Distracted from the sight of a car crash by a passing butterfly
Distracted from her crying lover by a passing car
Or a butterfly crash
She scares me
She has a scattered priority system
Cascades in no particular order like a never-ending rock-slide
Loves like there’s no tomorrow
Forgets like there was no yesterday
And burns like there’s no today
Somehow she keeps doing all of it and the fire never goes out
Keeps you warm but singes your eyelashes and stings your eyes
You are the wood that keeps her flaming
It is exhausting.
But you can’t put her out, because you love her
You love her like a child
If she grows up, you might hate yourself
If she stays the same, you might hate her
She is the foot stepping on your laces;
The cuffs on your wrists;
The ever-long night;
The dust on your window;
She is holding you back
But you know you cannot leave her
Two pieces cut from the same cloth
You, and her
Are the same thing.


There are some things you can’t get anywhere, but we dream they can be found in other people.

You hear things that you aren’t really suppose to… like undertones, moods… it’s not a sound, it’s more of a feeling or a feel… but you hear it, in the music. That’s how it gets into you, through the music.
It’s a feeling but you hear it.

(another fished out blind-rage-writing from a few weeks ago)

A word’s potential power is not resembled by a loose crumb dropped onto the carpet, but more so a meteor thrust into an entire planet. Be careful what you’re tossing around here. Don’t deceive. Don’t attack, especially where your ‘thinking’ friends are concerned. You may cause enough damage, even too much damage. That’s not fair, especially when you know what you’re doing. That is NOT fair. This is a piece of advice, not an opinion of you. I cannot understand why someone would wish to be cruel, to do harm to something outside of themselves, seeing the mere action itself as a gain or an advantageous move, I do not understand, for it does not feel good to be bad. To venture slightly into the personal, I would say that you had picked up these flaming hot rocks, three times the size of my entire world, and hauled them into my chest; my everything; the home of my soul’s reactions. I would say that there is bound to be some reflection of this destruction bounce back to you, and if you go on like this forever, it is you who shall be destroyed, and you’ll have done it to yourself. The mind is so vast and full of delicate intricacies, and each is different, each interprets these words differently, due to having varied experiences of them and their meanings in the past. It is fair that not everyone would consider this every time they spoke, that is why we discuss a thing; that is why we confess past events, woes, loves, hopes and thoughts to one another. However, what one does and should always know, is whether or not the words that they are using, are telling a truth or a lie… if a lie, for what purpose? Is it a white lie, perhaps, to protect another from unnecessary awry? Or black like my polluted lungs? Sometimes, not saying what you mean can be forgiven, but saying deliberately what you do not mean is to use your tongue to spray poison. Little butterflies kissing gently around my ear lobes, probing such tender responses. I let them in and by the time they reach the source of my feeling they have shed their skins and become reaction-preying monsters, as I watch you contradict such certain, kindly words with such heartless, malicious action. They are already inside me. You have already released the destruction upon me, and I have to build myself back up, every time. Please, don’t do this; don’t do this to anyone ever again. I like you because you understand things, and because people who understand things have the potential to do such good, to help a great deal – I want you to get there, not for me, just because, the world needs us people. Instead you abuse your power, to inflict pain and feel dominance and security, it hurts me personally, but I hurt for the world too. I hurt for the situation, for the possibility of someone enjoying anyone else’s pain so I ask you, make this right. Go out into the world and help somebody, to repent for deliberately breaking me up for your own amusement do something beautiful, because you’ve made me feel so ugly.

