How you once inspired me to write poetry
Usually pain-stricken and
The light that shone off the moon
Made me crazy
And my poetry
Became glossy and
Once again I find myself
Beyond the ways of lunacy and motion sickness
Where fish heads and steaming squids in the mornings were
I had no idea what to think when you
Cried before my eyes
Those drippy milk chocolates melting
I didn’t know what to say.
Except maybe that I was still crying harder than you’d ever dare.
It almost hurt
No, actually, yes
It did hurt
When you told me that
Near the end of it all
You didn’t want me to stop
If only that emotion had stayed
If only I didn’t leave an emotional soap
Opera divorcee with the Botox and goopy makeup.
And maybe it was funny.
Maybe you’re awkward laughter and sideways glances
And how much I wanted to kill myself
Maybe they were funny.
Maybe I was just a kid, anyway.
It’s not like I know what love means.
It’s not like I’ve experienced it before.
It’s not like I’ve felt pain and regret and misery and above it all
Past love, more like. But love.
Because at the end of the day, we were kids.
Stupid, stupid kids.
Or at least that’s what everyone tells me.
i started writing one of my actual novel like stories again
here’s how it starts so far:
Eyes drifting open, hazy and unfocused, those nimble stained red fingers reached to them and pressed uncontrollably hard to his puffy lower eyelids. Vision? Hardly there, too black, too smoggy and polluted to focus on anything farther away than his disgustingly wet hands. He squinted his eyes, his mouth opening a little bit and eyebrows creasing together slightly as he attempted to look close enough to figure out the strange substance coating his hands in a sickly smelling layer. Red. He processed that much; the color was ever so red. Dark red, shiny and thick glinting black in the dim lighting, or maybe his vision was too shot to process the colors correctly, but the smell was increasingly present and that he knew for a fact. He felt acidic bile rise in his rough throat and, as his willpower wasn’t strong enough to force it down, it lazily began oozing out of his mouth. Then it came out angrier, furious even, and exploded out of his mouth cavity faster than any exaggerated projectile vomiting he’d seen on television before. Back jolting and thrashing from the extreme force, knotted together knees bumping together gracelessly, all from internal fluids throwing a hissy fit inside of his body. After a couple dozen half-choked and wheezing gasps, he forced his weary eyeballs to stare down at the vomit and noted the color. Red. So much red, far too much of the gooey crimson shade, it was starting to make him irate. He was the bull in a traditional Spanish bullfight, the color didn’t necessarily make him so frustrated, but it’s movement, the sheer vastness of the bloody color as it spread like water in a tsunami across his body. That was what made him so angry. But if he was the bull, then the man in the room with him was the man in charge of the entire bull-fighting affair, scheming and grinning whilst drinking, plotting how to get the next win, the next fight, and how to kill them all off all the while.
it feels nice outside today.
the weatherman said that a cold front was moving in but its not as cool as you’d except with a warning like that
it’s only 85 instead of 99 but it still feels heavenly- i could walk outside in shorts and a hoodie and not feel like melting.
the sun was shining white and the sky was baby blue with puffy white clouds that hogged over half of the sky.
everything was white and clear, there wasn’t any humidity today which is odd for the muggy forest that north louisiana is enveloped in.
i could feel autumn coming. i know that i’m not the only one. my mother has even taken out the pumpkin scented candles.
I was cleaning my room the day before yesterday and i found a box that was filled with all the little notes i’ve left to myself on my desk over the years
I found one little slip of paper in particular that had the description of the first dream I had with Dave (Strider) in it. I’ll put down here the little snippets I remember from what I wrote on the slip of paper.
For whatever reason, it all began in the living room of someone else’s house. I was sitting on a large sofa and covered in blankets. An older man was trying to talk to me about something, while placing layer upon layer of blankets onto me. I recall him talking about how terrifying it was that Islam had built an alliance with a part of Scandinavia (I believe it was Denmark but I can’t remember). The man had odd facial hair and I vaguely recall being slightly disgusted by him, mainly because whenever I would try to leave he would beg me to sit back down but only because I was the only sane woman he knew. His daughter would pop in occasionally and after a while I began to understand where his statement was coming from, mainly because she was one of the most obnoxious people I’d ever had the pleasure of listening to. A TV was blaring in the background and the house itself reminded me of the cabins we used to stay at every year on a river in East Texas. For whatever reason, his daughter dressed like she lived in the 70’s and that annoyed me worse than anything else about her.
Some time later I find myself laying in a prison cell, except the bars were like a door of a really old-timey elevator. My hair when I had this dream was still it’s natural color (blonde), and it looked pretty much identical to Dave’s. But after spending an unknown amount of time in prison, my hair grew out into an obnoxious mullet. I was also wearing a pair of sunglasses. I recall laying there, my mullet hair and stupid sunglasses in a prison cell, when suddenly Dave walks by wearing a guard uniform. The only thing he tells me is “You must become the ultimate cool kid” before tossing me the keys to the cell. I escaped.
