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Uneasy wish (am I worse)Leaves touch the air in solace of ash.
Will you still love me because of how I am?
Just a pile laying there
Like a starving child: your sweet, marzipan hands.
Dream books: chapter 1: The assasin"That won’t be enough."
"It already was."
"But it doesn’t hurt at all…"
"Because you have nothing to feel it with…"
"I can still see you."
"Yes, when you die, you still have the awareness."
"It’s like… I’m still inside my body."
"It will change soon."
"Yea, I see it now."
"Goodbye! Mission accomplished."
I hate to sleepI hate to sleep. Those untold legends of darkness, who's shadow is greater than any earthly possesses. Those metaphoric forms of death, those impure resurrections of your (so believed to be forgotten) ground-shaking traumas, or pillars of menace in past or future.
But these are not bad. These are milestones.
The real deal here is: Whenever I decide to set my eyes shut, I order my world of aware to go stop. I jump, shake my body, back to reality: "Where's my world, where's me?" I ask ‒
Before my conscious world will fade to black.
But what all this mess for? Why do I do this, when all Untouchable's treasure, land of wonder is there?
Because it's a metaphor: it reminds me of how I did, or would close my eyes in reality.
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
I Thought I Needed FeminismI thought I needed feminism, when I was a little girl.
And I am very sad to admit, that this wasn't very long ago.
I thought when he held the door open for me, that he was making a big mistake.
That he was being a pompous ass, and he took my strength for a fake.
And when he offered to pay my tab, I still called him an ass.
Because I thought he assumed I was poor, and below middle class.
Or when his hard work earned him a promotion,
yet I did nothing, and the boss' ignorance to promote me, I believed was a sexist notion.
My friend really wanted feminism when she found her ex-dead drunk,
removed his clothes, and without his consent, had a pleasurable fuck.
When her parents bust into the room unexpected that night,
she said he raped her, and he was arrested without so much as a fight.
Perhaps feminism was there when I walked out into the street in pure nudity,
and shouted the my neighbors “You have no right to judge me!”
I didn't care about the children who were standing in th
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
DethronedI have created Eden, through the strokes of my pen,
But it was made of promises, and angels
That were too fragile to hold the weight of our sins.
You were my goddess, on a throne made of dreams.
Which you were probably
They didn't glimmer and shine
like the diamonds decorating your rings.
They were the hopes of a man
So madly in love, but you poured poison into his heart
And so he rotted, each time you gifted him with a kiss.
DifferentDifferent on the outside,
Different mask you see daily,
Different girl you call ‘Hailey’
To my surprise
Your ears are distracted,
So I tell lies, looking into your eyes,
“Yea I’m fine. Simply tired”
For that response my brain is wired.
Different mouth you hear speaking,
Different voice you hear screaming
Different eyes you see pleading,
Different person you’d befriended
I’m sorry this is how it’s ended.
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
The Panic Room (A Supernatural One-Shot)“Dean…? Dean?”
The name felt like lead on Sam’s tongue, so thick and heavy that he wasn’t sure if the syllable had actually made it past his lips.
The only reason he was aware of something cutting into his neck was the trail of red that was marking a small pathway against the stark fabric of his shirt. The dark suit and tie that usually accompanied the white-collared look were missing, but he couldn’t remember why.
His brother’s name seemed to drop soundlessly into the dark space before him. Everything felt heavy. Dull. Maybe he was dreaming.
But dreams shouldn’t smell of dust and abandonment. They shouldn’t be framed by cobwebs and wallpaper so aged that their floral design has faded into funeral bouquets. They shouldn’t have flickering candlelight and robed figures looking down on you.
No, dreams shouldn’t be like that.
But Winchesters don’t have dreams. They have nightmares. Sam smile
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