24/4/13 II

I’m too drunk,

You’re too cute,

I want to die, sweet bliss in me,

And I watch the razor by my side.

Throbbing lips,

For all wrong reasons,

Cup too close to mouth,

Where yours should be.

Pink tongues,

Like summer flowers,

Blossoms, but,

In other’s hearts, and other’s mouths.

I’m sleepy,

And I want to die,

All part of night’s sweet ritual,

Morning’s foe. 

24/4/13

I wish for bliss,

That curses me so,

A sad dripping,

Crumbling so.

Sits on my tongue,

Like acid strips,

But not to melt,

Never to provide me with your side effects.

I wish for blood,

The kind that makes me happy,

And drips like happiness,

From copy paper white skin.

Do you understand me?

Everyone else unmet seems to understand,

But you souls surrounding me,

Have selfish hearts content.

I wish for intoxication,

But I’m already drunk,

And you hate drunk girls,

Why don’t you talk to my anxiety?

My tongue wants to melt with yours,

But only in a hazy dream,

Will lust ever materialize,

I’ll kill myself before I’ll let you near.

You don’t even know your name, do you?

As laughter erupts outside,

All I think is, Mason,

Do you ever think of me?

21/4/13

I waste away,
As I waste my day,
And I can't help but hate myself,
As I sit upon my window shelf,
And watch the world go by,
And suck my soul bone dry.

My head is dizzy,
But you're too busy,
I want a bite,
But fear the spite,
Let me conduct the self destruction,
Under you soft spoken instruction.

Hear the drum beat roar,
Didn't you know this is what you asked for?
Your lustful marching band,
I'm still drowning, you're on dry land,
But even so, even so,
I'll still play your game show.

(3/1/13)

I wish to kiss,

The water’s sweet surface,

His lips intertwined with mine,

In an embrace matched in dreams.

His lips have kissed many before mine,

His are my first.

Their bodies lay in the water’s depths,

Staring up at me.

Sweet suicide sings to me her lullaby,

As I sink deeper into the water’s arms,

His limbs caress my warm skin,

Like loveless lovers between sheets.

A sailor might see me,

A fisherman might try to save me,

But I am no mermaid, no pride of the ocean,

But a girl slowly sinking in tears. 

Little Acid Alice (26/3/12)

Alice had wandered into a dodgy area, she could tell by the scruffy people walking by in cheap clothes, wearing cheap make up, and the stores and restaurants selling counterfeit goods and adult toys. The buildings falling apart, and the sad eyes watching through the dirty windows told their stories. She’d been through these unholy conversing streets all her life, growing up there, but this one she hadn’t walked down before. It was a new treasure in this labyrinth. She had all the time she needed and plenty of money for the night in her back pocket. Masses of people walked in hurried crowds, up and down the street, pushing through the night, scraping through another day. No one looked at her, no one even noticed her. She was just a poor, lone teenager, nothing really to give, not worth the fight.

Something stopped her. A light, a sound – she didn’t really know, but amongst the traffic of people, she stopped and looked to her right. It was just a door. A plain white door marked and scuffed with decay of the years, hidden between two restaurants selling paper noodles and ‘lucky’ fish. Spray painted on the door with a stencil was the words Sad Nights. The paint had dripped and blended together roughly, but she could just make out the words in the neon lights illuminating the door. She didn’t know what it was, but it intrigued her. This door perplexed her, something so small and insignificant. Innocent it was not, however. In an area like this, the slimy fingers of greed and perverseness touched everything, staining all that came through with dirty marks of wasted and worthless life.

Nobody went in, and nobody came out. No one was guarding the door. She turned the handle and it clicked open. She took this chance quickly, not knowing what would be inside, but wanting so desperately to find out. She closed the door behind her and found herself trapped in a long narrow hall. There was only one light, dangling from the ceiling from a single cord. It was barely bright enough to sustain the room, and the far ends were plunged into the shadows. The floors, the walls and the ceiling were all cement and layers of graffiti were built upon it. Within this room of cement and behind a heavy door, she realised that it suddenly became quiet. There were no sounds of the dozens of people passing by, unaware of this interesting door. She was in complete silence; all that she could hear was her rapid breathing and the tremor of her heart.

She couldn’t really see what was on the other end of the hall, but she thought she could make out stairs heading up. Her mind was captivated somehow to this darkness across the room, but she subconsciously went for the door behind her, her hand grappling in the shadows for the door handle. But there was nothing. She realised then that the handle on the inside had been removed, which would explain why the door was unlocked. Panic shot through her as she realised she was locked in, with no way to turn back. Somehow, beyond the panic and terror, this excited her. Now her reasoning couldn’t force her to turn back.

The stairs were in complete darkness, and beyond the reach of the light. She couldn’t see what was at the end of them, if there was even an end. From the bottom of the stairs it seemed as though they continued right up into the deathly black of the night, swallowing anyone whole. Upon stepping on the first step, the red eye of a sensor, which she hadn’t noticed before, winked, and on switched violet lights, like the ones outside. They revealed to her the second door, at the top, not far away. The second door was much like the first one; white and filthy. But painted on it were words, like a poem or a song. The graffiti that covered every inch of wall stopped just at this door, and there wasn’t a spot of paint on it. The door held supremacy over the graffiti, and the other artists gave respect by staying away.

Little Alice this place is not for you

You have to stay away

Less you wish for death

These rules you must obey

Danger rules our kingdom strong

It’s here for our display

Little Alice these halls are paved with acid

And with bones, and painted grey

This place is not for an innocent mind

Or for child’s play

Watch it, you might be swallowed whole

By messing with decay

Little Acid Alice stay away

She read the poem twice, not sure if she should be scared that it was talking to her. Little Acid Alice. That was what her mother called her, because her hair was an acid yellow colour.