Next thing I know, I’m rushing back to my house and grabbing my laptop. When I get back out to my garage though, it isn’t my car but an average looking black car. And in the driver’s seat was what I later found out to be Satan. And his son (that- for the South Park fans out there- reminded me of Damien) who was really cute was in the seat next to him. We all drove for a long time, all the while I was fiercely tapping away on my laptop. Actually, I was running a Fall Out Boy ask blog (I don’t really know why- especially because I’ve never liked them very much) and HAD to answer all the questions before we reached our destination. For a little while I would talk to Satan’s son, and the only thing that he would tell me was who he was and other extremely vague information. I knew that by staying with Satan and his son that I would get to where I needed to go to become the ultimate cool kid that Dave asked me to be. I also knew that the entire world was currently in shambles, and that the only person that could possibly save it was myself.
the searing anger pouring into my veins powered me
my legs shook from the sheer adrenaline rush
i knew of nothing but from the gory thoughts of murdering her
my surroundings full of the hot white sound of the thumping bass in the background
i wanted to kill her
i wanted to rip off her ears first
let them bleed a little
maybe watch her scream for a couple minutes
i bet she’d piss herself
next i’d gouge out her eyes
she doesn’t deserve to see anymore
then pull off her hands
those perfect, petite and feminine hands
they need to go
afterwards i’d crush her middle
her tiny middle with zero fat and zero personality
pull out her guts and shove them into her mouth
she has to eat sometime
after that i should watch her lifeless body spit out it’s juices
my body began calming
the thoughts were enough to stop my legs from shaking any longer
the thoughts were enough to stop me from actually doing any of those things
So yeah man I’m making that awkward friendship Vriska/Equius happen man.
Here’s the first paragraph. I’m digging it so far and who knows, MAYBE I’LL ACTUALLY FUCKING FINISH SOMETHING FOR ONCE IN MY GODDAMN LIFE.
The loud noise of someone working with mechanical instruments filled Vriska’s ears as she made the short walk up the stairs of Equius’ building. Not bothering with knocking, she tried to open the door and cursed, as it was locked, before attempting to slam the door open with her shoulder. With no success, Vriska kicked the door angrily with her foot and took a few steps back. Silently listening to see if the power tools stopped and Equius heard her, she stared eagerly at the door. After a few moments of continued noise, Vriska stubbornly huffed and rapped her knuckles against the metal door, creating a loud bang different from the muted thud her shoulder gave it earlier. Finally, she heard the power tools stop and Equius’ metal shoes stomp over in her direction. She straightened her hair and prepared herself mentally, after all, she was a girl on a mission.
i was thinking earlier about how intimate it is for people to hold eachother by the stomach or in their middle. like just laying in bed together but for the other person to just lovingly hold onto and stroke your stomach area to pull you tightly to their body is just so sweet and darling.
and what a better way to get this random thought out of my system than nathan/pickles!
soo. sweet n/p under the cut.
Rated: G for innocent cuddles and mild face smooching
Warnings: its reallllllly cheesy. and very lovey-dovey. and a lot sadder than i intended.
Word Count: 522
“The Deadly Memphis Airport”, a lovely poem I wrote on the way home from my trip to Sweden.
Stuttered and desperately spoken lies pour angrily from a television I can’t see
The smell of sticky, bad bar-be-que invading my head
Large angry bodies with stupid, little brains surround me
I think back to a time not two days ago where I lounged in a place akin to paradise.
Pretty faces and pretty places
The smell of the sea
Looking around at my surroundings one more time,
I scrunch my face in distaste.
I don’t really remember how it began but I had an odd dream the other night.
A young girl with white blonde hair that was like feathers and big cheeks was with me. Her eyes were close together and her mouth was almost never curved upwards. She reminded me of myself when I was younger, except maybe a little more morbid. I constantly coddled her and she treated me like a mother. There was also a young boy who reminded me of Dave Strider, actually he might’ve been Dave. Dave is constantly in my dreams, as a companion of sorts. I never really realized how much I related to him up until the first dream I had with him in it.
But aside from that, my brother was there as well. He wasn’t with me most of the time, as the story was mostly centered on my relationship with the two little kids. We were all headed to an unknown place, and we traveled through a forest and mostly by foot. The greens and stunningly dark browns are burned into my memory from this dream. I recall my feet hurting dearly, which is odd, but I suppose walking for miles in a rocky forest will do that to the innocent feet. It almost reminded me of when my family and I went hiking in lower Arkansas over the summer, mainly because my feet hurt so much. I’m appalled by how pessimistic I can be.
After miles upon miles of walking, we arrived at a small, rundown looking area with supplies laid around in piles. These supplies were there to build small, temporary houses. Everything seemed old and I was confused about why they existed in the first place, although nobody else was.
The little girl’s family was there, and both her mother and her father were extremely abusive. They were also poor, as were the Dave look-a-like, me and my brother, and every other family that was residing in the area. Apparently this was something like a project the government started many years ago to give homes to the extremely poor and homeless.
I had a very small house all to myself, and my brother had one close to mine. I also had a small army of cats that I fed and nurtured, because apparently in that dream I was a cat whisperer and all they strays followed me around everywhere. By the end of that dream I recall having at least 100 cats that unquestioningly obeyed my every command.
At one point in the dream, I went over to the little girls house and found her father beating her. I promptly left.
On my way back to my house I ran into the Dave kid and all he did was frown at me before going up to his porch and drinking what appeared to be strawberry kool-aid from a glass pitcher on a little outdoors table. Kool-Aid was a heavy part of my childhood, so the entire scene to me was so nostalgic it hurt. I could only watch him, because I realized then that ignoring the little girl’s situation was worse than anything else I could possibly do. Even with this realization, my actions didn’t change when it came to how I treated her. I do remember constantly rounding her and the Dave kid to stay at my house though, because they both liked all the kittens that all the stray cats would leave.
And that’s all I remember.