Sunday, 20 September 2009

to annonymous...

Who ever you are.
you have spurned me on.
Thankyou for you encouragement.

you are loved
I wish you love luck and life.


number 180.

Elated in my nightmares, my dreams dwell in despair
because i know that when i close, my eyes he's always there.
You may think you understand, when you have no idea,
I have lost his eyes his voice and face my deepest fear.
My memory stared fading and my screams are muted strings
for in my nightmares i no longer fear those stupid things.
For now i long to remember all things i used to hate,
Little things note just for him, but now its just too late.
I scratched away a part of me that now i want back bad,
The part that i associated with him and all things sad.
Woe is me the suicide blonde with eyes so blue with tears
what i once dreamed would give me peace are now my dreaded fears.
One small word i cling to now because i gives me peace,
One small word i'll cling to now until the day i cease.
'Really?!' can you blame me for this hole i dug my self?
I made my bed, i'll lie in it, where worms can help themself.
That small word can send a thousand jolts up through my spine
one memory i treasure now and till the end of time.
Nestled in that hole that used to live my broken heart,
i huddle with the parts that stayed for fear they will depart.
A hole for a heart.
A lemon for a smile.
A dime for everytime that they run a mile.
A pea for a brain.
A nut for my armour.
A cut for each time i fall for a charmer.


And so i bounded through the forest with ease as i gulped down the feeling of freedom. The wisp of green and brown moss flying beneath my feet feel exhilarating. It has been too long.

My name is Pandora the first, the one and the only. I am a figure of Casper's imagination, perhaps you could call me her alter ego, nonetheless i am running through the wall of green.

The cold air rushes past my skin at high speed, it cools my raging anger as it pulses my veins. Who am i running from you may well ask? And my answer would automatically be, i not running from, rather running to. I am charging towards my future. My life.

''The Prince turned and took her by the hand and skipped off in to the sunset. Her white dress trailing behind and the onion that i gave him falls from his hand, i know it falls, he would not intentionally drop it. As they rush off in to paradise.
* * *
Looking at them, blissfully happy i shrivle up inside. I walk over to the onion and pick it up carefully. But something is making my eyes smart, and i have a feeling its not the onion i am cradling in my blistered hands.

I crumple to the ground, rock my body forwards and backwards, trying to loose myself in the rhythm. The wet grass is soaking my shorts and sticking to the soles of my feet. The floor is soggy now and the rain is falling faster and faster pelting my hair to my face arms and back.

The Prince and his bride lay beside each other on a blanket on a warm summers evening. His chest a pillow to her soft cheek. He turns to look deep into her light blue eyes rimmed with fans of eyelashes...

My eyes are red, with emotion i havent quite worked out yet. I look up into the sky, into the dark grey cloud that is hovering above my head and the bolt shoots down to my core and takes away the misery.

Oh Pandora? Why did i open that box? Why did i give him an onion ? Why ?''

Saturday, 12 September 2009

Egg aka the suicide blonde

Why does that suicide blonde always look so...suicidal? Those eyes kept down, they look like they are trying to be strong, trying to papermache over her secrets even though its obvious. They are spilling out of her. Her crazy messy hair pilled around her face, trying to hide her shame. Why is she so sad? Why does suicide blonde walk around on her own, strut as if she feels tall inside? The girl with the pale skin with veins that score her journy through life. The roads she is to travel. Why does this girl hide behind her quirky smiles and kinky one liners? Who is she? Does anyone know? Because i'd like to tell her, she's a fake. And to anyone else, beware of the suicide blonde with the eyes that spell pain in spirals, she is trouble.

The ipod is her oxygen, she breathes in the music and blocks out the sound of life around her. Her eyes are glued to the floor, craves invisibility when she is not being talked to. Leaks her pain onto the internet for the world to read annonymously with identity. False as her life. Why i ask is she so strange. Does she live in a box. I think so. A box made from carboard with painted flowers on the side. Painted with the blood from when she picks the scabs of her heart.

She is like an Egg. Hard as a nut on the outside, all the same, blends in or so she hopes. However one small crack and she plops out. The diferent parts of her. Her heart and her soul. If you are really forceful her heart will break too and will bleed the yoke of her Egg. One thin layer i compare to her armour. Small and hard. These days however she has boiled herself so much that when you drop her, her inside will not break. Or spill. Or bleed. It is just dead and lifeless inside.

Suicide blonde is killing herself inside out with her depressive nature. And with no one noticing the shell she has created around her, she will continue doing so.It is all she know how now. Its a one way track. Shes lost and cant go back.
Who can i be for you today?
I'm sorry but happy is out of stock.
We have only the sadness on display.

Can i intrest you in depressed?
Its very popular at the moment.
huh! who would have guessed.

We also have mood blue on sale
its going for 24/7, great deal.
and effective for even males.

Thankyou for shopping at cas's
i hope you enjoyed our customer service
Please tell us where we went wrong.

Thursday, 10 September 2009

acidic burns the skin that connects me to my parents.

Anger curses through my veins
volumes pumped in out my heart
who is there to pull the reins
when my actions begin to start.