But she didn’t want to think about her mother, she didn’t want to think about anyone tonight. She didn’t want to be herself. She pushed through the second door, a surge of courage burning through the bad memories. She had nowhere else to go. Inside, a cloud of smoke reached her face, obscuring her vision. She knew the smell well, and reveled in the second-hand intoxication. It was a mixture of fine leaves, burnt in ecstasy. She walked through the cloud, finding the room open out, widening to a large dance floor, illuminated by dim blue and pink lights. Surrounding the floor were platforms that reached into more darkness, where patrons would slink back for business of all kinds.

It was a club; an unguarded club, which she had somehow found her way into. She almost laughed out loud when she realised this is exactly what she needed. She let the vibrant, repetitive music take over her mind and body, letting the rhythm flow through her veins, burn through the capillaries and bring life into every muscle. Excited, she found her way to the floor, mixed in with the bodies of other dancers. She blended with this new kind of people, smiles and money filled their eyes and coloured their faces. Hands found her, found her arms, her waist, her thighs, but she kept her eyes closed, diving in with only the other senses to support her. Her throat burned with acid coloured drinks that kept her body moving and her brain cloudy.

“Can I sit here?” asked a voice, out of the fog of intoxication. The girl with dark hair leaned in close to shout over the music. She smelled of cheap perfume, something coconut scented. She sat down, taking a gulp from the drink in her hand. It glowed in the darkness.

“I’m waiting for my boyfriend.” Said the dark haired girl to the other. Alice had forgotten she was there.

“What?”

“I said, I’m just waiting for my boyfriend.” It was like Alice had just noticed the girl for the first time, noticed her badly coloured hair, even in this light, and the heavily applied make up, and the tattoo on her collar bone, covered up by the strap of her dress. Alice recognised a familiar distress in her voice.

“Why?”

“Huh? Why what?” Asked the girl.

“Why are you waiting for him? He should be waiting for you.” The dark haired girl didn’t know how to answer. “Boys are dickheads. Got mine who ditched me tonight instead of taking my out like he promised me.” Little Alice smiled and downed what was left of her drink. Giggling she left the dark haired girl in wait for her boyfriend.

Music and movement occupied her thoughts. Her head felt light and the room spun out of control. It was just the way she liked it. She felt like she was in a dream, walking on air without feet and feeling the heart beat of each individual against her skin. How long was she there for? Hours? Her mind was no longer hers, and time took a very different meaning in her hallucination. The only way she could describe it was that time was going too fast and too slow, and she was drowning in it, guilt and fatigue her rocks chained to her feet.

Her phone was ringing again; she could barely hear it over the music. In the quiet shadows she took out her phone, the bright light confronting to her sensitive eyes that had become so accustomed to the darkness. Her boyfriend, Blake, had called her three times. Had he changed his mind? She headed for the bathroom – a quiet place, but before she left the main room, she turned back to the table she sat at before, where the dark haired girl still sat, alone, eyes darting around the room for a familiar face. Poor girl. As if she knew that Alice was watching her, the dark haired girl caught her eye. They held that gaze surprised. Alice smiled sympathetically, before entering the bathroom.

The bathroom was gruesome, much like the short hallway entrance. The walls were white tile. Maybe originally white tile, but now they were yellow and caked with colourful writing. Water covered the floors and the mirrors reflected back a milky image. She was alone and the room was quiet. Her phone shattered that silence, the cheesy ring tone of some pop song muffled to her numb ears.

“Blake, hi.” She answered, a girlish smile creeping over her face and her voice filling with teenage enthusiasm.

“Alice. Where are you?” he murmured into her ear.

“Nowhere, just a club.”

“Look, I need to talk to you. I can’t do this anymore. You have to leave. You’re just too young. You just can’t stay anymore. My business…it fell through, okay? I’m broke. I need to rent the place to someone who can actually pay me, okay…” he kept rambling on apologetically, but never really apologizing. She didn’t want to hear it, not now, when everything seemed to be going perfectly.

“No, Blake, you can’t do this! Where am I supposed to go? You can’t just fucking kick me out! I have no one else!” Her words were intended as a defense, but they came out as whimpers. The disconnection tone rang loudly and echoed against the tiles.

“Hello? Blake?” she called into the emptiness of static, pleading for a return of his voice, but she was met with only silence. That one moment between putting down the phone and realising what had just happened had seemed to go on forever, as her mind slowly put together the pieces, that her only hope for any life worth living, had just dumped her over the phone.

Anger and hopelessness built in her, bubbling to the surface and exploding through her. She suppressed a desperate scream, but let herself sink down against the wall. Where was she to go now? How would she support herself? To the rest of the world she was just a no-good teenager with a hopeless future and a restless need for addiction. No one cared for her type.

She sprang up with fury, walking into the light of the bathroom, kicking over a rubbish bin as she went. Rage fueled her muscles and she kicked and she slammed against every door, throwing them against the tiled wall, making a noise of anger that wouldn’t be heard from the nameless people out on the dance floor. They would enjoy their night, getting lost in the bliss of music and forgetful substances. How could she ever leave this bathroom, and face those people, living in the temporary excitement of life, just as hers was crashing down, like a tower, collapsing from the inside out.

