emo_tree

welcome to a brand new chapter of my life called i just dont care anymore.

its different knowing it and not hearing it then knowing it and having to hear about it.

IM BACK FROM MY HOUDINI DISAPPEARING ACT

i want everything to end...
all this drama...
all this bull shit...
and all this truth...

i have made mistakes and i dont even care to discuss my side, through you hardest punches, through your lowest blows. take this chance to make a fool of me because i dont care enough to fight back... all i wish for is a place that i will remember as teh place i grew up and the people i was once friends with, and i hope that these people would forgive me for what i have done, and talk to me about it. I want this drama to end, because though me may not be friends anymore...you all still mean something to me and i dont want to leave on bad terms, unless thats all that it can be...

Losing Sight of Everything, but You



Darkness swarms to cover every inch of my body,
Creating a black velvet curtain to block out light.
I look around, but without this light there's nothing to see,
Or so it seems;
Yet, I don't believe that to be possible.

My hands begin to move, to roam; for they are now my sight.
The soft texture of the sheets;
The edge of the bed;
The rough carpet.

I push downwards, forcing my body upward into a sitting position.
Pause; Listen.
There's an echo from beyond my curtains bounds;
Not so much an echo, but breathing;
Every breath taken in the silence between my own gasps for air.

Move hand; Move knee; Move other hand; Move other knee...

This reduction of myself - from an adult;
To infant - will not be allowed to stop me.
Every movement is slow, precise;
Learning to live again could not be easy for anyone.

Blindness unbelievably allows the other sense to enhance, to adapt.
-my touch. my smell. my taste. my hearing-
My remaining senses are left to emulate my sight.

I crawl slowly; making sure every step is safe.
Pause; Listen;
The breathing is directly in front of me.
Again, I push downwards,
This time forcing my body upwards,
To the point that I lose all balance, and fall sideways.
I fall against the wall; the wall this object must be against,
My hands set out to discover what this is,
Or who this is.

Starting from the ground my hand quickly skims upwards,
Till I had my hand softly against a face, her face.
I feel savory, plump lips.
I feel flowing, silky hair.
I feel a sensual, defined neck.
Picturing this female in my mind; her perfection.
This must be heaven. I must be dead.
This girl was to perfect, to perfect not to be an angel.
At least she’s an angel to me; my guardian angel.
Her hands touch mine: touch my face; touch my neck.
I'm pulled to my feet and led back to where I originally laid.
Falling back to the soft sheets, allowing me to feel safe; to feel warm.
The bed shakes from the weight of our bodies
Compressing and releasing the spring in the mattress
My mouth opens, attempting to mutter the words in my head
The words that tell how I am currently feeling

We lie there, slowly caressing one another’s bodies
I feel the words coming; my mind has realized it's true
This is love; what I am feeling is as the world is at my control
The love blindness that holds a firm grip on my sight

Softly, I whisper
Telling her of everything that's in my mind.

heres my ranting...

im sick of all these lame wanna be scene kids
spending to much time on their hair
thinking thrift stores are the only places to get clothes
acting like every show is the greatest thing on earth
going from one friend to another as (oh these people are so great i didnt konw them much before but i love them so much)


mainly to the pathetic fucken girls that think they are scene or know shit about music, fashion or anything else.

grow up

and find something thats you

not them.

Small, simple, safe price
Rise the wake and carry me with all of my regrets
This is not a small cut that scabs, and dries, and flakes, and heals
And I am not afraid to die
I'm not afraid to bleed, and fuck, and fight.
I want the pain of payment
What's left, but a section of pigmy size cuts
Much like a slew of a thousand unwanted fucks
Would you be my little cut?
Would you be my thousand fucks?
And make mark leaving space for the guilt to be liquid
To fill, and spill over, and under my thoughts
My sad, sorry, selfish cry out to the cutter
I'm cutting trying to picture your black broken heart
Love is not like anything
Especially a fucking knife



COMMENT FOR ADD!