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Just a Dreary poem. 
06:18pm 20/07/2005
  Imprisoned am I, within my own abyss
as the cobwebs dangle through my precious
pale, spider like fingers as they twirl
their silver thread, molding a skeletial key.
It alone unlocks the darkest secrets,
which only evening alone can forsee.
I walk the midnight, I walk the shadows
with ever nerve in my body vibrating.
Here shall be the cell, dwindling away for
eternity to waste, subside with rotting clocks,
to subdue the decaying bones.
No sunlight upon my skin, a face so ashen it
already belongs to a dead man.
      Satan, you know where I sleep...
Poem...whatever...wrote it tonight. 
03:40am 17/07/2005
  Remember me as the roses fall in October,
I'll be recounting all the ways that we
collapsed into each other's gaze like
Birch trees calloused in their disease.
Never did the sky seem so endless...
In all of my days, drowning in the breath
of blue, that turned upside down in this
world where the ocean was meant to be on
the bottom shelf. You treated me with the
vindication of an artifical flower, hanging
loosely on the shelf...threatening to fall
over into your waiting hand, open...extended
like the pale legs of a spider.
At least the fall was graceful, you remarked
as we departed from the store, the road
sweeping through the winding country side,
following the bricks...the hills, the vast
expanse of nothing and everything as though
it were captured inside a snow globe.
The same slender fingers circling around, to
shake this world like a toy...and we flew,
how we flew like the glittering jewels of
cells, or like grass after a drizzle.
There we landed...and remained for some time,
lost within each other's eyes as time, it
evolved, spent and wasted as leaves heaved
themselves from branches. And I sighed.
Remember me as the roses fall in October,
I'll be counting all the ways that we laughed
in each other's wake, shadows cast in
mauled ivory, glistening on the pavement.
      Satan, you know where I sleep...
01:26am 17/07/2005
  The Not-so-pretty girls
The Not-so-pretty girls

like me

we've gotta stick together.
we're good
if we're good at heart

we've got pretty hair
or pretty eyes
it just doesnt come together
but we don't have to fall apart

My face isn't sparkling beautiful
and even a better body wont change that

So what if I wasnt born down-right beautiful

Sight is selective

if i'm good

maybe you'll just notice

my pretty eyes
* * *
      1 thought -  Satan, you know where I sleep...
03:22pm 15/07/2005
  Massochist Love Story ...or The girl I just don't understand
Call me a cunt
Call me a whore
kiss me and bruise me

And Baby I'm yours

The only boy
i'll ever love
will tell me i'm not good enough

this is my tragic love story

wont you weep for me?
How cruel
How cruel the boy!

But I love him!- I'll say!
I can't leave him!
I love him!

And they'll say:

you deserve better

and they'll hold me

and listen with shocked eyes

And baby watch out,
when I tell the guys!
Cause how angry they'll be!
How dare that piece shit
pick on poor little me!

And they'll say:

leave him honey!
you're so pretty!
you're so smart!
any boy would be lucky to have you!
to win your heart!
he doesnt deserve you!
you could have anyone!
you don't need to put up with this shit!

And i'll say:
i'm scared!
he said if I leave he'll...!

i love him!

it was my fault anyway!

he says he loves me!

And i'll say i'm leaving
then tell you why I can't
and i'll stay

Because I love him

Because he calls me a cunt
and He calls me a whore
and he holds me to roughly
and I keep begging for more

my sweet addiction
my tragic love story

wont you weep for me?

I can't wait to see your faces when I tell you!

And all the guys
will come with their fists
ready to fight

they'll come to my rescue

to be my white knight

oh how they love the damsel in distress

who knew this game
could ever be over?

*Just a thought exploration into some girls I dont understand...the kind who seem to like to be in abusive relationships, maybe for the attention? Idk...but yeh... there ya' go. No, it's not a poem about myself. Alot of the heavier poems I post wont be, I have a heavey interest in psychology and behavior...dont mind me.

*very poorly written but idc, i dont have much time, just flexing a bit...
      1 thought -  Satan, you know where I sleep...
01:13pm 14/07/2005
mood: worried
Your imagery is painful flattery,
making me feel like something worthy
of a Van Gogh landscape.
It leaves the impression of beauty,
Yet I am not nearly so precious as
vivacious Irises, or tree's of
violet, blue and green.
Don't trip and fall over me...
      Satan, you know where I sleep...
Just a random poem off the top of my head. 
01:14am 01/07/2005
mood: sleepy
...The sky is falling...whirl wind grey like headaches to the God's...

