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Brain Matter


A simple idea is formed in my mind every few seconds, I don’t know where they come from, I usually don’t know where they intend to go, yet I appreciate every one so deeply. My mind sometimes feels like a busy New York street, buzzing and beeping! An awful thing here a delightful thing there, an infinite amount of action and not enough time to see it all happen piece by piece.

I kick myself from time to time because I do not sit down and jot anything down, all those thoughts wasted.. erased. So long New York, you talented state, I waste you away and I cannot give you one good reason why, this life is throwing everything at me and I think I have nothing. That’s wrong, I have my writing, my knitting, and a cute little puppy. I find comfort in the negative, again, not sure as to why. Forgetting there are things in my life to be proud of, sure I didn’t send a robot to the moon, or write the latest pop break up song. Yet by simply being me, by simply being here, that is enough to be thankful for. Hope is only a tiny little person walking down Bleecker Street, and one thought will only get ya so far. So here’s to you, you lazy shmuck, don’t forget to live the life you always said you would. There are people out there who are counting on you to fail, for their own feeble minds are ready to dine on your woes.

**Please share feedback, I’m having conflicting thoughts on this one. Thanks!

Simple Misunderstandings


Understand this and only this.
There is no end to the madness.
Whenever it feels like it may be over
The second you feel like you can breathe
Those are the moments you should fear the most.
No one knows why this is.
And honestly there is no reason to question it.
When you begin to question the things that should remain unknown
You begin to flirt with death.
Situations like that never end well my dear.
I know many things you’ll never care about.
I know many things none of you may never know about.
You notice me when you see me.
But when you notice me it’s only what you can see with those
Shallow eyes.
Never will you see me for what I was intended to be.
Not until I rip this mask from my face, and show you all the demons inside of me.
Even then, when I have everything exposed before you
EVEN THEN
You still just will not see me.
Instead you’ll take a quick peek into yourself and see all the imperfections
The ones you never quite wanted to believe.
I will ruin you, everything you ever loved about yourself
Destroyed.
And what for?
Just so you can hear about my poor lost soul?

A Moment With the Real Me


Usually for the writing done on this blog there is no plan, no outlines, no pre-writing. This is the place where I just write, whatever usually comes into my head, and I never usually share my personal writing because I’m not sure how people would react to it. Some of my more personal work is dark, twisted, morbid, but what the hell, why not.

But please remember, this is all fictional, none of this is real.

She said this time she’s really leaving.

                Sometimes she says that.

                                                                It’s always hard to tell if she’s bluffing.

                She’s got two suitcases packed.

                                                                                                She’s serious.

                                Maybe I should tell her to stay.

                                                                But they said we don’t need her anymore.  

So really she should just go.

                I’m sitting on the floor, I think I can see her crying.

                                And I think she might be yelling.

                                                                                It kind of sounds like she is asking me to try.

 

 

But why?

 

Why would I want to try and make her stay, if we don’t need her anymore?

 

                                                                                The door slammed.

                                No more sweet Allison at night.

I don’t need her, she was crazy.

                                                                               

                                                                                                                                She will be back soon anyhow.

 

I get up off the floor, and move to the bathroom.

I taped a blade to the bottom of the bathroom sink a few months ago.

                                I haven’t seen my own blood in weeks.

                                                                I closed my eyes once the cold blade was in my hand.

And I cut.

                                                                                                I cut deep into my arm, and I inhale sharply.

I don’t open my eyes, but I see my blood.

                                It looks like Allison.

And it looks like my brother.

                                                                                It looks like what has been stolen.

                                                                                                                                                And what I’ve lost.

I crawl into the tub and I lay there, letting my arm bleed.

                                They tell me by doing this, I can see. I can see everything they want me to know.

So I take the blade, and cut once more into my thigh.

                                The blood looks like my stolen childhood.

                                                                                                                                It looks like drugs.

Like sex.

                                                My blood looks like everything I have ever done wrong in my life.

Everything that makes me human.

                                They make me feel as though I’m not human.

                                                Like I’m just a host for them to play around in.

               

 

                                                                                               

 

                                                                                                                They’ve taken everything from me.

When I was nine, my brother told my mom about Stella.

 

Now Stella was not the first one that came to me, but she is the one who started this mess.

                                At first, I did not talk to them aloud. Archie, the first one that came to me, told me if I talked to them with my mouth that someone could hear me, and they would not understand.

                I guess I was the only one who could see them.

Tucker, my brother, once heard me fighting with Stella.

                                We did that a lot.

                                                                                Looking back now, Stella had a lot of passion. She was always getting me to try and do things I knew I shouldn’t do.

 

Like talking to her with my mouth.

Tucker told mom that I was yelling at myself in the bathroom for an hour.

Tucker could tell on me because he was thirteen so he was obviously entitled.

Mom asked me why I was yelling at myself in the bathroom.

                I said I didn’t know what she was talking about.

Mom asked me if Tucker was being a liar.

                I said this time Tucker kind of is a liar.

Mom asked me what I meant.

                I said I was yelling, but not at myself.

That’s when Stella told me to shut my fucking mouth.

Mom asked me who was in the bathroom with me.

                I said I didn’t know what she was talking about.

Mom said, if you weren’t yelling at yourself, someone had to be in there with you.

                I said she was right.

Stella began screaming so loud in my head.

Mom said something but I couldn’t hear her.

                I think I screamed.

Moms lips moved some more, but she didn’t look scared.

Stella was still screaming.

                I dug my fingers into my face and began to scream.

 

I have a scar under my left eye from that day.

                                                Weird how that works out.

 

 

 

He was really good at hiding it, we had no idea what was going on until his brother mentioned he was arguing with himself in the bathroom. 

Saturdays<3


           

        Today is Saturday, and I love Saturdays, they are the days where I do what I’d like to do, and not what’s expected of me. Except for those dishes I’ve been putting off for days. Saturdays I get to write and sleep in and do nothing or do everything. Saturdays are the best days.

          On this particular Saturday, conveniently the day the world is supposed to end (which is obviously false), I’ve done numerous, not really exciting things.

1. I slept in until 8, which is really not sleeping in at all being that I actually miss school, to sleep.

2. I partially cleaned my living room, and my kitchen, and my bathroom.

3. I sang a song or two today, really loud and completely off-key.

4.  My mom and I went to pick up my boyfriend, who just used my shirt as a tissue uncalled for, wipe your fake tears elsewhere, or ask next time!

5. I got a speedway slushie 🙂

     Anyways, my point is, Saturdays are days where you can do random things, or you can just lounge, it’s only 5:10 pm so i have more planned for later.

      Sundays are horrible days, almost as bad as Mondays but not. Sundays you have to do the homework you’ve been putting off since Friday and all the things you need to do before Monday. Sundays make me think of feet, most people hate them, but everyone (sorry if you don’t) has them.

I hope you enjoy your Saturday, and I’m sorry if it is the last one you’ll ever have, but I think it’s highly unlikely