She sunk to the floor at the end of the cubicle doors, reaching towards the end of her energy outburst. She sobbed, the tears ruining her make up. For weeks she had pent up all emotion, determined to face the hardships of this poverty, to defy what people had assumed about her. They called her a lowlife, criticized her and made her worthless as a person. But she had plans to fix that, to make a name for herself – all if she had a little bit of time, and a little bit of money. But all that had slowly come to nothing, as her time had run out. Her body trembled terribly, her muscles sore and sick.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked herself, no answers springing to mind. She looked to her phone, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she might have one last person she could call upon, just one person that she hadn’t turned to yet. Unfortunately, when she turned on her phone, there came up a picture of Blake and herself, some photo she had despised since taking it. And all over again rose that darkness; the utterly depressing black mass that boiled up inside of her that she could not control. 

Alice stood up and threw her phone across the bathroom, aiming at her own reflection and shattering the long mirror that stretched out along the length of the wall. Glistening fragments settled on the floor and on the sinks, decorating the room like dangerous ornaments. She went over to the sink, despite the broken glass, the shards crunching under her shoes. She turned on the hot water and cleaned her face, warming up her pale skin, which had gone cold in the unkind bathroom. She laid her head against the tap, closing her eyes and exhaling into the steam that rose up around her face.

“What are you going to do now?” She asked herself again, a question that came up often in her life. She had always lived in an unplanned way; always living as if she could do anything, as if she could be anything and everything would be all right. But reality came around like a storm that took all of that freedom away, picking out each one of her dreams and crushing them under it’s weight. Her mind was a devastation site that would never be renewed, that would never be able to put back all the pieces and be good again. She was forever in this cycle of destruction, and she knew nothing could save her now.

Her mind was already dead; her only plan was to finish what had already been done. With no second thought she grabbed the largest shard of mirror she could find, despite it’s edges digging into her skin. She could barely feel the pricks in her hand, drawing blood. To her they were only evidence that she was still alive. In a quick, fluid sweep, she dragged the shard across her left wrist, digging deep into the veins. The blood slowly collected in the wound and seeped over her skin and through her fingers. But it wasn’t deep enough. She dug into the wound again, the pain more excruciating than before, cutting deep into the vital arteries, spilling blood by the litre. She did the same to her right wrist, digging in deep enough on the first go to be satisfied with the amount of blood that poured from her body like a flood of life. She threw down the shard of mirror, and watched her work unfold.

Alice laughed. It was the only thing she could do as she watched her life slowly leave through her wrists. She could feel the blood leave her head and when she looked at the remaining mirror pieces on the wall, her reflection was white and ghostly, the only colour coming from a smear of blood on her cheek. She smiled at her reflection, finding it genuinely smile back to her. This was what she was supposed to do then, she realised. Though she couldn’t help but feel the regret that saturated her heart, like the blood saturated her clothes. But it was too late to do anything about it, and pushed that feeling into her subconscious. The dizziness hit her hard, without any gradual warning. She was plunged into this wave of movement, her mind swimming in air. She stepped back loosing her central balance and fell to her knees. The glass was pressed into her knees, but she barely noticed the pain anymore. Her acceptance of her near death granted her the numbness she experienced, and all she felt was the dizziness and the excruciating effort it took to breathe. Maybe she wasn’t meant for this world. Her mother had always told her that everyone serves a purpose in this world, a purpose destined from the world before, and praised in the world after. But for Alice, that purpose was just not visible. Maybe all she was meant to do in this life was exist, and all she could hope for as she closed her eyes is that she had made a difference in someone else’s life. Someone else who would be good to this world. Someone who would serve a purpose.

Somewhere in the distance she heard screaming. She heard panic and distress of the unlucky person who next walked into the bathroom. She had hoped that she wouldn’t be around when that happened, but it’s not like many of her hopes had ever come true. She opened her eyes again. She was on the floor, amongst the shattered glass, soaked in her own blood. She could only see the underside of the sink, just barely. She could still hear the unfortunate person on the other side of her and, with her remaining energy she tried to turn her head, and tell the person to leave her.

“Please, someone help!” screamed the girl out the door. She kneeled beside Alice despite the broken mirror. Alice turned her head, to face the dark haired girl, her face cast with the bright light above her. She was like a vision above her, like a dream. She didn’t seem quite real. It was like looking through a veil. She tried to speak, to say to leave her, but the words would not form on her tongue. Instead only exasperated groans escaped her mouth. She took this, however, as a good sign, as she was that far gone, and it wouldn’t be too long before she would be gone from this world for good.

“Don’t close your eyes!” pleaded the dark haired girl, “don’t go! We can still save you!” Alice pleaded with God, or whatever was out there that that wasn’t true. She rolled back on her side, and closed her eyes again, ignoring any attempts by the dark haired girl to keep her conscious.

Soon the screaming and pleading stopped. All sound stopped in fact, and it was peaceful. She felt no more pain and she could breath again. She felt perfectly healed; she felt better than she was back in the club, better than she had ever felt before in her life. It was more than physical – it was mental as well. There was no black mass bubbling in her mind, no pressure on her heart, crushing her chest. She was content. She opened her eyes, to welcome this newfound state of death. It must be beautiful if she felt this good. She opened her eyes to darkness. Not darkness of the world she knew before, or childish fears of what lay waiting in that darkness, but of clean darkness, of something new and untouched.

“Alice.” Said a voice. She was sure it was the voice of her mother, but she could be wrong. There was something different about that voice, something she couldn’t recognise.

“Mum?” She called back, desperate for a response. She couldn’t see her, but she could feel her, somewhere amongst this perpetual darkness.

“Alice, why?” It was a question she couldn’t answer, but old regrets and guilt formed all over again in her new stomach, sparked by the great disappointment in her mother’s voice.

“I didn’t know what else to do?” Alice called back, tears springing to her eyes.

“Don’t be like me.” Called the voice again. She realised what that change in her mother’s voice was. It was that contentment Alice felt that must also resonate in her mother. In life her mother had always sounded desperate, always thinking about the future, what their next plan was. It was what sent her to the edge. It was what was growing in Alice.

