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To each and everyone
  
This is (probably) the last blog God Plz keep me away from computers don't let my fingers go astray plz i beggggggggg) I'll be busy entertaining the love of my life STEVE, use ur imagination ohhhhh haaaa GOODBYE.Farewell to all the comments-
To everything we knew...
Goodbye to all the gossip
And drama we've been through.

Goodbye to all the good times.
I'll hold them in my heart
And try to think about them
While we're thousands of miles apart.

Goodbye to empty friendships
And all the promises we made.
We can still read blogs and profiles
As our memories start to fade.

Goodbye, sleepless nights & days
Farewell typing, webcam, & ym
And those nights we stayed up chatting...
Remember, it was always about ‘them’.
Title View |
Your fabricated friends... Jun 1, 2008 12:56 am
262 Views
Each made the way you wanted
Snipped and taped and pinned
Paper dolls, they’re so many
Your fabricated friends.

No flaws in careful folding
Glue can heal the bends
Stoic, lovely company
Your exclusive self-made friends.

Paint X's over stencil mouths
so they'll never talk again.
Tell them they’re all perfect
Your custom pretty friends.

Grow Lonely in real solitude.
Fake wounds can never mend.
Somehow they can't be the same
Your glue-and-paper friends
1 comment
OOOOHHHHH Jun 1, 2008 12:50 am
243 Views
She was a happy girl. Or so she seemed. But the secrets were inside, the walls, the hidden inner life. And she lived in a world of isolation.

She always felt she wasn’t made to be confined in the traditional moulds. That she needed to be free in a way that nobody understood. She wasn’t made for a structured life, she wasn’t made for common goals, and she wasn’t made for social confinements.

Her dreams were of a world more primitive, where there were no tall buildings, no cars, no highly structured career expectations. She would go there sometimes at night, live there and leave reality behind, allow herself to be freed, if only for a few precious lucid moments.

There were fields and forests and rivers and waterfalls. She’d wander through them, never a worry, never a restraint, never anything to hold her back. She’d climb the trees just to see the view, and if she fell coming down? There would always be someone to catch her, and that someone would be everything she ever needed. And she would look into his eyes and know, and know that he knew, they were meant to be together.

Together, they’d explore the world. They’d dance under the stars, swim under waterfalls, sit at the edge of a cliff and watch the sunset. And her world of isolation would be one of love and sharing and hope and happiness. Together they’d make their dreams come true. Together they’d touch the stars, even if just for a few moments while she lay in bed, curled up under the covers.

And for a short time she could forget that tomorrow she’d wake up and be alone again. That she’d walk outside and there would be houses and cars and noise and busyness and technologically advanced life. There would be no waterfalls, no forests, no one to catch her when she fell; only responsibilities and tasks to accomplish and work to do. There are only those four walls and emptiness.

And for a short time she could forget that she wasn’t free.
1 comment
A Mascara will run... Jun 1, 2008 12:39 am
178 Views
Come up to the attic, come one and come all.
Climb the steep ladder, its right down the hall.
I promise, I’ll hold your hand, and you won’t fall.
Come up and play with the rest of the dolls.
Come sweet little “precious”, your new journey’s begun.
But, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.

Come up to the attic, we’ll play dress up sweet angels.
Don the brightest of pearls ‘round little necks that’ll strangle.
Wrap ‘round slender waists flowing sashes that’ll mangle.
Fluffy boas ‘round bodies that’ll clutch if not handled
Prance streets with bright costumes, dirty school girls to nuns.
Please, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.

Come up to the attic, don the make-up of time.
Cover up with blue shadow those heavy eye lines
Replace blotches with blushes, bruises hidden, skin fine.
Bruised lips ‘placed with red ‘stick, stash borrowed from mine.
New look beheld by dank alleys hidden from sun.
Oh, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.

Come up to the attic, and play romance games, honey
With grown men that give gifts of sedative candy
Bring you to rose-petal rooms with lights that are dimming
And lay you on holy mattresses that are ever so comfy
Now, just lie there pumpkin, let the men have their fun
No, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.

Come up the attic, and play with sharp things.
Poke ourselves with needles. For a moment they’ll sting.
Make you shake, make you tremble, make your ears ring.
Shoots down your spine, make your bones rattle and sing
Then dance for more in the streets from Monday to Sun.
Hell, darling don’t cry, the mascara will run.

Now come down to my basement, and see what’s in store.
See angels fall from flight, to scratch the blisters that sore.
See the doves turn to crows, into scavenging whores
See pumpkins turn ill and rotten, fall dead on the floor.
See the dolls wander aimless for futures so bleak.
And I turn away while mascara runs down on porcelain cheeks...
1 comment
Defused... Jun 1, 2008 12:32 am
184 Views
I'm already black where you licked me last,
And I remember how you climbed me down,
As I melted in a wax circle gassed
To make, for you, a rippling vapour gown.

I'm a veteran of your cruel touch, exposed
As I crouch inside your drunken sputter.
Yet I tremble when you leave me defused,
Embalmed, pooled in my own fluid splatter.

Each tryst takes just a little more of me,
And I'll recede to feed your obsession.
But when I've cooled, your smoke ghost cannot see
Where in me your blue feet left a lesion.

So come alight, yet ease your tender light.
As if I'd last the twisted thread of night.
1 comment
DIGITAL SKIN Jun 1, 2008 12:18 am
122 Views
a reminder to loners of all ages that life is not meant to be an isolated process.
0 Comments
Hellooooooooooooo Jun 1, 2008 12:13 am
167 Views
...he went into her bedroom without knocking. She just stepped out of the shower and only wearing a towel when he bursts in. she stepped back alarmed.

Michael came closer to her.

‘So, that’s why you do not want me anymore.’

He said, pushing strands of hair away from her face. His hands were shaking from both anger and desire. ‘Do you love him?’ he asked without really wanting an answer. He wanted something else.

‘Please Michael, please...’

His obvious needs for her gave her mix emotions of equal desire and fear. Fear of where Michael’s attitude would bring them, desire to experience again what had been between them. How much she wanted to be with him, but not in this way. Not this way.

But Michael was oblivious to her pleas. His feelings momentarily blinding him. In one swift motion, he removed the towel off her and took her there standing. He trembled and shuddered when the familiar excitement and passion engulf them both and bring them beyond reason.

He cannot get enough. He took her several times, over and over again. The intensity of his needs terrified and aroused her at the same time. She let everything happened because partly she wanted it too. But her pity, fear, love and certain degree of guilt had played a major role in the event. Afterwards, it left her feeling fulfilled, used, loved, hurt and bruised; emotionally and physically exhausted at the same time. She cannot help crying. She cried and cried and cried.

Michael’s rational mind tried to stop him from the moment he pulled the towel off; but the irrational part stopped him from doing the right thing. His physical side and his great needs for her together with his sorrow and pain drove him to act desperately.

He took her the first time quick and hard, compensating for the pain and anger he was feeling inside. The second time on the side of the bed was to satiate his desperate needs for her. The third time from behind was to convince himself that she still wanted him as much as he wanted her. The forth time sitting down was to make up for all the time they had been separated, and the last one from the side was to let her feel how much she meant to him.

Afterwards, he felt nothing but guilt. No satisfaction, no triumph, no fulfilment; just plain hard guilt...
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