Torment

WHY???

IS THERE A FREAKIN REASON FOR ALL THIS SHIT?

or am i just cursed.....?

Hope Holds

There is in foreign forests far

A lasting longing loving light

That saves from sacred searing scars

Never needing more than night...

To shine...

Lo Que Soy

This song speaks to me with beauty and passion, especially in the graceful language of Spanish. I've decide to try to learn it and sing it, soon. :) Click on the link to hear it.

Lo Que Soy

Desde muy niña siempre actué
Con timidez
Con el miedo de decir
Todo de una vez
Tengo un sueño en mí
Que brillando está
Lo dejaré salir
Por fin tú sabrás

Lo que soy
Es real
Soy exactamente la que debo ser hoy
Deja que la luz
Brille en mí
Ahora sí, sé quién soy
No hay manera de ocultar
Lo que siempre he querido ser
Lo que soy

Sabes lo que es estar
En esta oscuridad
Con un sueño de alcanzar
Ser estrella y brillar
Si parece estar
Tan lejos hoy de aquí
Tengo que creer en mí
Solo así sabré

Lo que soy
Es real
Soy exactamente la que debo ser hoy
Deja que la luz
Brille en mí
Ahora sí, sé quién soy
No hay manera de ocultar
Lo que siempre he querido ser
Lo que soy

Eres esa voz que habita en mí
Por eso estoy cantando
Quiero encontrarte
Voy a encontrarte
Eres lo que falta en mi
Canción dentro de mí
Quiero encontrarte
Voy a encontrarte

Lo que soy
Es real
Soy exactamente la que debo ser hoy
Deja que la luz
Brille en mí
No hay manera de ocultar
Lo que siempre he querido ser
Lo que soy
Lo que soy
Ahora sí, sé quién soy
No hay manera de ocultar
Lo que siempre he querido ser

Lo que soy

Letters to the Lost

This was taken from an old letter and a recent note I wrote to a friend who almost killed herself one night. I think we all need to listen to that voice telling us this:

Sweetie... listen to me.
i love you
so much
you're worth so much
i don't know how to show you
your beautiful smile
your dazzling light
your shining soul
you are worth SO MUCH
i cant even describe.

I know you feel like the moon is in darkness- but its just an eclipse. it passes. even though there will always be a dark side of the moon, it still shines brighter than anything. You are a beautiful, amazing, gorgeous, awe-inspiring, one-of-a-kind moon, and i hate to see you falling from heaven.

Just remember that there are forces to pick you back up.

*hugz* it'll be ok.
...it can ALWAYS get better.
Trust me :)
I've been at places where it couldn't get any worse, and it did. I've cut, I've hurt, I've cried, I've taken meds, taken more advil than i can remember, sleeping pills, etc. I've written a 5 page suicide letter. Ive run away who knows how many times. I've been threatened with being taken to a mental hospital 5 times, getting arrested, and being sent to Maine to a residential place. Ive cut intending to bleed to death.it can ALWAYS get better sweetie. always.

The moon always shines in the darkness, you just have to open your eyes before you jump off the edge of the world...

Upon the Loss of Sanity

Silent stars screech past
While winter drifts in from its fast
Raging slowly cross the land
Time drips, sinking noises in the sand
Who hears but the solemn note
Ushered from the fateful throat
Of one who knows of horrid thoughts
Not what the Great Creator sought
When searching for that dark lost mind
'Tis myself my thoughts do find

And all is still with fragile stance
Each raindrop frozen in its dance
For who will see the night-time stall
No one at all
But my racing heart
Shall silence now forever start
With shadows looming o'er head
While now my mind is all but dead

Sunshine flashes
Lightning dashes
Memories sigh
While treasure die
The breeze once lifting off the ground
Nowhere can heaven now be found

Frozen slumber breaks its hold
From awesome wonder once untold
I slip by slanted sides of strife
No longer need to heed this life
Why did summer seem to shine
When winter wand'ring did I find
My thoughts still thinking with great ease
To blow away the shallow breeze...

Time allowing snow to fall
Hearing always now the call
To see the world with wonder burn
Yet still the earth can always turn
So does it matter, Scheme of Time
If one lost soul shall lose their mind

Waiting for Winter

I hear the words of fallen fighters.
Searching.
Screaming.
Silent.
Never gaining the ground they hope for.
Tired.
Irrelevent.
Dying.
The sun surpasses any wonder known.
Weeping.
Hurting.
Frail.
Fragile stars sleep...