“But you’re happy here? Aren’t you? I am.”

“But you won’t be.”

Suddenly that cozy darkness, which she had already begun to love, changed to a bright, intense light, burning her retinas. She was forced to close her eyes, and suddenly the pain was gone. All she was left with was a ringing headache. She opened her eyes again a few moments later, hoping to be returned to that blissful darkness, but was met with a situation she had prayed she wouldn’t have to face.

“Doctor! She’s waking up.” Called a familiar voice. “Alice? Alice? Can you hear me?” Alice couldn’t see with perfect vision, but she could just make out the face of the dark haired girl from the club, a concerned look as she tried to wake her.

Fuck, was the only word that came to Alice’s mind. 

Boy Beyond the Blinds (7/6/12)

To what lies beyond my window, I greet you, though I will never see your face. Blinds pulled down and closed; only if I look to the highest point do I see beyond the glass, to stare up to the black sky, the violent flash of a passing airplane to be the only movement. Egg shell blue in horizontal lines to be my barrier and my prison window bars. Dare I untwist the blinds and find out the apparition I wish to greet? Of course not! Conscious and reality strike me down; saying to me, “only an idiot would believe that anything could sit in wait outside your window, high up off the ground.” Malicious-baring voices ringing in my head, self-righteous and cruel. But in my mind’s eye I see his face, beauty-stricken and waning. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but in all honestly I wish it be true.

In my prison here, sent away from the comforts of home, to be confined in a room, segregated from the outer world. Three meters by five! Is that what I deserve to be afforded? To spend night and daylight here? My only chance to breathe be to learn, an ‘opportunity’ so graciously given to us, yet so easily disliked, even hated.

Oh, boy beyond the blinds, take me away from such a God forsaken place that I have learned to dread. Steal me away, so that my body may become translucent like yours. Books and papers have piled up in front of me, with words I pain to understand. They bleed into my mind; make me speak and make me think like them! My brain is flooded with nonsense and I can never comprehend what it is that I am to do.

I move through life, day to day, being and only ever being, nothing more. I understand things said to me, but they get lost within the chaos that is my mind. My tongue speaks words that I pretend to know and my hand copies those who have come before me. I am anything but myself and still I am applauded.

Little whisper from between the seams of my mind; my imagination seeps through to the conscious. I try to listen to that familiar voice over the loud and sullen voices of reality. It speaks to me comforting words I crave to hear, words of gentle distraction and mystical in nature.

I must open the blinds! I must find that boy beyond the blinds that might save me from my unbearable fate of catastrophe. I tear open the eggshell blue horizontal bars in a flurry of excitement; ever hoping those voices are wrong!

Blackness – endless blackness of night, a darkness that exclaims to me that time is still passing. I otherwise see my reflection. The reflection of a sad girl with books piled on her desk and a guilty mind.

I close the curtains, sit back down, and turn towards my books. Free of curiosity, my mind is further caged and my heart aches nostalgically for things that have never happened. 

Two Person Inner Monologue

Garage: Why are we here? This is my favorite room. Do you feel safe? No, the monsters haunt me here too. Where do you feel safe then? Nowhere. Why are we here? It’s my favorite room. Why is it your favorite room? Because of my piano. I’m isolated here in the cold, but at least I have my music. Can you play for me? No. Why not? My music is only to lull the monsters. They like my music. Do they talk to you when you play music? They sit next to me and listen. I feel their cold skin against mine. So you feel them? Yes. They don’t usually touch me, when they want to harm me, but when I’m playing music, I paralyze them, and they don’t care. But I don’t mind. So they don’t speak to you when your playing, do they ever speak to you? Yes, when I’m finished playing. They ask me to play again. They ask me to keep going with the beautiful music. They say that if I don’t keep playing, they’ll hurt me and my family, they’ll kill everyone if I don’t keep playing. But you stopped? No, I kept playing. I was too scared. He let me see him, only his eyes. His red eyes sat beside me and bore into me, and I know if I just stopped he’d kill me then and there. But if you hadn’t stopped, you wouldn’t be here with me. But I’m not here. I played for days straight. My fingers started to blister and bleed and I was so so tired, but he didn’t want me to stop. I cried and begged him to let me stop for a few moments at least, but he didn’t let me. He told me he loved my music too much. So why are you here then? Because I’m dead. I passed out eventually, hungry, thirsty, tired. He must have killed me for abandoning his music. No you didn’t die. We found you, unconscious on you piano. We took you to hospital and you are here now, alive and breathing. Your family is alright, no ghosts have hu- They’re not ghosts! Don’t call them that. They don’t like being called ghosts. They’re monsters. Okay, monsters. They haven’t hurt your family, and you’re alive. The monsters didn’t kill you. But they will. They’re just waiting until I’m alone. If anyone sees me die by their doing, people won’t think I’m crazy, people won’t think I’m making this up all in my head. But that’s what they want. They want me to seem insane to everyone else. They feed off that isolation. Do you think I’m crazy? No, I don’t think you’re crazy, but I don’t think there aren’t any ghosts here with us. Monsters! Yes, monsters. I don’t think there are any monsters here in this room. That’s because there’s not. They’re hiding. They’re scared of you. That’s why I wanted you to help me. But you didn’t choose me to help you, I was assigned by the hospital. But I willed you to be assigned to me. Don’t you understand? I need your help! You are the only one who can save me. How can I save you? I don’t know, but I know that you can help. The monsters have run away and I am safe now. If you are safe, will you play me some music? No. Why not? Because the monsters will come, whether or not you are here, just to listen to the music. Can I not fight them away? I don’t know, I just know that they don’t like you. Play for me, and I will keep you safe from the monsters. No, I don’t want to play. Please play for me. No! I don’t want to! Stop asking me. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you. The monsters understand me though. How so? They know what terrifies me. They don’t haunt me by just making noises in the night. They show me worlds that feel like dreams, but hurt me more than reality. How do they scare you? They drag me down into a world that at first is beautiful and happy, but then things change, I don’t know how, but it’s like a dark cloud covers the sun and this beautiful world becomes a sick, perverted world where I am just their plaything. But theses are only dreams. You can overcome them, I can help you. But these aren’t just dreams! They’re worse than dreams. They’re visions, and they attack me at anytime, anytime I’m alone, or in front of dozens of people, so the monsters can watch and laugh as I scream in terror for no apparent reason. Will you bring the monsters here so I can speak to them? They won’t speak to you. They don’t like you. Please. Play your music, so I can help you. They will hurt you. They will kill you. You have to listen to me, there are no monsters. Theses monsters are in you mind. They can’t hurt me. Please don’t make me play. I don’t want them to come back. But this is the only way I can help you. No! Please play! No! How do you expect me to help you if you are going to be so stubborn? You can’t help me, no one can help me. I can help you. You just said I could help you. They speak to me, they told me about you. They told me that they are scared of you, but if I bring them here, they will do anything they can do get rid of you. They’ve told me that they will rip you to pieces. They will tear each inch of flesh from your bone while you’re still screaming. They will do everything in their power to destroy you and I will be blamed. No one is going to kill me, you will not get blamed. You need to calm down and let me prove to you that there are no ghosts. MONSTERS! There are no monsters! Get out if you don’t believe me. Leave me alone if you’re not going to trust me. You think I’m crazy, just like everyone else. No one can save me. No one can save you if you are not willing to let them. We will have to work on this back in my office. I will arrange another meeting next week. I won’t be here next week. Where will you be then? I’ll be dead, and so will you. You will eventually believe me but by then it will be too late. No one is going to die. Yes we will. Our bones in lie in the earth side-by-side, stripped of flesh and life and the monsters will live on our fear long after they’ve stolen our lives. Who tells you these things? The monsters tell me the truth. They tell me things that I don’t want to hear; whisper to me in my sleep about their plans to kill me.

