[x]

her.she is one hundred percent alone, minus him.

meet her.

she has milk white skin, and jagged bones. her eyes are pale and soft, and could make you surrender under her breath (and they will.)

every night she goes to sleep with a man who touches her, and she feels sick. and she wishes he'd just leave the hair in her face.

(because it's easier to hide tears that way.)

she dreams at night.

her milky skin is spilling over unfamiliar fingers. the freckles on her back match the ones in his eyes, and she feels safe. she offers him her heart, and he closes it into a box.

(she wakes up feeling nine

lightening bolt eyes.he has lightening bolt eyes and one fucking killer smile.

   let me introduce you to whom i call "fire-fly."

he has ice white skin and something about the way his hair falls that makes me wish mine would conform to such a beauty.

   looking at you for so long makes me feel. Really feel.

he calls them fire-flies but i say lightening bugs.
fire burns hot against his skin, and i can feel the heat in his heart
but lightening bolt eyes can destroy you.

   but god, it's so beautiful first, but only at first.

he calls me his "freckled girl" and i call him my heart
and he says that i shine undern

messages.it's twenty degrees outside, and when he breathes into the air, the smoke spells sex.

but not the loving kind, the kind where taking a shower just isn't enough to get the smell of him off of me.

he's all wrapped up into disney movie, magic shit. when i know that he is just some dirty subliminal message, and i'll get sucked in.(but i'll tell myself it's not my fault, because my sub-conscious should be more aware, and i'll pinch myself to make sure i'm sleeping.)

i know that's not right. (anything to keep me asleep)

ardor.all I can feel is this pulsing, the infinite beating
inside my brain, under my palms, racing through my veins.
the music mixes with your heart sounds and all I care about is that
beat
beat
beat.

it’s like you’re stealing the oxygen from my throat, like we’re
pressed tight enough that there’s not enough air for the two of us,
and I’m lost in the sound of your breathing.
(it’s too cliché to say you take my breath away.)

you burn into me and set my heart on fire, smoldering through layers of
flesh, capillaries and ventricles until you get to the very core, filling it with
fresh ashes and the spark t

dew that tastes like saltwatershe left 9 messages on his answering machine:

"when i grow up, i want to be a quick-change artist."

"there was no dew on the grass this morning."

"please talk to me."

"baby."

"i."

"miss."

"you."

"i think i'm in love."

"i love you."
- -

he called back and answered:

"when i grow up, i want to be happy."

"there was dew on the spots you cried on."

"we've already said too much."

"i miss you too. just look up at the stars and remember that a thousand miles away, i'm looking at the same stars."

"ok."
he didn't answer the last one.

- -

for every day he didn't spend with her, she wrote his name on a post-it note and taped it on her

still.one.
-

her name is alice. there is a slight blood stain on the valley where her lips part, and her eyes are two supermassive black stars that can't show anything but hurt. she can't bring herself to look in the broken mirror puddles that are all over the ground.

(and i don't blame her)

two.

-

she borrows her mother's raincoat because it smells like home. not the homes that are flooded with laundry soap or soft candles burning in the family room, but more like the paint she spilled on the carpet, or the whiskey on her father's breath.

12 : fuck"let's forget for a moment that love doesn't exist and rainbows don't last forever," he whispered, running his hand along the curve of her waist. she choked down a,"but i can't," and pulled him close to her. it's hard for her to remember that his heart doesn't beat for love when he kisses her collarbone and the smell of rainwater makes her dizzy.

"i want you, ohgodiwantyou." and she couldn't help but hope that maybe he wanted her for more than one reason.

x

he called it
"fucking" and she whispered,

william.dreams make him vomit.

meet william.

he has spider-leg fingers and eyes so cold they could stop your heart.
(and they will.)

every night william goes to sleep knowing that someone else is waking up with his only friend, and he wishes he could brush the honey-stained hair from her cheek.

(not the man, who can't even spell love without cheating.)

william dreams at night.

his spider fingers are creeping up the jagged edge of her spine. her skin is the color of milk, and lightly freckled. william keeps her safe, and has made a

annie.annie paints the end of her erasers red, so every time she erases something, it reminds her she is made of mistakes.

and her mother would be proud, really.

annie has long fawn legs and can't remember the last time she actually drank a glass of water. the feeling of being dehydrated reminds her that she can in fact feel, and her father spends too much time away from home.

and her mother re-named herself "alone."

when she was six they found out she was dyslexic. her father told her she just couldn't see things right. annie went home and stared into the lamp light until her pupils dialated and tears ran down her fac

bipolar hearts.we use to watch Fight Club together, because she said that it made her feel a little less alone, and i could never reply so i held her in my lap.

and she told me she was kalea's dizzy mind.

and in real life, you would think nothing of anything really, because she watches the birds fly just like you do. the morning rises on the same side of her window, and she can watch the clock tick away hours, just like you.

and she told me she was kalea's spinal cord.

i watched her pick at her fingernails for too long, and alway

the things we'll never say.1.
snakes crawl out of my mouth,
hands like sleep waiting silently
for me to give into them.

i toss words like rocks
across my tongue, skipping
across the lake, and we reach,
hands outstretched, for the sun

but it's a shame it's all empty.

2.
listen, if you loved me, you
wouldn't try to fix me.
if you loved me, you'd paint
butterflies across the wall
to make me smile. listen,

if you loved me, you'd give
me handrails to hold onto
on the way down. you'd tell me
that right now, i'm a caterpillar
(but that caterpillars become
butterflies.) listen,
if you loved me,

you'd love me broken, too.

