I'm in love with a Vampire

Deep crosses engrave her palms and grungy black ink stains her eyes. Skin whiter than milk decorated by stars and her lips speak sorrow but they look like a daydream. Tan waves touch her shoulders and slowly they curl, she straightens them slowly with the tips of her fingers. Long nails scratch at her skin as she feels stuck and must relive her confinement. Blood trickles down her mouth and her sinister smile sneers at me, I gasp for air. Suffocating me with her deadly tread, slow and steady I turn to face her. Eyes fall onto mine like dwindling rose petals and she stares at me. Lust? Maybe that is what her eyes yearn for, but why does her smile look so weary? As I think of what she is thinking she leans forward and rips into my chest. Ruby rivers spit out of me and I feel deceived. She has ripped out my heart, and I fall to my knees. I look up at her moon lit face and watch her take a bite. As if she was being watched she slowly smirks and daintily chews of a piece. My eyes shutter and the last thing I see flash before my eyes is her eyes. Her dead pan black rose eyes that cut into me like a sword. 

Part of My Stories: Constellations

Constellations. You said that my freckles were like constellations. I asked you why you would compare stars to my facial markings and you said “Because there are so many of them and some are hardly noticeable and some stand out like thorns. But when you look hard enough you notice how beautiful they are, and as if it were normal you connect them into pictures.” “Your freckles are constellations for humans, beautiful natural unexpected art.”

Old Poem: Under Pressure

Breath in. Breath Out.
Calmly know that we are dieing
Laugh at it
Stare into it

Darkness is the glory we bring
Sadness what a sweet slumber
Entranced we stare at the beginning of our end
Here we are again stuck alone in the dark

Floating like a lifeless ship
Broken and misdirected we sail
The water is cold and shivers tickle my spine
Clouds circling above like vultures

Taunting me with black smoke
Rain drips from their eyes and the ship sinks
Down, down, down we go
Drowning in the pitch black hole

Murky water and lifeless wood
Paralyzed in a state of disgruntled thoughts
Falling slowly to the bottom of it all
Pieces that once were whole finally fall

What have I done? I make no sense.

  Yesterday I cut again for the first time in months. I still don’t completely register why, but my heart was beating so fast and my palms where bleeding sweat. I wanted to scream, jump out of my body, and break everything. Take pieces of shattered glass from my mirror and slit my wrists. I wanted to die so bad I could taste the death on my tongue. So I took the old razor from my bathroom and slit up and down my legs and arms. What I thought were just a few cuts were many and they were scattered all over my legs. I was pleased with my work and I sang this Cristina Perry song called the ‘Lonely’ and I just felt like I had finally lost it. I felt like a crazy and delusional asylum patient and I finally felt peace. I had never been so crazy and I never have really let it go. I had held so much in that it felt so good to get it out.

       My arms and legs were on fire, sweet pain it was so good to feel battered and breakable. Losing it once in a while wasn’t as scary as holding it all inside.

   I think I did it mostly not just to get it out but to see if any one would notice I was losing it. See my brother is the center of everyone’s attention because he’s the baby and he’s filled with hyperactivity. So that day I was starting to have some anxiety and I didn’t want to cause more trouble by telling my grandma. I just went and decided to take a break and try to get my heart rate down. It was beating so fast I could hear my chest thumping and feel my self throbbing. I paced around my room and sang as loud as I could to block out the piercing sound of my heartbeat fasting. Then the idea popped in my head; Cut until it stops, lose yourself and bleed the anxiety out. And you know the rest; I got the razor and shredded my body into fine red lines.

     Well I locked my door while doing this and thought maybe someone would try to check on me and then notice I locked the door. See I have a history of self-harm and I am diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression so I am not allowed to lock my door. Stupidly I must have hadn’t closed the door good enough because it shook and opened but no one came in. No one was there to rescue me and clean my wounds. All I want is some shred of love here, someone to tell me “It’s okay, you’re all right” or at least give me a hug? Just show me that I’m still as important as I was before he came. I’m such a child aren’t I? Attention hog, a stupid white depressed idiot with no life. A joke.

     All I want is to be wanted, but no matter what I always push them away with my disease. Sometimes I think I was built to be a used up play thing that only gives happiness when other people need it. I’m just a comfort zone that you step in once in a while to feel whole again. Bless the people who are like this. Used up, washed away, suffering from a desire that is just a dead dream.

Thoughts #1

   You know how sometimes people say what you want isn’t what you need? Well I’m constantly stuck between that; wanting something so bad yet knowing it’s isn’t what I need. In my head everything is so complicated and everything is a meaning with in a meaning with in another meaning. If I could stop those thoughts and just know that it’s all simple and that I’ll survive, maybe I wouldn’t need so much medication. I wish there was a pill that put your mind to sleep so instead of losing time you’d still be awake just not thinking.