the church of what's happenedin my seat in the sanctuarywith virgin white light cascading over my arms like a spotlight on my presence,i feel my skin about to burn a hole right through the pew--my ring about to eat the very flesh and bone from my finger.as the congregation turns to watch acidic tears erode canyons in my cheeksthey know that i'm the girl who tainted their Sundaywhen i touched foot in the doorway with my crimson sins,staining all before me that'd once been holy.in horror and shame i sit with my head in my hands,curled upon my knees,praying for redemption--and know there's no girl who deserves it less.i promised with my life,and i broke my vow.the congregation's gaze upon me,mocking as i lie there rocking;invisible whispers of, 'we told you not to...you naïve, filthy, disgraceful little girl.'
you gotta get outi slept in the woods last nightwith no coat and missing shoes;i made my bed in the snow,buried my face against the ice,and felt nothing.skin sinking to pale blues with every hour,(a faded variety against the colourless drapery called my complexion).my veins crackled and snapped, icicles forming inside.numb to the bone and core as i was the day you left.staring into a dead sky, past fusain tree limbs,the sound of something corporate seemed to take to the passing wind.its pounding piano and cutting wordsshould have stung like the frostbite,but instead swept me unconscious.but i am Kristie not Konstantine,and you spell konfusion with a J..and? i don't like it.asleep on the forest floor,lifeless as you'd left me,still as the day i watched you go.though we'd stood motionless in the kitchenand went nowhere at all;you had left.the you inside you had;you let it go, fled, gave it up.gave me up.you canceled all our reservationsbut forgot to tell m
here's to black and whitemaybe i want to wear heels to church tomorrowmaybe id rather wear ripped jeans and a band teemaybe i want to do my make-up pretty so it glistens in the light and feels like angels glitter on my eyelashesand maybe i want to only cover my blemishes and reveal my tired eyes, dark circles and blank lifeless facemaybe i want to look my best for Godmaybe i just want to relax knowing He loves me as i ammaybe i want you to stare at me, entrancedand maybe id rather be ugly and raw so you have to look awaymaybe i want to go to sleep to rest my headmaybe i like the insomniac hallucinations painted on the wallsmaybe youre the reason i stay awake waitingand maybe all the waitings made me want to knock myself unconscious--my feet are bluemy face is whitemy eyes are blackand you are invisiblemy heart is greenmy arms are redmy lips are purpleand you still call black people coloured.
in her dreams, she lies...Whoever said that silence was gold,Has never been toldThe story of Emily,And the secrets she holds.This child has uttered not one single sound;Her lips have been bound.Abused the mute heavily,Her spirit has drowned.But.In her dreams she lies,Lies beneath cerulean skiesIn a meadow humming lullabies;Shell close her eyes.In her prayers, shell rise.Rise above, leave the tears she cries.In her hands she holds a bright surprise.Strength beyond their size;..a pair of golden butterflies.In a cellar so cold, chained to the floor.A vacant, shivering corePleads for salvation;A cry You couldnt ignore.Though her screams cannot be heard by the ear,You cant miss the fearIn furrowed brows, wide eyes;Fright unavoidably clear.But.In her dreams she lies,Lies beneath cerulean skiesIn a meadow humming lullabies;Shell close her eyes.In her prayers, shell rise.Rise above, leave the tears she cries.In her hands she holds a bright surprise.S
you told me the truththe truth i made you promise to tell me.the truth i wasn't ready to hear...never expected to hear.you claim it was a mistake:confused, a cluttered mind and stress pervading your thoughts;betrayal, fear and a guarded heart that froze you..well i was freezingwhen i walked outside in twenty degrees at three in the morninga place to clear my heada street to turn teardrops into ice slopes on chafed cheeksa pavement my feet couldn't feel beneath me because no feeling existed in my bodylike the clawing at my arm that burned in four red linescarved from the same fingernails you fell in love with the night before for scratching your back.[funny how i used the phrase 'in love' just now when it's the basis of my scribble here now.]but like that burning on my forearmi watched you light a stove to fiery flames, searing hot -- to sanitize a knife.why sterilize something you want to use to inflict pain on yourself i wondered?and why am i standing here witnessing it in youwhen
haunted mind on trauma street.....and as I sit here suffering for a day and a half, is she even grateful? is she thankful? does she even remember? today. ...?is there no such thing as a censor when one is suffering? when you're in a trauma disorders hospital...could someone perhaps not deliver shocking news in the phrase of "he just shot himself in the head! blew his brains out!!"...about our FRIEND?! and, furthermore to say all of that before even asking how i was? how my treatments going?and then did another 'she' ever think of all the other people on that unit she'd kill, haunt, and instill eternal fear in? patients, roommates, friends, and staff for years and years to come?those shrills and shrieks will NEVER leave my ears.i hear them in my sleep.so piercing and guttural.i see her arms flailing through the pulled blinds as she raged through the hallway screaming bloody murder while 19 abused patients sat secl
my proposal.My First Proposal...for an interested best friend, a boyfriend, or a husband.You want to reach me,Hear my voice; but,For me, murder sleeps in a telephone receiver;But, not in the sound of your voice.Would you accept this horrid phobia; be patient, and still try to find me?Or would you let me go for someone simpler -- always a call away?..one you don't have to write letters just to share great news?..one you don't have to crunch your whole self into a text when something huge is pulling at your heart?A different someone without such pathetic irrational fears?Could you handle all my nerves, my reluctance, and insecurities;All those I harbor just in getting to know you?Isn't it maddening?How I vary between wanting to know every chapter and line of your story,And the next day act as if it's the last thing I want to hear.Then non-stop emails, yes three texts in a row, "Are you awake?"; "Did you sleep well?"; "What are you doing right now?"Insanity. Absurdity.&