3.
don't speak.

sure, you cou

the ways we destroy ourselves.one.

we were silences stretched out,
lingering in the pitter-patter of muffled
heartbeats. we were broken glass
digging into too-fragile lungs, we were
the shaking of the nervous earth beneath
our feet. we were bitter unforgiveness and
the screams of the world around us, we were
empty spaces, we were

everything but beautiful.

two.

happiness is on vacation.

three.

life is a sidewalk, he told me. life is a sidewalk,
and regret and pain and tears are the cracks,

and sometimes, he tells me,
sometimes, you can't fill them.

four.

there's a shatter in the next room, a broken
breath, a shaking in the bones.

we're all broken,
darl

what i notice about peoplepeople cannot sit still. they fidget, they worry about their weight, they lie on stiff bones, they twist nervous hairs. awkward situations call for awkward laughter, but it is never funny.

people form habits to feel there is consistency and a ledge to grip on this slipping world. wake-up-at-seven-oh-three-and-get-out-of-bed-by-seven-oh-five-and-put-on-size-seven-blue-slippers-right-next-to-bed-and-brush-teeth-and-shower-and-bring-coffee-to-work-and-drive-to-work-and-walk-in-at-eight-thirty.

people will happily call their favourite song (shoes/beliefs/friend/mother) stupid if someone says so first. people see differences as swimming against

nightmares.i. there’s only so much you can say until
lips crack open and words fall short.
he prays that his rough hands and broken thoughts
can get the point across, but
feeble touches never sounded much like ‘love’.

ii. he talked of how many girls he fucked,
while you told him how many boys you’ve loved, and watched as
the numbers were almost the same.
“sex and love are completely different.” you informed him late one night.
I know. his fingers whispered as they brushed along the curve of your spine, not-quite-lovingly.

iii. the only feeling you become aware of is one of
confusion and murky lightheadedness, th

monotony.we went to vegas. you drove and i pressed myself against the side of the door and breathed out pictures onto your window. you planned to make it big, and i planned to make it a memory. i fell asleep through the city of lights, and it was then i decided that christmas didn't feel the same, and your hands were always cold, even through your gloves.

i sat on the hotel bed and thought of how many people sat exactly where i was. you were in the bathroom buttoning up your shirt. i clenched mine so tightly closed my back pressed through the fabric. this was when i decided this is what suffocating was like. you were talking to me but i only remember

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watching you spin.

by ~create-illusions, Apr 3, 2009, 2:47:48 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives

you're a disco dancing, drama queen with dirty hair and the permanent smell of stale cigarettes. but god, are you beautiful, twisting and dancing under circular lights,

   and vomiting when you're done.(acid does some crazy shit)

your hair was once blonde and beautiful like your eyes, but now it's laying in clumps almost everywhere, because you fucking pull out a strand whenever i'm around, i don't know why i do that to you.

   but i never really ever offer to leave, either.

there's that one song that i always hear you listening to, it's the same old shit about love and loss and never being able to forget that special someone, i use to get mad at you for giving in to such conforming types of art.

   but now i just let you go, because last time i actually made you cry.

"would you rather fly, or read minds?" i told you i'd rather read minds, and know what everyone thinks, because you can fly on a plane anyday, but no one ever thinks the same. and you nodded and pulled out some hair, turned over and watched the walls turn colors.

   but that night i saw you jumping off your porch, and now my stomach hurts.

whenever you'd get fed up with me you'd leave out the front door, but you never slammed or shut it because you said you wanted me to feel sick as i watched you get smaller and smaller the longer i stared at you.

   but i never told you, that i really did feel bad, and once even put on my glasses(and i watched you walk away longer than i ever have before)

i don't know when the time came that you just weren't happy anymore, but i remember the day that i forgot you altogether, but cigarettes just don't taste the same anymore, and i can't go on a plane without wishing i was falling from it,

   but disco lights still spin, and sometimes i can see your eyes behind them.

watching you spin.by ~create-illusions

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives

^{i'm not a fan of dancing, anyway.

sometimes i don't know where this stuff comes from, some of it is based from real life, some not.}

~~love 0 0~~

joy 1 1

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~BlazesStarGirl May 25, 2010 Hobbyist Digital Artist

i still love this and the last bit is still the shit

~create-illusions Jun 6, 2010

thank you!

~little-me-starfire Aug 7, 2009

i absolutely love this phrase: "would you rather fly, or read minds?" i told you i'd rather read minds, and know what everyone thinks, because you can fly on a plane anyday, but no one ever thinks the same. and you nodded and pulled out some hair, turned over and watched the walls turn colors.

you have a wonderful soul

~create-illusions Aug 9, 2009

hahaha awh thank you

~little-me-starfire Aug 9, 2009

no problem! i love it

~Astranomical Aug 3, 2009

This amazing piece of amazingness has been featured in my latest journal (which perhaps means nothing because no one will ever see it, but that certainly doesn't mean that I didn't love it enough to feature it anyways

)

~create-illusions Aug 3, 2009

awh thank you it means something to me

~Astranomical Aug 4, 2009

you're certainly welcome

~Astranomical Jul 24, 2009

this poem could be about me, and holy hell do i love it.
for the connection i have to it, and also to the beauty and the colors and the way you broke it up and used events and ideas and this is lovelier than i can put into well-structured, sensible sentences.

~create-illusions Jul 27, 2009

i'm so glad you like it,

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