There is beauty in a large endless field, with no buildings breaking up the sheets of green merging with the crystal blue sky. They are isolated from great human expositor, but not so forgotten to let nature take back what once it owned. The grass is clipped, and the animals graze, but the trees run wild, stretching their limbs to the heavens like a waking giant.

There’s a point between normality and happiness, and the explosion within the mind that is insanity. It is one moment in an innocent day, where you can feel yourself going mad, those points where you know you should feel calm and happy, but all your insides are screaming in agony to fall apart and let themselves decay with the precious earth it grew from. And you are not certain for what reason they want to give up. Your mind just doesn’t want to try anymore. Inside you are dead.
I am dead, mentally; ready to give up my body to the demons that haunt me in the night, the ones that live under my bed. They are my friends. They understand me, because they know what terrifies me. They are prepared to take my soul when I let them, saving me from the real word that rejects me and my words that were so innocent and precious to me once.

There’s a music that sparks an anger within me. It is music that is on the brink of perfection, igniting in me an idea, a world so pure and perfect. But I still wait on the other side of an opaque window, not being able to touch my creation, but watch it vaguely. It drives me insane! To have something so close an it is so agonizing to not be able to put this unspoiled world into words, to share and admire. To be able to see it as real. It can never be done.

Stolen in the passion of night; time, money, love, life. Blood runs through to the fingertips that touch skin and pass through from soul to soul that hunts in the darkest hours, adopting the shadows like a god. Faces concealed and identity lost in the masses, they won’t be the same when the daylight strikes. Who will I be as the hours pass, cunning eyes searching the crowds for my next victim. My heavy eyes hung for him, waiting for my chance to strike. His lips curl at my sight, the skin of the lips thin, blood coursing a palpitating below, waiting to be touched. Come with me, I call, the darkness enveloping his soul within my fingers. Don’t worry about safety honey, we’ve only got tonight to wander through the unseen and find ourselves in the unknown. Follow me when I leave, lets run away from these people who only know our names. We’ve got death in common, lets abuse it. The goodnights of the soulless bodies drone our departure. I want to be hidden again, his hand in my hand, wrapped in the warmth, searching out for something more. The body is physical and real, but the mind can never been truly realised. It isn’t held like your hand in mine, would you believe me if I said that my mind has long gone with the disease. I live on air alone and desire to drag along your company, a heavy rock to hold me down to this earth. I will take you along for the ride, just close your eyes and hold your breath; it’ll all be over in a minute. Don’t think, just do, you won’t regret it. Kiss me, touch me, consume me while the darkness prevails, it’s retreating quickly. Tomorrow they will find us and the nightmares with return, don’t let the passion burn out. You’ll be mine forever, your blood on my tongue; my heart is your hands. Don’t let me go. Don’t let me go.

Black circles hang from under my eyes
They wrap their sticky fingers around my face
Blurring my vision.

My eyes and the edges of my lips,
Watch the space my feet take
And speak more to the world than I could ever imagine.

I do things I do not wish to do
Only because in my dreams I can handle it,
But I can never stop dreaming.

People only see me in one mirror image,
The other is mat and unreflective,
And unperceivable.

I sometimes forget it’s there,
And let myself get carried away with my dreams again,
Only to be disappointed,

When the mind hurricanes
Come again and disrupt my peace,
And demolish the foundations I have built.