(written the other night after a bruise up, fuck up, bad up, drunk, somewhere between not bleeding anymore, and falling into an awful dream about all my teeth coming out)

It’s a reasonable thing, to a degree, when a man finds his pleasures in heroine over you… but when it’s cocaine, ketamine…. alcohol, pizza or another woman, shit isn’t so romanticized. It hurts, and like, even more than usual and that’s…. something. You’re me, for a second; that’s something man. What are you expected to do…? By the powers that be, God, whoever or whatever it is that’s governing the universe… what; am I suppose to feel nothing about that shit? Over and over again…. Do I not eventually assume that this is my place, to be fucking utilized and fucked with, and then… again.. WHAT?: I’m supposed to not question that, not be hurt by it; carry on being whatever it is I’m ‘intended’ to be? Right; cause, the other response would be to fucking off myself, and we all know, your personal gain gets nowhere that way, unless you’re certain you’re incredible…. And who offs themselves isn’t… Luck of the draw… or something… I’m trying to say, if I’m, right about my purpose… It doesn’t matter what I think, I can’t overcome it because it’s required of me to give a shit, in order to make the utiliser know they are given a shit about, in order for them to gain anything from using me in the first place… I just.. I’m beginning to believe I’ve found who I am… and I fucking hate it. I didn’t choose it, I don’t love it, and I don’t have to be it so… maybe it’s time I did this one over with. I could be more than this… just not in this life. And you; you are some kinda sun, or, planet craving star, that needs to exist, I just hope I’m around when you’re perfect, cause as a person all you do is KILL ME.

Dear You

I can’t be a part of this anymore…
Whatever delusional semi-real, not-so-serious part that is; I can’t do it.
See, I’m already immensley down-trodden, overly-utilised and under-loved, and it wasn’t my fault to begin with… but it is now; only I can fix this. Sitting in this place as second-best, ego-boost, glory-hole, punch-bag, escape-door, other-woman, play-thing, helpless-damsel, just-in-case, waiter, shaky, lonely and doubting my own worth is anything beyond something to be used by anyone else who’s doubting themselves as some kind of pick-me-up so that… I keep getting sicker to make them better… it’s the wrong direction, and it’s not fair. I know that I’m pretty explosive, and I want to do it properly, producing something good and getting something back. So I got to remove myself from anything that smells like shit; if it cares about me it’ll fucking shower… If it doesn’t I’m not going to bask in it because I deserve better than this, I have to believe that. I have to believe this, or I’m condemning myself and it’s time I stopped that shit, ‘cause I want to live, I know how it feels and I miss it. This is not good work, man. You’re having a rough time, so maybe this is very uncool of me but, maybe it’s why you started it in the first place, and again, why the fuck should I condemn myself for someone who’s using me? Maybe you don’t give a shit; maybe I’m a nutcase, but tell me when you find an interesting female who isn’t, please; I’d like to meet her. I care about you in a way I’ve never cared before, but I’m easily deluded, and due to the lack of your actual presence it’s likely that this is an A-grade delusion, and that, is not healthy. I want you to be alright but I’m not sacrificing my sanity just to make sure that you are, when this whole thing involving me could be nothing but bullshit anyway. You aren’t alone, you’re loved, and you obviously fucking love whoever else loves you so… get your comfort there, you don’t love me. I can’t hurt myself anymore, I’m sick of being this person, I’m sick of this person, I don’t want to be this person. I hope that things get better for you, maybe in the future I will meet you again.
I love you.

sunshine, don’t leave me behind
sunshine, take me with you
when you go down tonight

victoriousvocabulary:

MOGIGRAPHIA
[noun]
1. also known as cheirospasm, chirospasm and graphospasm – writer’s cramp; hand cramps.
2. having creative difficulty in writing.
Etymology: From Greek mogis (with difficulty) + graph (writing).
[25kartinok]

victoriousvocabulary:

MOGIGRAPHIA

[noun]

1. also known as cheirospasm, chirospasm and graphospasm – writer’s cramp; hand cramps.

2. having creative difficulty in writing.

Etymology: From Greek mogis (with difficulty) + graph (writing).

[25kartinok]

half the days are purple, red and fierce
he throws around fistfuls of terror;
tugs out my shameful tears
after that the rest is beige and grey
sit quietly in my blood and wait
for the man with kinder, gentle hands
to stroke it all away
i’ve always known, I wait in vein
with the fire on my back
no-ones coming to rescue me;
they’ve been put off by the cracks
the one I love; he lies to me
he’s the only angel left
the one i hate; he follows me
with shiny truths and shiners
how doth the little crocodile
devour me with such good timing?