A Deadly Hobby

I thunder up the stairs, my cheeks smeared with ebony salty tears, an unstoppable river flowing from the depths of my tortured soul. Once again, my life feels too much to bare, my heart constantly being eaten away by the torments of my existence, gradually becoming a chasm, a void, an empty vacuum. Each of the vindictive, spiteful words that they taunted me with less than an hour ago at the party cut into me like razor sharp daggers, slow and painful slices, each striking a deep excruciating blow. Bitches. I slam the door shut behind me, my body convulsing with heart wrenching sobs, partly due to their hurtful words, but also due to my anger at their narrow-minded cruelty. I slide down the ice cold marble walls, curling up into a ball on the tiled floor, with my arms around me knees wishing that I could simply disappear if my body were compact enough.

My fist clenches around the knife in my hand, its sharp silver blade glinting in the moonlight that streams through the partially closed blinds, flashing enticingly, tempting me. I’d done it before and it had felt so good, it made me forget about everything that they said, my mind solely focusing on the sensation of it. My glance skims the faint red lines crossing the veins on my wrist, a mesh of scars, each a glorious remember of the power the instrument in my hand and the damage I could inflict with it. In a strange way it feels good, it gives me a sense of control and purpose, a way to channel my negative emotions pain and hatred into something positive. Positive? Who am I kidding? I do it… well… because I don’t know what else to do to release my bone deep pent up emotions… because there seems like no other way…

Hesitantly, I haul my body up off the floor and shuffle over to the mirror on the opposite wall, to take a look at my reflection in the broken glass. The cracks and missing pieces of glass make the image distorted, it’s ironic really, broken glass for a broken person. What I do see repulses me; my round face is red and blotchy, lined with the remnants of my jet black eyeliner that has run from my bloodshot and watery brown eyes, partially framed by my sweeping black fringe that is straggled, the whole of my hair in disarray. It’s hideous, who would ever love that? I certainly wouldn’t. I have always been a bit of an outsider, never quite fitting in with the popular crowd with their drinking, gossiping and boys, because in my eyes it’s pointless and ridiculous. They call me an ‘emo’ because of the way I dress, because of the music I listen to and most of all because I cut myself, but they don’t understand… They don’t understand…

And so it seems I must resort to it once again to quench the thirst and desire I feel inside, to ease my suffering, to feel the knife slide gently over my skin. I shiver with anticipation. My hands shake and tears stream down my face as the ice cold blade skims over my wrists. I feel blood…

Vespertine

Vespertine, your eyes of sunset ruby
Glyptic as the wanthriven woods darkle
As the deciduous strangers threaten
To obumbrate the only hopeful light

Vespertine is the dark wapper-eyed sky
While the moon-glade on the lake does sparkle
And the unique fragrance of closing buds
That dances the tiny waltz of fairies

Only by candle light or twilight or
Pitch. And a time for romance and roses
When one can turn into oneself, reflect
On one’s lifetime regime; that’s Vespertine.

Less Of A Bleak Outlook

Who’s scared of death? Everyone put up your
hands. Hold ‘em high if you always wear your
seatbelt, look three times before crossing the road.
Are you living in fear? Of what you don’t,
you can’t know. What is inevitable.
Why should you hide, and bore your existence
with a futile worry, a painful doubt?
Because you, who now feebly raise a limb
are already dead. My friends, you cannot
count your breaths, or measure your heart, ’cause you’ve none.
Your dreams are ended, your hopes are lost, left
with but an agitated look on your
worn and faded face. Once beautiful, how
would anyone know. Are you scared? Of what.

Curious Love

Not when you gaze into their eyes

Nor when you employ your friends as spies

Not when you laugh at their smile

Nor when you could gaze for such a while

The truth we all know, but that no one will speak

is that love in essence

of hatred it wreaks

I hate your laugh

Your eyes aren’t bright

I don’t crave your lips

The norm is to fight

I don’t wish to see you

You’re certainly not my light

 But when I see you, my heart takes flight

 

I’m sorry to break from tradition

I’m sorry my love isn’t right

 

But I’m honest with you

Like some lovers do

 

And that, For me that’s right.

Lines-Calumny

Most things in life aren’t clear cut; everything can be taken in so many ways that the lines which you always assumed were there to protect you are blurred. 

I’m nothing special; you could find millions of people like me out there, if you looked hard enough. I’m the one in the corner who never says a word, the one who shuts out the world because she’s scared of what they might say. Or of what they wouldn’t say, petrified that they would say nothing at all, that like so much else they would remain a mystery, something unsolved in a world where even the clearest of lines -the ones you think you know are set in stone- can blur and break with even the slightest pressure.