Anxiety it is called,
In a world I used to believe in,
But in my real fairytale it reigns.

People lie,
I understand that now
Much more clearly.

They tell me nice things,
Wishful things,
But I have lost all sense of faith in humans.

My mind wonders
Days and nights on end
Analyzing,

To the very word and twitch of a muscle,
To prove that theory,
But I wish it to be untrue.

To progress with people,
You must first understand said people,
But how can I, when they do not wish to understand me?

Monster Birth

That sickening feeling deep in her stomach suddenly increased to an unbearable pain. She only just stopped herself from screaming as she crumbled to the ground. All that was audible was a weak moan that just escaped her bleeding lips. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, taking some of the pressure of the burn off her back. Whatever it was inside of her, she knew it wouldn’t be long before it was out. Her blackened fingernails had fallen off only ten minutes ago, but she didn’t connect it with the monster inside of her. A few days ago her fingers were jammed between a door by her vicious kidnapper and had turned a deathly black. But that wouldn’t be enough of an answer for why all her finger nails, including her thumb nails, had fallen off all at the same time. Three days of sleep deprivation had been finding its way through her brain, and she couldn’t

consider the simplest of things.
But the sudden jolt of pain had woken her up. Of course her nails were a result of the monster. It was killing her, decaying her body before she was even dead! Her skin was pale and blue tinged and the gash on her lip had stopped bleeding, but was still wide open and not even beginning to heal.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” She screamed to the glass wall that made up the fourth wall of her sterile prison. Behind it were three people, dressed perfectly in white lab coats and slicked back hair. They didn’t move, they didn’t talk, they didn’t even flinch as their experiment died in the most brutal way possible.

In 10 days only, she had been kidnapped off the streets of her city, drugged, tested and tortured. Deep inside her stomach was something; she didn’t have the slightest clue. All she knew was that it was some horrible mutation and that she probably wasn’t going to live through its birth.

Up her throat a thick substance came, without warning, and shot from her mouth to the bleach white floor beneath her feet, dragging its claws all up her throat. The projected substance, a brown-black, mixed with the red of the woman’s blood, melted into the floor to a watery liquid, revealing a large egg-shaped object.

The woman sat on her knees, wobbling only slightly. The tear in her lip had reached her chin, to make room for the black egg. She looked at it was glazed over eyes, before tipping to the side and landing with a thud on the ground.
For a moment all was still. Life seemed to have ceased in the experimental room. The only movement was on the other side of the glass where the three emotionless people stood watching, their heart beating steadily, writing notes on the horror that was happening before them.

The egg shook vulgarly , breaking the moment of motionlessness, and suddenly split open. The hatchling that crawled out from under the bloody sludge was the first factor to ever cause a reaction within the experimentalists on the other side of the glass. The abomination caused a sick feeling in the guts, nothing like the feeling the woman had first experienced, but somewhere along the same lines. The monster’s disgusting face, squashed and disfigured, was still partially covered in the black goo, but some skin white was able to shine through.

“Is this like the one before? I thought we had overcome the disfigurement.” Spoke one of the experimenters.
The others nodded in disappointment at their failed experiment. Another held down a button on the computer board in front of them and spoke into a microphone.
“Experiment number 3587, test subject 783. Failed. Begin extermination of result subject.” He spoke.

The little monster blinked its new eyes at the bright, white world around it, and took in it’s first breaths, which unfortunate to it was a toxic gas pouring in from vents in the walls.

Does anyone actually read this blog anymore?

I know I haven't been posting a lot. But now I've just started year 12, so you know what that means. I'll be procrastinating so I will probably be posting more. Sorry if all that I do post are freaky stories and poems about the HSC. I'll try to be less cliche'.

Thanks to all my loyal followers who still use blogger <3

Words are my Disease

Words,
I have to write words,
Many words.
Words I don't understand,
Words I don't want to understand.

"It'll be worth the drain,"
Words of the higher man.
"It'll al be worth the degration of your brain."
With his broad smile
And skinny words.

Numbers that mean words;
That mean life
Dictate my years before
Suffocating my future,
Just a two diget number -
If I'm lucky.

Stars are bright
And shinny ahead
Of me and waiting to be touched.
But my human body does not wish
To let me live that dream.

Knowledge only last as long
As the breath that passes through your lips,
But somehow, we've let it take control
And now the heart attacks are coming,
The sicknesses are digging into our skin.

"Let it come!"
They cry.
"Let it diminish our bodies and carry away,
All that we have worked for."
Because mental abuse
Has finally taken it's toll.

I am waiting for the day,
when it too, hits me,
crushes my body like I have crushed my mind
And takes me into the sweet ignorance
Of stupidity.

Noisy Silence

She sits in the quiet classroom, desks either side of her empty and quite. She is not alone, but in the noisy silence of scratching pens and turning pages and shuffling seats and the consistent inhaling and exhaling, she feels all too lonely.

Words, splayed out the page in front of her, forming words she has no energy to read, make out like nonsense words to her.

She wants to leave, but has no authority to do so.

Tapping fingers, ticking clocks, a sniffle of a winter cold here and there. She could hear every sound, every note, and they were far more interesting that what she should have been doing.

Sighs of the hard worker, chewing of the hungry nail biter, cracking and popping of joints of the fidgeters. She didn't want to be there. She didn't want the laughing eyes of her school mates on her back any longer.

What had she done to deserve this?

A giggle of a girl, somewhere behind her. She didn't know who was the cause of the noise, but she didn't want to turn around. They were laughing at her! She did nothing wrong.

Whispers, secretive words passed person to person, words not audible to her, who believed it was something she shouldn't hear.

