tissue decay
look alive.
heavy breathing and swollen eyes.
[this is your life]
past regrets,
symantics.
somethinganythingeverything
your heart is dying.
can't you tell?
slowing pumps, restless beats,
tear streaks.
its the end of days,
of hours and seconds, melted and twined
blind;
your heart is dying, can't you tell?

distraction is our middle name
abstraction;
loose philosophies,
archaic prophecies,
another way to dig (hide) ourselves deeper.
isolated, insulated,
we're wishing for something keener
than what we can handle.
foreign tongues and ladder rungs,
endless theories on the making of the world and
we still can't figure each other out.

i'm having trouble breathing
i cannot handle this.
i cannot handle this.
i cannot handle this.


i thought i could.
and now i'm left with stupid fucking pressure and stupid writings,
and i'm just so, so stupid.

prologue
this is your life. you have a decent family and a decent future.
you have a sister who hates you because you're a little bit smarter. a little bit better. you have a brother who looks up to you. you hate that he thinks he will ever be better than the world. you want to scream at him about how unfair life in general is.

you're not fat, and you're not thin. you think you might be healthy, if you just got enough sleep once in a while. you're nocturnal. you know its your own fault, and maybe if you didn't piss off the afternoons you wouldnt have to work so late.

you pass out when it becomes even remotely silent.
you hate your predictability.

when you eat you make good choices most of the time. when you don't eat you challenge yourself to see how long you can last. its never long enough, no matter how many times you try.

you don't like a whole lot of things, but when you find something that you have a chance of loving, you attach yourself to it until it stops breathing. you hate opinions.

you want to tell your best friend the deepest, darkest, most secret part of yourself, but you don't want their image of you to change that drastically. sometimes you think best friends are overrated anyway.

you have these distinctive habits, like little routines throughout your day, and whenever someone catches on, you wish they were never looking in the first place.

you don't imagine you will ever be great or dramatic or well-known. you continue to believe that your birth has not and will not affect the earth. your timeline is your own, and sometimes you hate hate hate it.

the way everyone has to be so controversial about everything makes you sick. opinions are opinions are opinions. everyone and their selfish, righteous selves will forever be arguing about anything interesting.
things, you think, are only interesting when they are debateable. you can't imagine someone fully believing the earth is the center of the galaxy anymore.

you knowingly sabotage yourself. you wish you could be a little more demanding and determined, but you continue with your life in a passive and indifferent state.

when you close your eyes you see impossible scenes. they are vivid and real and rich in detail. they are excessively morbid, and you wish you could paint well enough to get it out of you.

you hate catch-phrases. you use made-up catch-phrases. you hate them.

you have a passion for writing. you like having subjects and verbs collide and form pleasing structures. whenever you re-read anything, you wish you weren't so young or naive.

you and me are floating on a tidal wave together
i have been having these incredibly vivid dreams.
they are so detailed and perfectly played out that i continually wake up believing whatever i dreamed of was absolutely without-a-doubt real.

and lately, they've been getting so bizarre,
twisted and strange,
and just this morning i dreamt that i woke up from a very realistic dream, looked at my alarm clock, and felt terrible because it was blinking a digital and red 12:38 pm at me.

a few seconds/minutes/hours later, i woke up thinking it was past noon.
except it was actually around ten o'clock in the morning.

i've decided that waking up from a dream, in a dream, and then actually waking up is terribly disconcerting.
i hope it doesnt happen again any time soon.

battle scenes
she's lost her spark!, they say
as she puts on display
tired eyes from sleepless nights

she sees things backwards
twisted inversely, perhaps nervously
and slowly she admits she's ever-straining

waxing, waning, she's continually changing
gibbous to crescent, always past, never present
she's losing the fight, deciding it's right
to give up, give in; she'll never win.

my heart's a battleground
oh you know what they say,
about how loose lips sink ships
well baby, this sail's set for south
and i'm not waiting for your breathless reply.

et lingua eius loquetur indicium
i've discovered only recently,
that i might just have chronic insomnia.
i've looked through a written journal of mine and found entries about lack of sleep as far back as before april of last year.
how depressing.

it has also come to my attention that while my mother is nice, productive, etc,
i'd like her a lot better if she didn't ever speak.

i might be taking up to five ap courses next year, excluding a semester of calculus at the college.
i loathe that i feel obligated to do these ridiculous academic endeavors, for everyone's benefit but my own.
i'm seriously considering going to a college in switzerland. it's located in an italian villa and seems nearly perfect.
the only problem is that it does not offer one of the majors i'd like.
too bad, i suppose.

mostly i'm wising for a change of seasons
drabble. l/v. set season two. logan pov.

