, November 25th, 2013

Everything i touch, i destroy. I am a selfish sociopath who must share her unbearing pain with the ones she loves until it breaks them. 

Saturday, November 23th, 2013

The clock turns zero and the calendar counts sixty. Her fingers run through the white marks on her arm and a smile appears on her frigid dead lips. She goes to sleep and dreams about the blood she can't drop. The clock turns zero and the calendar counts sixty-one. This time, it's not her fingers who touch her arm, but rather her rusty friend who paints it red. She drowns her eyes as she sleeps and dreams about the blood she has lost. The clock turns zero and so does the calendar. Her fingers run to find her dreams were real. She cries and promises she'll never fell for that spell again, but still she keeps her friend in her drawer. Oh how can her mind be so naive and destructive at the same time.

Wednesday, November 20th, 2013

"What you must understand about me is that I am a deeply unhappy person."

Monday, November 18th, 2013

How do you tell someone you love that you'd rather be left alone than be by their side? How do you tell someone how hard they make you cry even though they work so hard to make you happy? How do you tell someone the eventuality they're too blind to see? I cleaned my face once again and hoped to be enough, I'd be crying for so long and so little. I swallowed the words i meant to say and saved them for another time. The comment that felt like a knife deep inside of me only proved what my paranoid heart suspected. The words were so far inside I worried i could never say them out loud without spilling out all the horrible thoughts, or all the times i carved my nails into my arms to stop me for saying what I would regret. Maybe some words are better left unsaid. Maybe they're better on the pages of a dirty page or lost on the internet, where it's just me and my computer. I feel like... I cringe, i must not say. I feel like you're using me. Compensating for the wrongs you've made, the nightmares you've lived and the past you'd rather not have. I could be your gateway, a turn on the road, where you could have a new background as you walk through the dust. I cannot handle more baggage, I'd rather not add "used" to the long list painted on my skin. You will realize that you don't really love me, you love the idea of me and what the fresh start i represent. I'd rather if you realized it by yourself so I wouldn't have to tell you.  
This must end, but no tonight. Tonight, I'll settle for a smile, a kiss and "I love you" that sounds more like a goodbye. 

Sunday, November 10th, 2013


Hush little girl, don't you cry,
No one will catch your tears,
Only your demons will try.
Hush little girl, don't you worry,
You have dripping blood to keep you company,
And he will never leave your side.
Hush little girl, don't you scream,
You have a blade to ease your pain,
And she will never tell your sins.
Hush little girl, don't you see,
Even your demons fear you,
You've become your worst enemy.
Hush little girl, you've fallen so hard, how
is someone supposed to save you now.

Saturday, November 9th, 2013


The night gets darker, and so do I. The skies get emptier, and so do I. The trees get colder, and so do I. The buildings fade away, and so do I. The artists stay up late, and so do I. The lovers miss someone, and so do I. The loners get depressed, and so do I. The city sleeps, but neither do I. I am the artist who doesn't paint, the lover that doesn't love, the loner who isn't alone. I am only what is left of my soul. The darkness, the emptiness, the cold, the fading. I am the night. The night dies so that the day can begin, and so will I.

Tuesday, Novemeber 5th, 2013


My wrists miss the sharp, cold, rusty brush. My thighs miss the thick, dripping, red paint. My fingers miss the smooth cracks on my pale complexion. My mind misses the brief seconds of relief from the smothering pain. How terrifying it is to miss something you can so easily get back.

Tuesday, November 5th, 2013


"You're better than they were" oh, what a childish thought, not wanting to be better but wishing i was the only one.