"Stop it!" she yelled, whipping her head back. She had cracked the noisy silence, and now every eye was on her. The culprits of the giggles, sitting few seats behind, large, rosy smiles on their faces.

She ran out of the room, finally, a startled teacher screaming after. She had no authority. But that didn't stop her this time.

Honey hair and eyes like emeralds

Hair like honey,
Eyes like little green gems hidden deep like treasures.
Fingers long and slender,
fit perfectly to the worn curve in the ivory keys of her piano.
The same song plays over and over,
sometimes a fast pace and full of smiles,
others slow and lullaby like.
Skin, never blistered by the harsh sun,
is only smooth to the touch when a truthful smile commands the lips.
But the longer the fake smiles dictate,
the longer the skin is rough.

She likes the feathers of a song bird,
Hung from her neck,
from her ears,
from her wrists,
hoping she might spontaneously take flight,
only hoping, ever hoping.
because what do we really know,
about flight itself?
Man might have conquered the sky, the land and the sea,
But does not understand the feelings so animal like,
so passionate, that we cannot contain it in ourselves.
The feeling of flying, truly flying,
but enclosed in a box we are,
in the skies as much as we are in life.

Honey hair and eyes like emeralds,
sees the skies for what they truly are.
Wisps of pure heaven,
little pockets of peacefulness,
a great land just out of reach of discovering.
It is lost on her,
why we travel the land,
the deep,
and the vast blackness of space,
but we have not yet discovered our own sky,
and the truths it has captured.

Not Delilah

"You've got your music up so loud, you're going to go deaf!" Delilah's mother yelled.

"Maybe I want to go deaf." She said under her breath.

"What was that? Why would you want to go deaf?" She turned to her mother now, not watching the distant cars whiz past the window and avoiding her mother.

"So I wouldn't have to hear your voice again." She said, never letting her eyes leave her mothers. Her mother was dumbstruck. She almost didn't stop at the set of red lights ahead and almost rammed into the back of the car in front.

"Why would you say something like that to me?" Her mother finally asked, voice quiet and low. But Delilah wasn't about to answer. She pointedly turned away again from her mother and stared out the window at all the happy, passing people, wishing she could be one of them. She didn't regret her words; in fact she was happy that she finally got them out. But she was definitely afraid of the consequences.

Things hadn't always been so bad between Delilah and her mother, but you could say the same thing about every other relationship she'd been able to maintain lately. She was angry at everything. For what? Even she didn't have a clue. All that she knew is that she didn't want to talk about it.

She'd been on her own for all this time, so why let anyone intervene now? Her mother had picked up on this behavioural change some weeks ago. Little things hinted a change, like how she didn't talk or smile much anymore, or how she didn't go out, or sit with the family at the dinner table. She just stayed locked up in her room all this time. But this was the tipping point.

"What is going on with you, Delilah? You've changed." Her mother wanted so much to talk to her daughter, to connect with her. But Delilah had other ideas. She finally decided that she was going to be one of the seemingly happy people, shopping in her city.

She suddenly opened the car door, thankful that the inner city traffic had slowed to a stop. She got out and slammed the door behind her before her mother even realised what she was doing. She hopped across the street, dogging the cars, ignoring the screams from the blue van behind her, stuck at the red light. The middle aged, blonde woman was frantically undoing the manual window on the other side of the car and was screaming for the dark haired girl to get back in the car. People were watching, interested and curious, but no one was going to do anything.

Today, her name wasn't Delilah, and that ugly car wasn't hers and that screaming woman was not her mother.

Today, maybe she'd be happy.

Unfixable

Her cold blue eyes were looking at me, but she was looking straight through me. She wasn't here with us in this room. She was within her mind, like the first time I saw her.

It was a small room that we sat in, four walls, like most others. It had a door on each side, coloured green with rotting paint. The walls were also decaying, coloured paint flecks falling to the ground with the slightest brush or breeze. There were no other items in the room besides the two chairs we sat on. We sat facing each other under the dim centre light.

"Speak to me." I said, but she didn't listen to me. She continued watching but not watching me. "Please, Melissa, please just speak." I begged.

"Don't call me that." She snapped, her eyes suddenly focusing on me.

"But that's your name."

"My name is not Melissa." Even though her tone implied aggravation, I was taking her speaking as good and kept pushing for more.

"Then what is your name if it isn't Melissa?"

"I have no name. I don't deserve a name." Her eyes suddenly became unfocused again, as she sank into her dream world.

"Everyone deserves a name. Everything in fact." She didn't want to answer me again. "Why don't you think you deserve a name."

"I don't think, I just know." I wanted to continue, to search deeper. I thought I had made progress. But suddenly she stood up. "I have to leave."

"But why?" I asked, jumping up as well. I didn't want her to leave. I was afraid of what she might do if I left her.

"I need to go now." She turned to leave, but suddenly looked lost, undecided to which door she should take. "i need to leave. Let me leave." She directed her frustration to me, blaming me.

"Please don't leave. I want you to stay." She spun around to face me, her full attention focused on me.

"You can't save me. You're just another one of the boys who think they're in love with me. You think you can fix me and then we can be together and live happily ever after. But it just doesn't work that way. I'm broken and unfixable. So let me leave." I was stunned. All this time I've been trying to figure her out; trying to determine what was wrong with her. And yet in one go, she seems to have me figured out, just like that. Was I that easy to decipher?

"Wai, I-" I tried to give her some sort of answer, but my words were caught in my throat.

"No, don't. You don't need to explain yourself. I know you. I know your type. Just let me go. I don't want to be saved."

"But...you're drowning." With a sad look, she turned away from me.

"Maybe I want to drown." With those last words she took the first door she reached. I never saw that girl again.