I AM PISSED

Well, it's 2:45 in the morning, and I'm in a creative slump. So I'm going to do what any person would do in my situation: BLOG.


And it's about 3:00, and I'm on this facebook group called To Write Love on Her Arms, an organization to help those with depression. There is this girl (Who I won't name) who started a discussion topic on the group because she just cut her whole arm without knowing it, and I replied, saying I was there for her, consider telling your parents, etc. All of a sudden this jerk (Who I want to name, but won't because I'm a nice person) joins in and tells her "Hey! No one loves you! They won't care so stop whining. They just want you dead. :-)"


I am SO PISSED AT THIS GUY.


We got into an "epic debate" as my friend calls it. I'm not going to put what he said, just some of my main points.

1. It’s seriously not nice to mess with people, especially when they’re going over the edge, a place you’ve obviously never been or you wouldn’t be so cruel and heartless.
2. Imagine if you were in her place, would you want me to say that to you???
3. She’s not “attention whoreish.” This group was designed to help people who need it, who need guidance, support, and love. If you don’t believe that, then you don’t belong in the group. Try to be respectful of others, even if you don’t want to be. Ok???????? Can you get that through your thick skull?????
4. I’m sorry no one cared that you were depressed. Did you even tell anyone? It’s truly impossible for no one to care. There’s always at least one person. (You just have to open your eyes to see them.)
5. Yes, we are somewhat deprived of self-motivation. But the only way some people can get to the point where they get help themselves with their struggles and say “I want help I need help I want to fix this” is by asking for a helping hand.
6. I’m sure you didn’t get rid of your depression all by yourself. Even if you ever told somebody or went to the doctor, that’s getting help from someone else.
7. Yes, but without anyone to build her back up, it just sits there. She needs to have the people in her life to build her back up before they start tearing down her depression.
8. Well, good for you, but lots of people, including myself, see a therapist. I actually like him, he’s a great guy. I’m sorry your dad didn’t find it appropriate, but I meant talked to ANYONE. A friend, your parents, anyone. You didn’t go through this alone.
9. Well that was your choice [to go through that alone], this is hers. Let her make it, please.
10. I know she’ll be alone, we all have, but it’s better to be alone than to have some random guy tell you to shut up and go die. I’m pretty sure anyone who was at this point in your life would kill themselves after reading that.
11. Ok, if you wanted to say that, just say it. I’m pretty sure NO ONE got your message from “No one cares, go die.”
12. Well do it [trolling] somewhere where people won’t actually hurt themselves because of it, asshole.

So take it from someone who loves and cares about others, BACK OFF.

This makes me so mad that people can hate each other this much. Someone reaches out a hand to be helped up, only to be shoved back into the mud. The world is sick.

Role Play

(First post is me, second is my friend Allison...)

Dereck leaned against the edge of an ancient parking meter. His long been forgotten hair hung low over his eyes, hiding the scars from the past nightmares. The moon above faintly glowed over the outskirts of the city. This was the only time he left the house, the time they drank. "Those disgusting creatures..." Dereck whispered as a passing car muffled his voice. Other than that, the street seemed deserted. He breathed in a sincere breath of cold, calming night air. This was where he belonged, this was where he felt safe. By himself. He glanced down as a leaf tottered away down the road.....

Clary walked down the dimly lit road, hand in pockets and staring at her feet. Just like always. She walked with a slight limp, fabricated of course, to fit in with the rest of the city dwellers. As far as she was concerned, anything that made you stand out made you more normal. She wasn't cold, but she wore a thick grey hoodie jacket, always zipped up. And tonight as she walked through the darkness she had decided to keep the hood draped around her shoulders instead of over her shoulder-length silk black hair. She was passing a storefront when she noticed a boy, a few inches taller than herself, hovering by the road. What was he waiting for? she asked herself. He had the scent of blood and water around him and she wondered if she had seen him before. He looked vaguely familiar... She looked up, realizing that she had stopped completely to stare at the boy. "I... I'm sorry." She tripped over her words, shocked by the deep, clear eyes that stared back at her...

