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insolence and wine v. 1 || hidden soul [entries|friends|calendar]
such sober certainty of waking bliss

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the purpose! [22 Sep 2012|09:45pm]
[ mood | sick ]

This journal was previously used for another purpose, but it lost its use when I became less of an irritable person.

Here, I will post most of my writing, past and present. If there are any content warnings, I will post them on the initial entry and have a cut leading to it, so you won't have to bitch and moan about how inappropriate whatever I wrote may be.

I just want to have some sort of archive of the stuff I've written in the past. Enjoy it, for whatever it's worth.

P.S.: It's all mine! Don't claim it as your own, or I'll track you down and... you just imagine what kind of pain I'll inflict on you. :)

EDIT: Also, for longer pieces, I will put them under a cut, so I'm not taking up your friends page.

2 legends|leave your story

you'll get what's coming to you. [27 Jan 2009|09:05pm]
[ mood | cold ]

cherry red lips,
twisted innocence,
if only you knew what those eyes did to me.

i could press her against the wall,
and she can taste the one that owns her,
submit, submit to me. (submit.)

the tease in her pretends,
and i pry her lips open,
spilling her secrets to the floor.

hush, you foolish girl,
all smiles and a bit of backbone,
i'll trace my fingers along your spine,
'til you forget what you came here for.

leave your story

libertas imperio. [27 Dec 2008|01:50am]
[ mood | contemplative ]

"How much longer do I have to endure?" she asks herself, forehead pressed against the window. She watches him through the warm glass with a sense of helplessness as he cradles his lit cigarette in trembling hands.

He inhales the poison, and his chest rattles with something akin to anxiety and some form of relief. The exhalation is gradual, as he savors the sweet burn that quells his suffering, but never hers. He takes one last breath before dropping it to the unforgiving ground, crushing it with his heel.

The ashes are swept away in the gentle summer breeze.

"I'm leaving now," he turns and says with conviction that startles her more than his recognition of her presence. "Will you take care of everything?"

She steps into the heat and nods. "Yeah, don't worry." Get better, she aches to say, but the words are caught in her throat, tasting of bile and falsehood.

He places a kiss on her forehead and parts with a simple "bye." She closes her eyes to soothe the burn, and when she opens them, the driveway is empty, and she finds herself brutally alone.

She glances at the cigarette for a moment with a brittle heart before tossing it into the pot of sand beside the door.

She returns to the house, and bathes in the sunlight to hide her tears.

leave your story

why, why, why. [27 Dec 2008|01:48am]
[ mood | lonely ]

My head aches with overflowing thoughts that make themselves known by pushing outward, and I find that I wish they would fall to the floor in a shower of blood and tears, just to relieve the pain.

Why? Isn't that always the question? Why does this happen, why, why, why. Too much time analyzing things that I can't control, things that encompass the mind and drive it to the depths of insanity. Sensitivity skyrockets and the scents stimulate your nerves and the images blind you and everything you hear only contributes to that ache, that overwhelming feeling of the loss of control.

Everyone has their own solution, and the force of theirs can be exhausting. Decisions have to be made, and yet, the feelings are always mixed. I crave human contact; I need it to remember that I am a part of this humanity and a part of this society. But yet, I find it revolting, and I crave isolation, the kind that heightens the tranquility of self-awareness.

Are feelings truly so strange? Sometimes, they feel so very foreign, and I wonder if I can make sense out of it at all.

Dreams are truly fleeting.

leave your story

little girl. [24 Nov 2008|02:04pm]
[ mood | devious ]

Little girl, bedecked in frills and lace,
why won’t you come out of your shell?
There is brilliant life outside of your mind.

“What would you know about life?” she says
while shedding her dress,
and taking up arms.

Little girl, you’ve become a jaded young woman,
why won’t you let go?
There are so many great things waiting for you.

“I’ve spent all my time waiting,” she says,
only her voice betraying her age,
but not the fire in her eyes.

Little girl, with bombshell boots and long blonde hair,
why won’t you open up?
There is someone out there for you to love.

“Love was never a part of my fairytales,” she says
with one hand on the trigger,
and the other guarding her heart.

leave your story

the city. [27 Sep 2008|12:44am]
the city sleeps, but she is only beginning.
she falls into the haze,
hungry for life the night bleeds,
skin to the floor and secrets tucked under her tongue,
only lifted with the kiss of moonlight.

the city pulses, and breathes the night.
“but those fools, they know nothing of nature,”
she thinks as she tastes the moon with feral teeth,
samples the swollen tears of heaven,
for even angels must feed.

the city dreams its dream, but this is her truth.
saints and sinners alike dwell in the night,
but both burn at her touch,
and she revels in the power,
as she gives herself to the moonlight.

the city wakes, and she falls into herself.
the first thing she feels is feeling,
but she slips silently into her body,
kisses her love goodbye,
and bites her tongue to stifle her craving for the night.
leave your story

forest. [27 Sep 2008|12:42am]
[ mood | bitchy ]

I was in a forest, a forest with green trees, even though in winter, the trees should have been barren.Collapse )

leave your story

berries. [27 Sep 2008|12:39am]
[ mood | exhausted ]

A girl of nine sat with her back to a tree, idly plucking berries from the grass beside her skinned knees.Collapse )

leave your story

rose. [23 Sep 2008|06:51pm]
[ mood | awake ]

“You remind me of a rose,” he said to her, with a peculiar form of sincerity.

She laughed the kind of laugh that contained amusement strong enough to ripple through every muscle of the body. “Are you trying to make me fall for you? It isn’t going to work with a cliché like that, sweetie.”

“No, no,” he whined, “I’m serious.”

Her blood-red fingernails grazed the skin of his arm, and she leaned forward as if to speak her most intimate secret.