Prejudistic views have they
Upon no back do they posess
Ive tried before to begin to say
what went wrong with all this mess.

Innocent in a corner she knows not there
and fought a helpless with no voice
how ever can this fight be fair
when the oponent has no choice.

Im shouting but they never hear
im whispering but think i shout
im calling out but i fear
they dont even know what this is all about.

Neanderthols i compare to thee
because your reason has no point
your speech is never directed at me
as if i aspire to disapoint.

finding a way to lie to myself seems harder than first anticipated.

Ok i now know i have major problems with keeping the past in the past. My problem is that i cant leave it there. I can not put it in an envelope and post it to the neverlands. My problem is that i cant fall 'out' of love.

I still wobble at the sight of certain places, at certain cars, it makes me weak to see couples walking along holding hands or kissing like nobody is watching. And when i see somebody with the same kind of shirt, not even the same shirt, or a similar haircut or walk, i feel sick and want to curl up and hid behind the nearest non moving object.

Clasping my sweaty hands i tell myself that one day my peace will come, that this faded memory will evaporate until I'm left standing looking at him and i wont waver. But still at the back on my mind i hear a tiny me with a big voice screaming at the top of her lungs, ''STOP LYING TO YOURSELF.'' That itself is a stab in the back. Myself is even trying to stop me lying to it.

Memories make my stomach ache. A longing that i can not fulfill with a delicious kiss or a sweet voice melting in my ears. Who can i trust anymore when i cant even lie to myself? The funny thing is that i don't even see myself and 'said guy' when i see couples kissing, i see 'said guy' and some other girl. I feel so hurt and angry and so damn confused at why i am still feeling this way.

I thought at the beginning that if i went out a bit more and enjoyed myself, experiment with drink and guys i may get over him. If i found a relationship with someone/thing else. However this experiment did not work. This failed attempt at moving on made my condition worse, so that now i feel like a total loser for pinning over an x for so many months.

Get a grip of yourself woman.

Tuesday, 8 September 2009

I am the chemo

Sadness creeps up on you. Then screams in your face so you cant see anymore. Theres something in the way of your vision burning and blurring everything. Its like a fist around your heart, as if when it is squeezed all the sadness will leak out through your eyes.
Today all that substance i felt that made me real, that gave me something to stand upon fell from beneath me and crashed into my heart and soul. My skin felt hot and my eyes felt sticky. Hearing him speak about her and the look he had in his eyes, i wanted to scream, i wanted to run, i wanted to slap him but most of all i wanted to look him in the face and tell him how much i love him. It kills me to see the pain and the sick and twisted disease running through his veins polluting his every word, with saddened happiness. With distant chirp in his tone, luring a hopeful look from within my eyes. It wont come, because i know. I know what is going to happen. I know what is to come, where he will go. And that place is a place where i cant follow. My train is not in the station yet. My name has not been called.
I know i should rejoice that his time had come to re-unite with God.
I am the disease running through his veins killing everything i see in my way. Because i want him to have the chemo, i want to see him one more time. I want that reassurance that he is going to be there. I am killing him. I am the chemo. With ever evil word i have ever tasted in my mouth or mind i murder the father of my mother.

Tuesday, 1 September 2009

Truth or Dare?

I have nothing to write today. I have nothing in my brain that is screaming at me to type yet i still feel the need to write. Its like a burning under my skin telling me that i have to write something, anything. So now i am at lost for words. Am i angry? And i sad? i have no idea. but i know that im not happy, and to get to the bottom of this mystery i will look at my life. I think its time for some home truths.
The beginning. I want it all. Everything. I want to be a journalist i want to travel, i want to go to university, i want to work on beaches, i want to do charity work. Theres so many things that i want to be that i want to do that im scared that if i pick it wont be the right one.
Me? Im the one who fits in with all categories but doesnt fall into one. Im a floater. Never really understanding where i am meant to be, even my friends are an array of personalities with no links what so ever. I dont know who i am. But i think im beginning to. When i was younger i hated clothes. I detested wearing shoes or socks and would rather wander butt naked. This is a truth about me. Maybe if i delve into my younger self i will find who i am. An overgrown hippie disguised in a suit of armour. My armour has chinks in it and lots of scratches on the inside and out. But i just cant seem to escape. Its glued with self disrespects and self loathing.
The middle. I love everything. I find no common ground with anything. Its as if i can't choose. Which is very true, i am very indecisive. When i come to a crossroads, i am so scared i will make the wrong decision that i just sit there and wait for someone to make the decision for me. Im not wild and free anymore. And i want to be.
The future. I want to be free and wild again. I need to stop worrying, or maybe the answer is to worry. Maybe i dont worry enough. I dont worry about the consequences about not deciding. Im not worried about standing still in the life that i am leading. Ill make decisions instead of leaving my future up to someone else.
Its pretty bizarre to think that i started this post with nothing to say and yet the words just spilled out of my fingers like a cup of coffee.
The truths.
-I run because i am searching.
-Music holds the key to my sanity.
-My love is locked in the room on a motel somewhere on route 66.
-I get scared if someone holds me too tight.
-I dont like to be too close to people. Mentally and physically.