... Those dark black eyes... Dereck silently liked how the strange girl just stopped to stare at him, even though it made the moment uncomfortable. It was enoguh to be called a freak at home, much less be stared at in public. At least there was no one around. Yet those dark eyes seemed to draw his attention closer and closer. Normally he would've walked away, but he just couldn't stop wondering if, maybe, she had something to hide behind those eyes, like himself...

"I'm sorry." she whispered again, forcing a smile at the boy, who seemed just as interested by her as she was by him... If he wasn't standing infront of a blank brick wall, she would have mady up some sort of excuse for her staring... But no. It HAD to be a wall. "I was kinda spacing out..." She laughed lightly to herself

"Don't be, I'm used to people staring," Dereck replied, shifting his weight off the pole. The scars on his eye twitched as he glanced around. He walked slowly towards the entranced girl, who he could tell almost bolted down the narrow pavement at his approach. "But you seem to be staring for a different reason. You're not pointing; your mouth is slightly open; you hide behind yourself as if in fear yet you still look at me. I'm not a freak to you, am I?"

The way the boy spoke pulled her farther into the trance-like state she was already in. She didn’t notice any imperfections, any flaws, any problems. The only abnormality as the scar above his eye that had previously been covered my his hair. And even that looked as though it had been painted on skillfully and intentionally. This boy was beautiful. Almost unlike anyone she had ever seen. Only he wasn’t so unlike herself... Maybe... He was one of them... “No... you’re not a freak.” She caught herself after she had already spoken the words, and her face dropped toward the pavement. She hadn’t planned on answering that question, thinking it purely rhetorical.what the heck is going on? She looked at the boys eyes again. Deep, searching eyes, unwavering and unblinking. She swore she could see into his mind, but she couldn’t forsee his intentions.

The girl's dark hair seemed to shake as she spoke. Never once had she looked away from his glance, still searching for something, some connection. She seemed familiar, somehow, ending up in the curves and bends of his subconscious. Her long hair, the thin legs wrapped in her tight jeans, the piercings covering her beautiful, smooth skin. Who exactly is she... Dereck remembered he was still staring at her, and started to move closer. "You're different, yet you're afraid. Why?"

“I’m not afraid.” Clary took a step towards him, noticing he had been inching his way toward her. It was odd, because she actually was afraid. Not of him, not of others, and not of herself... but she had this sinking feeling of nervous tension biting at her from inside. The wind picked up, blowing her hair to the side of her face and moving his bangs away from his scars once again. She stared for a moment, wondering what the story was behind those scars. “I’m not afraid of you.” She said, almost to clarify to herself as much as to him.

Then who are you afraid of... He could sense the powerful fear emanating from her core, even through her intense emotional barrier. "What's your name?"

“Clarissa.” She was adopting tho cold, calculating tone in her voice that he had been using. Part of her need to fit in, to not be noticed. She guessed, anyway. “Clary to everyone who cares.” She was short, and in any other situation would have found the conversation snide and rude. But for some reason, this was natural. Organic. Yet strange at the same time... “And what’s yours?”

"Dereck, but no one cares, so it doesn't matter..." He reached out, the metal studs on his hand refracting the moonlight. "We better get moving before someone notices..." He linked his arm under hers and soon they were walking slowly down the road, clouds linking under the moon.

Strawberries

Scarlet straggled down the icy cement stairwell to enter into dimming night air. The clouds still bled with dusk’s hatchet, their limbs leaking dazzling wonders. Stars appearing, Scarlet could feel the reverberating steps waning. He left.

Air swirled as Scarlet, her long hair drifting at the sudden cease in motion, took in a deep sigh. She paused to glance down at the tan cobblestone path leading to the parking lot; no doubt he had dashed over them into the shaggy blue convertible, keys dangling. Scarlet could imagine his long, oil-black hair dancing in the force of interstate wind.

The upstairs lights flashed.

Scarlet’s mind rushed back to the present. The glowsticks. The strobe light. The ravers. An eavesdropping apple tree noticed two slightly curved lips under the girl’s hair when she remembered all the movements to the lame techno music. The opened rose immediately fell back into place. It was over, at least for her.

