A complex tangle.. Sounds brain-like, right? I think I'm addicted.
I love this!
i LOVE how you've directed the eye in this! gosh, so elegant and beautiful. great work
Emo? I think notSo, because I have cuts on my wrists, arms, legs, hips and stomach, I am Emo.
Emo is for losers with nothing better to do
Emo is a fad that people follow because it's "cool" to cut yourself.
Emo is a label applied to everyone who self harms, whether they are or not
Emo is a derogatory term used by teenagers to make fun of cutters
Emo is a word belonging only to those who have no REAL reason to be sad.
I, my friend, am a cutter...
Being a cutter is feeling completely worthless.
Being a cutter is feeling like your heart has been ripped to bloody shreds, without it's constant beat ever ceasing.
Being a cutter is not wanting to get up in the morning because you feel like no one would give a fuck if you weren't there.
Being a cutter is not knowing where you get the strength to continue living.
Being a cutter is considering suicide as the only way things will ever get any better.
Being a cutter is wishing for a serious accident to land them in the hospital to see if anyone cares
Is My Heart Broken?I don't understand
Why my heart beats the way it does
When I see your smiling face.
sleep and dreamevery ebb and flow
swims like a memory,
floundering or aching
the way they do
when sleep deems itself
king of impossibility.
(these are the times
i wish you could
love me long enough
BeautifulI felt beautiful today.
I didn't straighten my hair,
And I didn't put on makeup.
I closed my white blinds and let
The light shine through
For a fresh background.
I stole my fathers camera,
Turned on my iPod, and began to dance.
I held it away and smiled,
Letting the -click- of the shutters
Blend with the music, forming its own beat.
I grinned and twirled in one of my sister's dresses,
Not giving a care should she walk in.
I laughed and fiddled with my hair,
I was coy and shy and natural.
I shed my shell of T-Shirts and jeans,
And let myseelf be free.
I look at the pictures I had taken and said,
Oh- there you are.
I've been looking for you.
dear alaina.dear alaina,
i am not being passive-aggressive. i am not avoiding confrontation or arguments or sensitive subjects so that i won't get upset: i'm writing a letter that i can't imagine you'll see, explaining to you everything that i need you to know.
i'm sorry i'm not better. i'm sorry that i'm not trying. i'm sorry, but i can't, not now. i wish you could understand, without any fear or worry, that i need to destroy myself before i can get better. it's like i'm a phoenix, needing to catch fire and turn to ash before i can be reborn. i need to be the biggest source of pain and misery in my life; i can't let anyone else have the power to hurt me more than i have hurt myself already.
it's not enough to tear myself apart, in every sense that i can. it's not enough to pull strings of skin from the teeth of my razor and clutch toilet paper from the public bathroom to my arm like if i don't, i might die - in all hones
glowthere are days i don't want the sun to set on us; where we should race it, rolling westward at an unstopping momentum, bringing erasure to the day's beginnings as we flood toward an unreachable end.
it's a day like this when i realise we're impossible -- you, with your baked-clay shoulders, squeezed tight and compact, small but so present, you, with your brier of black bristle encompassing the two lips, softest rose, bringing nature back to intimacy.
it makes me catch fire, in our setting sun, to see a desert-bright radiance reflect in your room. it's when you change your clothes behind the wooden door of your dresser; when you return from a shower, a rainstorm bringing me beauty and the complex scent of a clean man; when you dim your light to match the moon's as you strip off the day and safely stow away a secret within me.
the sun sets too quickly for us to catch it. the longer you hold me in copper embrace, the sooner we reflect the short daylight we are given.
As I move my fingers
across the keys,
The letters forming
as if on
For him.For the guy who told her in his native tongue,
For the guy who tells her every day,
For the guy who holds her close,
For the guy who does because he's scared to lose her,
For the guy who can admit that,
For the guy who would die for her,
For the guy who's cried for her,
For the guy who holds her hand,
For the guy who knows she's perfect,
For the guy who knows she's everything to him,
For the guy who lost her,
For the guy who lost his mind for her,
For the guy who sacrificed,
For the guy who knows she couldn't love him as much as he loves her,
For the guy who stayed anyway,
For the guy who doesn't tell her often enough,
For the guy who said it but didn't know if he meant it,
For the guy who's lost without her,
For the guy who doesn't know what to say,
For the guy who doesn't know how to feel,
For the guy who doesn't know he made her feel,
for the first time
in a long time.
For the guy standing outside her door,
searching for the words,
Now you know what to do.......