I look at the lines, taken in by their beauty, allow them to wash over me. Engulf me, until i see nothing but clear cut and clinical whiteness.

Plainness.

It matches me really.

Oh How Cliché

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

No, because you know it’s meaningless really.

All these disillusioned images of perfection

Have no meaning in the real world.

Real people, with real love,

They don’t need dramatic clichés.

They say that you aren’t perfect,

But in my eyes it seems you are.

Your imperfections make you you

And it’s you that I love.

It seems no-one else understands,

But my heart knows it is true.

Broken nose, slightly skewed to one side,

And the hint of stubble on your jaw,

Simply adds to your rugged allure.

Thick dark eyebrows simply contrast with,

The dazzling electric blue of your eyes,

They hold me spellbound, transfixed.

The glimmer in those eyes when you think,

Of something naughty or forbidden,

The cheeky glint that let me know.

And the way you refuse to laugh properly,

Cover your mouth and won’t let me hear

You laugh because you think you sound silly.

But you make me laugh with your crazy tales,

The insane things you have done,

They seem to make you come alive.

You make me smile with sweet things you say,

Even a simple I miss and love you,

Will always brighten up my day.

It’s the small personal details that matter,

The private jokes and fond memories.

Yes we have had a lot of problems,

And at times we didn’t think we would make it.

But we have come out stronger in the end,

And at the end of the day that’s all that matters.

So I won’t call you my prince charming,

Or my knight in shining armour.

Because after all those things mean nothing,

Empty words spewed by many.

I love you is much more meaningful,

And I know you feel the same.

For My Best Friend

Friendship is a beautiful thing, a special kind of love – everlasting. It makes you laugh, makes you cry and gives you so much happiness. And this is what I share with you.

 

You never fail to make me smile when I’m down. I know you’re there for me; you never let me down. When I think of all the stupid, insane things we’ve done over the years I’m in hysterics within seconds. All the good times that will always stay with me.

 

We’re not going to be together at uni and I’ll miss you so much! You can expect at least ten emails a day off me – a product of my constant procrastination. There’ll be moaning ones and “I HAVE SO MUCH WORK!!!” ones and funny ones, but I know now there’ll be ones that make me cry as I type them. Because I look into my future and it’s a darker place because I don’t see you with me, constantly making me smile – you’ll be on the other side of the country in all likelihood.

 

Who will I moan at now about whatever whoever’s done now? Who will I be homesick with? What am I going to do when I need a hug and there’s only one person I want it off; the one who never fails me: you? And what will I do when I want to be stupid and reckless and relive some of the more crazy times we’ve had? Of course, the totally mature pillow fights come into it at some point. Or quiet times? Movie nights? Random talks that last till 3am?

 

So this is for you, my best friend.

 

Thank you for everything you’ve helped me with, everything you’ve given me. All the times we’ve shared together and will until we’re chucked to live hundreds of miles apart from each other. For want of a far less cheesy ending, I love you and I’m going to miss you so much.

A Metaphor

I’m a wave
              passing through
      going out
               rolling by

Come and watch me break
Jump over me
Run through me
Laugh when I crash at your feet
Stand over me and laugh

I am a wave
        stretching forth
   shrinking back
     going home

Build me up and play me with your hands
Use me to get high on your board
Use me, you need a lift?
Come and see me fade and die with the wind

But you’ll hate me when I dredge up old things from the past
Leave them on the neat beach of your mind
Or when I overwhelm you and leave you falling, spluttering for air
Choked by my bitter taste and blinded by my poisoned sting

I am a wave
              I am a wave

Dream Team

We’re the exclusive troops of youth
Diluting vain loops of untruth
And proving that you don’t have to
Hit someone just to be new

Skipping triple grids and tripping
Rolling third rate cigs
And always ditching for the kicks
But never catching what we miss

And you’ll see what you don’t believe
See we’ll be who you can’t achieve
You’ll be dying of your disease
But we’ll be sleeping on the streets

While you can try this frame of mind
Your flight will never justify
The lie you find so hard to hide
Striving to be let inside

I Adore

There’s a heart for sale on top of a hill,
wrapped up in brown paper for you
I’d a heart was mine but it’s broke in time,
held together with hope and glue
Is there a heart that beats in between clean sheets,
in that cavern you call your chest?
If not then you’ll find you can always have mine,
it’ll carry you ’til your rest
But when a stranger walks past, looks to me, asks,
why no fire dances in my cold eyes
I’ll be able to say that i gave it away,
and you, you won’t look half surprised.