“All right. Tell me.”

He attempted to compose himself. “Well…”

“Don’t be shy,” she reprimanded gently. “I want to know.”

“When I think of you… all I see is red. Your passion, your anger, your love.”

“Tell me more,” she purred, sipping her wine.

He continued hesitantly, “Everyone sees your beauty and revels in it… but nobody can touch you, because you have thorns, and they will never survive your edges.”

She tipped back the last of her wine.

“Is that so?”

And she continued to laugh.

leave your story

submit. [23 Sep 2008|06:51pm]
[ mood | happy ]

Your eyes widen at my proposition
and I think aloud,
“Good, you realize it,”
for the magnitude of this
must not be misunderstood.
But,
I know you,
and you cannot hide
your flesh or spirit.
You are blind,
but I can see the quiver of excitement
beyond your fearful facade.
(Will you agree?)

This is your chance
to freedom that only comes with
devoted sacrifice.

(Submit to me.)

But it need not be said,
for your eyes tell me
you already have.

leave your story

rebirth. [23 Sep 2008|06:44pm]
[ mood | full ]

walking among the mortal
instead of soaring with
their eternal predecessors; their mission is
healing a blackened world

doomed by the cycle
even if the creator's eyes (though often disputed) beheld
a winged beauty of
the greatest majesty with
hands touched by flame

city filled with a cacophony of sound
opens its gate to
make way for this
evening's event of
sweet unconditional sacrifice

lay among the selfish consumers
in clouds of infertile remains
from which brilliant eyes, shining with tears
emerge, born from the ashes of desolation at its finest

leave your story

consumer. [22 Sep 2008|10:03pm]
[ mood | frustrated ]

Sometimes,
I think of her
as a fruit.

She has
untouched layers that
guard her secrets.
(and I take pleasure
in peeling them away)

Her lips pout
in strawberry gashes
and seal on contact.
(but kiss
on the mouth)

I can taste
her blood; its thickness
and sweetness.
(and her core
between my teeth)

Her flesh
nourishes, and
she is consumed.

leave your story

music is my everything. [22 Sep 2008|10:00pm]
[ mood | cranky ]

I have this deep feeling of passion. Something inside me is growing, blossoming like a vibrant pink flower amidst an imminent darkness. In my heart, there's a love and fondness, not for any human, but for something more alive than any human could ever be. Alive with emotion, alive with despair. It takes its hold all too easily, and I welcome it with open arms. Music sings inside, and I'm so desperate to let it all out. I practice every night now, no matter what the circumstance. I want to do this. I want this to be my future someday.

Everytime things are okay, it tips the scale, and nothing is all right on the other side. I wish I was good enough to make everything synchronize, but nothing works in my favor anymore. It's so hopeless.

But I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid.

leave your story

remembering. [22 Sep 2008|09:57pm]
[ mood | blah ]

what in the hell is wrong with me? i'm not even in my right mind anymore. i'm so scared. there's nothing bad happening. i shouldn't be upset. or maybe i should. because something is happening. and i forget it ever so often because every time i think, i lose my mind. the cement of the sidewalks is most pleasing to the eyes, and i can just as easily lose myself in the monotony of each block. there lies every secret i've ever held in, and every experience i've ever had, and every feeling i've had that's completely incapacitated me.

so tell me, when you look back, what do you feel? happiness? naivete? nostalgia? do you smile, do you frown, do you giggle and laugh? are you proud of yourself? do you like who you were and who you are now? because i don't. maybe not as much liking who i am now, but there is no happiness when i look back. i can't even remember the happy memories. everything is so dead and cold and there's this ache every time i think about it. anything can bring it back, anything can make me feel just as helpless and hurt me just as much. i don't have anything to look back and smile at.

but, i can remember, still. i remember the soft golden glow of the lamp in the living room. the smell of fresh laundry, cigarettes, and beer. how cold the rooms of the clinic were. how hard she cried. the cut on my toe. the sting of chlorine. his hat. the taste of orange juice and decorations strewn on the floor. tan and muscular and a bluff. her screams. the bedsheets. the nearly silent mew of a cat. scratch. scratch. scratch.

but did it happen? did i imagine it all? how much of what i remember is real? illusion has more power than reality. lose yourself in your dreams, my mind manipulates. it's easier to accept a dream than the truth.

it's also more effective to forget. lock it away, says the mind. silence yourself. forget humanity. leave it all behind. do not speak. silence is key.

and look where it got me.

i can still hear the breathing outside my window. the streets are alive. and in them, holds my secrets, the truth, the lies, the distortions, who i truly am.

maybe it all really was just a dream.

leave your story

jigsaw. [22 Sep 2008|09:53pm]
[ mood | crappy ]

I am suddenly reminded of a time in which I was caught in a terrible jigsaw puzzle. I was a piece that looked like it would fit, but didn't quite have the right shape. I used to be pushed and shoved in an attempt to be forced into this place I didn't belong in.

You hated me a lot more than you let on, but only because I ruined your perfect image. Not necessarily me, but HER. I wasn't proud of her either. I understand. I don't know why I'm thinking of you right now. I think we're on a level now where I'm grown up enough to show my displeasure, and you can acknowledge me, but we get along just fine. You know some of the darkest moments of my life, her life, all of it. You witnessed the acts of betrayal and destruction and you still remember, unlike her. I want to ask you what you saw, but I know you're biased. I know. And her view of it is so distorted...

I want to know the truth. I want to know what REALLY happened. I want you to tell me her story, and even my own. You are one of the few people who knew me in times that I still don't remember. I want your side. And now that I think about it, I grew up under your eyes.

I wonder what you think of me now.

leave your story

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