My fault

"Is it bad that I haven't slept or eaten for three days?" I asked him. He turned to me with his beautiful eyes wide.

"What? Why not?" I didn't hear him though, when you're tired, many sense just seem to turn off when they want to.

"You have amazing eyes, has anyone told you that?" he was a bit surprised about my sudden change in topic, but he stood up, lifting me up by the arms as if I was simply a doll. He was a steady tree to my weak legs, and I lent against him when my body felt it didn't want to move again for a little while.

He realised I wasn't going to walk, so instead he lifted me up so easily and carried me in his arms like a child. I guess not eating might have payed off finally. I was lighter than a child possibly. His gorgeous face was all that I could see and the evening sun framed his face so perfectly. He looked like a golden angel, my saviour from my Hell. His sun kissed, light brown hair was lit up and his brown eyes were set straight ahead, filled with his concern.

Suddenly his halo was gone! It was dark, but in the afterglow I could still see the definitions of his face.

"Where are you going to take me?" I laughed, my words sounding funny on my lips. We were back at the car park, right at the door of his old, beat up car. He opened it so fluently while balancing me and put me in the passenger seat. How could we be back here already? It was over half an hour walk.

"I'm going to take you home. You're not well."

"I'm perfectly fine!" I said, suddenly angry at him. How dare he say I'm not well. He was trying to put my seat belt on me, but I shoved him away and put it on my self. He walked around and got into the driver's seat, only worry on his face.

"How can you say that! I've worked so hard to get here." My words didn't come out as clearly as I had intended them, and he looked at me differently this time. Was he sorry for me?! Of course there was sadness and worry in him, but there was something more. He pitted me didn't he! He didn't reply. He wasn't ignoring me, he just couldn't answer me.

"Let me out!" I yelled. "Stop the car." This got him talking.

"What, no! I can't stop. Please just stay in the car. We're almost home."

"No I want to get out!" I screamed, banging on the door. I couldn't find the handle to the door in the darkness and I leaned forward trying to see. It was a bad idea though, because instantly I felt sick. I sat up quickly and the world was spinning. The bright lights in the streets didn't to much to help either.

"No don't!" he yelled, grabbing my shoulder and throwing me back against the seat.

"Stop it!" I screamed. "What's happening to me?" I pressed my hands against my head and lent against my knees, but nothing could stop the pain.

"Please, just calm down." he tried his best. He truly did love me, because no one would care as much as he did. I was sobbing now, but I could hear his soothing voice perfectly. "We're almost ther-" I could also hear the other car ram into the side of ours. I can still hear it perfectly, ringing in my ears.

I woke up the next day in hospital, blurry faces watching above me, moving too quickly for my mind. I tried to rub the black stars away from my eyes, but I couldn't move my arms.

"What's going on?" I asked. I got my answer a few hours later from the doctor caring for me. He wasn't watching the road, he was to busy watching me. The other car had run a red light. They got away with just a broken arm. He cared for me so much, and I was barely awake to notice. I'll never get to show him how much I love him now.

I had been so determined to be perfect for him, but without him here anymore what do I have to live for? I know it's melodramatic, but how could you possibly know what I'm going through. I broke a couple of fingers and my nose, but otherwise I'm alive and well.

This just goes to prove my whole theory. Everything I ever put my all into is always taken away from me. But there's more. Every single time it's been my fault. Always only my fault.

The Queen of Hearts

She devours the hearts that she receives, like they were chocolate buttons, hoping that the more she takes the more likely that she'll have one of her own someday. Her body grows with the rolls of puppy love fat and the hunger intensifies. When she grew taller and bigger than anyone before her, the people filled with fear below her fought against her, piercing her thick skin with their arrows but none could break her. So they named her the Queen of Hearts, the beheader of all men, and wait in the shadows until her king can put her out of all misery.

Cathy's Challenge

Cathy carefully stepped one slow step at a time forward, following the line of people. She had been there for what felt like hours, no, days. She was tiring quickly, but her life depended on getting to the end. Others waited with her in the line, some tiring quicker than her and falling to the peril of starvation and weakness. All were taller than her. They all seemed to be stronger and wiser than her. Surely they would make it to the end over Cathy. Surly she would fall weak. But with each passing hour another would fall away. Angry with themselves most likely, they would fall back into the jungle and lose on the blissful prize that lay at the end.

Her legs were getting tired and her eyes were getting heavy. She had travelled so far, like so many of the others, through monstrous lands full of strange creatures that yelled and barked, nipping at her toes and fingers and swooping low.

She looked back over her shoulder. Behind the chains were her family, held back from freedom. Her mother, her father, her brother and sister. Their lives depended on her getting to the end of line.

"You can do it Cathy!" Yelled her older brother. They were cheering for her, they believed in her! With determination, Cathy turned back to her challenge, but they weren't making it easy for her. Strange bird like creatures of all colours descended down from the grey skies with their large claws and shiny beaks, believing her to be the weakest. But they were wrong. She put on her scariest face and roared as loud as a lion, and the creatures scurried away back into the jungle.

She was almost at the front, so close to the prize. Then, out of the darkness of the trees came huge yellow eyes. They stared down at her, hypnotising her. They were so mysterious and mystical that they distracted her from her task. The line moved forward, it was almost her turn, but she couldn't stop staring! She shook her head and grabbed her camera, using the flash to stun the climbing beast.

As soon as it was out of the way she ran up to the front. It was her turn at last! Finally she would receive her prize. All her hard work would finally pay off. She looked up at the tall smiling woman, the keeper of her treasure.

"Hi sweetie, welcome to the zoo cafe. What can I get you?" she asked.

"One hot chips, please" asked Cathy.