?

Log in

I · have · spread · my · dreams · under · your · feet...


...tread softly, because you tread on my dreams

Recent Entries · Archive · Friends · Profile

* * *
Wisdom

Look into my eyes
Before you speak into my ears
Make sure I’m sure friend
Ere you confess to me your fears.

Don’t slap me on the right
Ere you caress me on the left
Else you’ll speak into my ears
And find that I am deaf.
Current Location:
my bedroom
Current Mood:
sad sad
* * *
Another part of the How Novel collection thingy. There are only six parts written so far; it might go up to ten or twelve. Who knows. Anyway.

White Apostrophe

You know that smile
Makes me writhe.
That smirk
Likens me unto a trembling leaf.
Come,
Let me slip this knife into you
(It will not hurt)
And you can be like a white apostrophe
Perfect and curved and beautiful
Caressing me from above.

Current Location:
my bedroom
Current Mood:
okay okay
* * *
If It Could Be Sounded Plain
Rating: PG-13 for creepiness.
Word Count: 519
Summary/Description: He lets her go.
A/N: Inspired by this pic. It’s creepy and it’s wrong and it’s sad. Heee. Sorry Ingrid.

~~~

“Go,” he says simply.Collapse )

Current Location:
my bedroom, i never leave it
Current Mood:
blah blah
* * *
In light of this newly blossoming thing with Karlin, have an old monologue. And don't ask for explanations; I was... a teenager. :I

Farce

I love you like I’d love to scream your name in unadulterated ecstasy to a ceiling fan; how sweet those two syllables sound on my lips. I love you like I love the dimple that dents your cheek when you deign to smile at me; lips gorgeous and plush in full boom. I love you like I’d love to tell you how I really feel, that everything I said last night is a lie, and makes a farce out of the love I have for you.

Current Location:
my bedroom
Current Mood:
blah blah
* * *
This is one of those things that I read and get annoyed with. I was such an immature girl. Written at about 15; not sure.

Anymore

A slap to put me in my place. Show me where I stand. It’s sad, really, how you morphed something so beautiful into the master-slave relationship that we are left with. A smack to show me that I’m wrong. Make sure that I know that you’re the ultimate authority. Where there was once a bond, there are simply the mangles strings from which I chewed myself. Those strings where you played out my actions, my decisions, like I was a puppet. Hit me a few times to illustrate who’s the boss. Then you turn around and wonder why I don’t love you anymore.

Tags:

Current Location:
my mother's bedroom
Current Mood:
blank blank
Current Music:
Daddy snoring
* * *
* * *
Influenced very slightly by King Lear.

The Fool

If I love with all I am;
Excuses, all that I can make
When your head turns in disgust.
This is a fool’s play.
Pity, pity me, and laugh.

* * *
I hate myself.

My Sacrifice

I can show you death in my hands
Drawn and withered like a map of pain.
I am dirty and used
You cannot be contaminated; you cannot be contained.
So ugly; my insides are blackened;
They stink of maggots and lies and love.
I am going to poison myself
And you.
So run, my love.
Your footsteps echo in my heart.
I am vomiting your words.
I am drowning in your bloods.
I am dying on my knees.

* * *
Inspired by Taurus Riley’s She’s Royal.

She Needs to be More Than Wined and Dined

A weathered hand to smooth her wrinkled brow
Lips twitching to smile at her behest
Eyes following her
Like a glittering veil of glory…
Fingers fastened onto her wrist, firm
Because, she likes change, I think.

Tears to spill when she’s not there
Anger, fever-pitch when she’s hurt
And a fist in the face of her enemies
A heart that contorts and aches and burns
For her.

Love, like a dying stallion.

Current Location:
my mother's bedroom
Current Mood:
cranky cranky
Current Music:
Daddy snoring
* * *
Written back in 2004, I think. I'm not sure what inspired me to write this, hmmm.

Cheap Sex in the Dressing Room

The curtain has closed, the lights are out. The house is empty. Yet I linger on. It is here, that I have lost the very essence of my being. My life, my purpose, was drained and strained and boiled down to what they wanted. The smell in the air is fetid. The memories create bedlam in my head; the nostalgia eats at me. I traded in the best years of my life for some cheap sex in the dressing room. Ironic, isn’t it, how you can give your all to something, but never get it back. The stench is not going to fade. I pack my things in preparation for the next, inevitable show, and walk down the empty hallway, rapping my repertoire on the walls.

Tags:

* * *
I wrote this last week, on the 2nd, the day I actually got it, but I kept leaving my Prose fiction notebook in school (the book I'd scribbled it in) so I only jus got a chance to type it up. This is sorta sappy, err.

My Little Lion

With a gaping maw
As if to receive all of my love
Too bright to look at.
Tears come to my eyes
And if this is the only thing I am to be given
I will hold it close to my heart
My little lion.

Current Mood:
blah blah
* * *
* * *

Previous