Scarlet slumped onto the exasperated driveway lined with her friends’ over-exaggerated toys. Senses of selfishness and shame started to seize her spirit. Most would consider her lucky. Scarlet seemed a princess in a kingdom of peasants. Her castle possessed what she called “the tower” at the north side, a distance away from the main house. A cold stairwell, her own demented bean stock, led to Scarlet’s “bedroom.” Dangling double-doors bent to reveal four rooms, a bathroom, a small kitchen area, and a plasma TV. Yes, Scarlet had it all.

She traced her fingers across the long, curved scars.

As Scarlet glanced at the self-inflicted clouds, one began to softly weep cold, frosted tears. Yet soon it dashed over a rising moon, theatrically ceasing the shower to mist.

Then the night seeped into the surrounding branches. Then into the air. Then the pavement.

Darkness.

Silence pervaded, absence dilating in Scarlet’s dark blue eyes. The only light emanated from the ravers and their flashing motions in the background, spreading dooming shadows upon a fragile figure.

Eyeliner started to retreat, dripping slowly down the smooth mountain, small trails of silt left behind. Shudders shook Scarlet’s spirit. Fists clenched, she wrapped her marked arms tightly around the dark-blue skinny jeans.

Thoughts collided and emotions fled. The barely sixteen-year-old soul shifted her mind. She didn’t want sympathy; she didn’t want healing; she didn’t want mercy. All Scarlet desired was her angel.

Yet the void grew stronger and darkness increased and emptiness evolved. Time froze in the cold night air.

The breeze slid affectionally across lonely eyes, concealed in their fortress. As if whispering, it trailed over Scarlet’s arms, telling her to keep breathing. The air filled her lungs and fueled her thoughts. Scarlet gasped again and again. Shaking, she sighed and let the wind brush her face. The comfort she found in the moving particles stunned her. Lifeless matter kept her alive. No matter how hard she tried, Scarlet could not grasp what help formed from taking it in. What good was it to keep breathing while sobbing on the tattered stones? Her life still fell miserably into hell, and no amount of air could lift her up; however, the wind continued to murmur, Just keep breathing…

Still crying, Scarlet opened her eyes. A faint blue light stared at her. Curiosity spurred, the slumping form leaned outward to grasp it, humanity reaching for the spark of life. Scarlet, almost crawling on her knees, felt the fabric of her jeans rub against her thighs. Amid the drops and sobs and the shudders, two fingers stretched behind a tire of a black coupe, nearly invisible in the void.

The distracted girl lifted the shining blue object from the square plastic container it was resting on. A glowstick. His glowstick. The one she gave him to wear for the party. The six-sided cylander, threaded with black string to be a necklace, had been hastily tossed on top of the carton in his silent retreat. Like Scarlet, it had been forgotten.

The stream of faint light quivered as Scarlet reached for the carton on the ground. Dusted with sand, its plastic surface barely showed in the night. A small, slightly-torn piece of paper sat patiently on its lid.

Scarlet could still hear the loud beats of the rave behind her as she read the hand-written note.

All souls hold what life solely brings to break

A deadly gift, a lonely work of art

What some would indict to always be fake

A love that swells the shallow, putrid heart

Not all who claim to know it’s worth prevail

In showing light beyond what they can see

Nowhere has there been an untainted tale

Of feelings that never seem to flee

Yet here lies the passion we have to live

A spark of hatred swallowed by the flames

Giving all our creation has to give

Ourselves are only how we can now blame

Red rivers drift among their hasty flow

Forever is now your choice, this I know

Tears returning, Scarlet opened the lid of the container, revealing its precious cargo; strawberries lined themselves along the sides, the corners, the edges, green leaves flourishing. Scarlet ran her fingertips over the smooth skins, feeling each individual crater, cavity. She grasped one loosely, wrapping her lips around the edge. Pressure built, followed by the sweet sensation unrivaled by the salty tears.

Tossing away the top, Scarlet glanced down and picked up another delicate strawberry. So fragile, so easy to break, so red. Yet so sweet.

A sparkle caught her eye. Scarlet reached for it, twisting the tangible redemption in her hands. She slid it onto her finger. The silver heart gleamed in the darkness.

A blue car pulled into the driveway.

Sharp

Thruth slices into reality

With every precious slip

Pain increases, releases

Time irrelevent

Crimson lines of pure love collide

Two blades, two arms, one dream:

To fly