logan was strolling through the hallway (a-books-barely-held-shoulders-slumped-reckless-abandon) when the tips of their shoulders shocked against each other, a high voltage touch of defense.

her head turned oh so slowly, her mouth forming apologetic phrasings until blue crashed with blue and her pupils dilated. her almost-formed-words escaped her lips as an angry breath and began to create a senseless pattern of cutting phrases.

he shrugged them off and left equally jagged and hurtful parting words that he really really wanted to mean. he wanted to enjoy the salt-on-your-wounds and sarcasm-as-a-spear devastation. though deep down he didn't much care for this charade-facade-masquerade-play they were constantly taking part in.

what drama, he thinks. as if life had anything other to offer him than senseless plots and painful suspicions.

god turn me to stone
religion is the root of mankind's dependability.
we need something to blame, something to reason, something to be absolutely consistent.

if life just so happens to fuck you sideways, well, it was all in the name of a plan laid out for just you. your decision from this terrible experience will shape you as a human being and you will join society with a riveting tale of trials and tribulations and oh! what an outstanding and good-moraled person you are. all thanks to allah. or jesus or whatever.

as of now, the only thing i can believe in is balance.
not necessarily good and evil fighting tooth and claw for their dominance in the universe;
more like,
what happens to you is what happens to everybody.
congratulations, you were handed the short end of the stick. and now, with this ordeal finished, it can continue on its way, leaving in its wake something you can only describe as increasingly good luck; when in fact its the absence of the dear old karma that was present.

truth be told, i could be absolutely full of shit.
but this is where i am at right now.
this is where i will stand in my beliefs until my life indicates that i should open my mind to other possibilities.

i fucking hate this.
i fucking hate you and your ridiculous restrictions.



way to go life,
thanks for the great fucking times.

there is no superiority, there is only capability.

i'm so tired of never sleeping
insomnia's so bad i almost broke down.
five days awake, and my eyes feel like they're going to bleed.
i'm having very small 5-7 minute narcoleptic fits, i suppose. i keep missing tiny chunks of my time, and its terribly annoying.

but i'm glad i have a friend,
who will sit with me through all of my fifth period,
skipping his class so he can make sure i get some sleep.
then taking me to get some pancakes after school,
because they are my ultimate cheering up food.
(:

technically,
i can use the term 'clinically insane' on myself,
since such sleep deprivation can lead to insanity or brain disorders.


in all seriousness though, i hope to sleep tonight,
because i'm going to the king tut exhibition tomorrow morning.

we might be hitting clearer skies
i shouldn't be here, she says,
from the bottom of her bed,
as he weaves their limbs together once more.

one. breathe. two. sigh. three.
the countdown has begun, she thinks,
but there's nothing left to see.

imagine our halves making a whole, he sighs,
the way wind meets water for stormy skies.
she always thought love was a supernova.

filtered sunshine, dust-light gleams,
half-covered in sheets with satin seams,
he holds her the way the ocean holds the shore,
says, love shouldn't be so sore!

but with skin meeting skin,
mingled against whispers of wonder,
she thinks this is how she should spend forever.

killers always have killers on their track
i am constantly setting myself up for failure.
i take on projects that are too much for me too handle simultaneously.

like i need to feel the stress of multiple deadlines on me every minute of every day.
i hate it.

is it not enough to be complete
sex, drugs, self destruction,
you're becoming less and less like yourself,
and assembling into this misconstrued mess.

i'm sitting through headache and heartache,
and you're washed up, washed up, washed up,
wasted.
and there's nothing i can do.




me, you, we,
our plans were to leave.
but let's not get carried away.

for whom it is reserved
i am not happy here.
i cannot be happy here!
so why am i trying so hard?

trembling lips and carburator sighs
car l'espoir dans mon sein a versé sa névrose!

venus des plaines bleues,
blémis par la longueur des lieues.

oh,
it's calm even in the catastrophe.

then the next day, how well you know your enemy
i do not want to be everyone's defective friend.
that "oh, well guess who i know" friend, who you slip into coversation because you have nothing better to say.
a filler.

yes, i have insomnia.
that doesn't mean i'm happy about it.
that doesn't mean you have to tell everyone you know.

i feel so bare, when you tell people.
i told you in confidence,
and here you guys are,
"give her a break, she has insomnia for crying out loud!"
what delicious gossip!

so, really,
when you are surviving on maybe
two or three hours nightly,
and trying to still live your life the way you can,
you can tell everyone you'd like.

this is not my excuse,
not for late classwork,
or faulty mindset,
or bad taste.
it does not hinder my life,
because i don't notice it most of the time.
stop making it part of yours.

gluing tinsel to your crown
i love cold mornings where you can see your breath,
it's like watching your words take shape.