...grain seeds floating like pixies over oceans of grass...

...blue...eyes...like glass stained in the window of my mind...

...I want to be a flower, with a soul that can carry me away...

...on transparent wings, whispers of found winds blowing....

...like a ghost across the meadow, drowning...in fallen...

...pieces of sky...
      Satan, you know where I sleep...
Recording this into the community.... 
02:33pm 24/06/2005
mood: indifferent
Lacerate me out of reality, as you
had woven me in with your diligent,
soft fingers...working the sticky
thread, creating around you a tragic

Dissolve me from this existence
as a pill melts on your tongue,
tiny fabrications of the imagination
that builds block, upon block of
reality...crumbling under my weight.

I want to be listless, drifting on the
currents as their moods re-arrange
their direction. To be swept away...
out of this dimension, escape...
detached like a head consumed with smog.

Breathe...once, twice...Another breath.
All there is to living, a breath. Slowly
another piece into existence, eyes of green...
melted into brown, and ebony...breathe...
A lock of black hair, resting on ivory skin...

No...breathe, the eyes remind me of a rag-doll
tossed the other day, a decoration for the landfill.
...breathe, once...twice...Throw her away...
The frail body dissolving from reality with a
flinch, a painful memory...no...breath, to render
it into life...drifting into the devastation...

Sever this tie that makes my wrists ache,
push me with the wind, into the draft that
would sweep me away...Work your magic, and work
it well...that the memories may be turned to statues
of stone, that I myself become nothing...disappeared.

...make...me...disappear...and weightless...
      Satan, you know where I sleep...
left-over relics of love and pain. 
02:13pm 24/06/2005
mood: sad
three a.m. blues- and I'm without an out of tune guitar
no dull-plucked strings of sorrow, to sing my dreams goodnight

physically. mentally- left wondering if it even matters
because a broken heart may mend.
but nothing second-hand is ever as enduring
[alluring]. or worth fighting for.
dying for. or risking another lie to try and save

and when we're broken-
it's so easy to understand the meaning of nothing.
to see the cracked/fractures and split seams
believing in a being of delusion

you are my dream, and I am your nightmare
feet shaking. cold: falling out of your bed alone
clutching the stone-cold promises
from those lips that said
they'd never leave you alone
now we're thrown into an abyss- of sorts
dismissed by the world.
bored. torn apart and fed to the wind.

and you are my masterpiece
and we are diseased- displeased with what we can't have
stabbing toward a new world of disorder
with hour-glass tears- fearing tomorrow. drowning our sorrows
[in lies]

and it's me that you despise-

[we watched the stars fall down- breaking the sky
and your eyes were on fire. burning me like a comet
towards the pit of my heart.

we walked away from oblivion- clutching yesterday's promises
in our sweaty palms. and dreaming of ink-penned disasters
giving away our loves- waiting for them to be sold
because nothing in this world ever lasts- just remnants
of what we strove our lives to become.

left-over relics of love and pain.

emotion.devotion- and everything in between: slowing it down-
we're lost and alone- always. so. alone]

-dream. my dear, they can't hear you
and you're better off on your own
      1 thought -  Satan, you know where I sleep...
First poem... Anorexic Queen of the Highway 
01:01am 21/06/2005
mood: sick
...the weightless ecstacy builds up
like a flower blooming in the breeze,
with gently swaying reeds, moving in and
out of the haze before...eyes sunken in the
head that blur as people pass by.
I sat in the grass on the Church's holy ground,
singing a blasphemous song that recklessly
departed from my soul, about sex
and disco propaganda that stole
my mind back in time...to an era
that perhaps would have explained a little
more about life. But over it is, has been...
and it only grows more so...each year,
each decade...And I sat beneath the sacred
Tree, watching blindly, without observing as
curious people passed me by, muttering
"...high school dropout..." beneath their breath,
a teacher shaking his head in my direction...
She's a drifting seed on the wind, with
no place for her roots to drink in, no ground
that will hold her...just drifting through trafic
a worthless face colored with make-up like
a tattered ragdoll thats been thrown out in
the trash. Pausing a moment, her eyes
focused in on some boys across the street,
playing with cars...laughter...memories...
Then she's falling back, her weightless body
onto the grass while her mind steers her
down another path, to the train tracks and
a gentle hand...where are you now...?
Worthless...she thought...
      Satan, you know where I sleep...