Imagine if the world revolved around you. If you were the center of the universe, the star of the show..What would you do with that? Would you let the sheer power of it overthrow your simple little life and make it something ugly and twisted? Or would you make everyone you know a bit of a happier person?
Personally, I’d make my life an ugly, twisted awful thing. But I’d have fun.
this may have been a few months ago..but this is one of my favorite memories of us. because shit is complicated with you and your love/past love or whatever the hell. i love you my dear, whole heartedly and i just wanted to tell the world. ^_^
Just because you tell everyone else they’re gorgeous, it doesn’t mean that you feel that way, y’know?
Foolish
Why would i think she wanted me?
She..she never has, never will.
Why did I consider myself her friend?
Idiocy. But that;s ended.
We are friends, lovers, no more.
Nothing—all we ever had was leaving, any way.
She could never find me attractive.
No one can.
I’ll always be a friend. Something used.
I can’t take this.
I want to runaway and never say goodbye.
Who would care?
Two people, maybe?
“Sorry” she says. Fuck you.
How dare she pretend that she’s sorry.
She was pretending. She lied. For me.
She wanted me to be happy.
I’d be able to lie for her.
And lie well. No one would no how unhappy i was.
But I’m not worth the lie.
And this pain—this world-shattering hurt—I’m feeling..
This builds character.
And I’m already Mickey Mothafuckin Mouse.
‘ve waited so long for this moment. You’re tied up and I’ve got nothing but built up, long repressed, crazed rage. I’d ask if you’re ready, but you could never be ready for what you’re about to endure. This has been inevitability. So glad that you could make it to your last day on Earth.
Hope you enjoyed your time here, cos now I’m sending you to Hell. You know that place you’ve sent me to? The one no one can save you, where no one can stop me. Beg. That’s fucking right, beg. Beg for me to let you go. Plead. Bleed.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmnnn….I waited so long to make you do this. Beg. Plead. Bleed. Scream. Cry. This must’ve been how you felt right? The power…Oh, my, my…this power. This overwhelming sense of surety and sweet revenge mixed with all of my ravishing anger. I won’t stop until I devour you. Honest.
I swore to myself ages ago that I’d get you. Where do I start? Should I cut off your ‘manhood’ or should I just burn and cut you? I’ll save the best for last. Torture it is, then.
Hmmmm….let me consult my tools. Which should I use? I trail my hand across the line of them. Saws, ranging in size. Knives, all sharper than they should be. Lighters, matches, a mini-flame thrower, all the better to scorch you with, my dear. Straps and ships, mostly cos I get bored and like to go medieval. And my personal favorite, brass knuckles. This’ll be fun.
Painful, this love
Sweet, sweet. Oh so lovely.
Don’t worry about me.
He didn’t mean to bruise me-
I deserved this..
It’s my fault.
I’m not good enough for him. I’m
Lucky to have such a
Wonderful guy
What do you mean, he’s bad for me?
He’s perfect.
We’re perfect-can’t you see?
Meant to be.
He only hits me cos he loves me.
That’s all.
You don’t see the way he
Looks at me-
Like I’m the only one
In the Whole World
He loses his temper-
Once in a while.
Breaks little things,
Throws stuff.
Says mean words….hits me…
He doesn’t really mean it.
The smell of love is in the air.
It’s the best thing in the world.
It lights up my day.
Sweet, wet, soft.
The loud booming—
I’m not afraid.
Let the bright electricity flow..
Shock me-like an electric eel.
Fire burns, trees have been hit.
What to do?
Let us dance.
That’s what was meant to be done.
In this, love.
Sropds, drips, sweet.
Dance, enjoy it, don’t make it
Go to waste.
How I have missed
This feeling for the
Passed few months
The chilling cold must now submit
To the great and Beautiful.
This love is the first step.
This love has many names.
I cannot say them
All. But the most common
I’ve heard is rain.
She strums, he sings. They dream about being in magazines. Young love, they go fast, from kissing to snogging, snogging to groping, groping right on to sex. They think they’re in love, they might be, but the baby comes and now they have to be.
They name her Music, because she’s their greatest love. She hated her name, she didn’t see the beauty in it, all she knows is that she gets made fun of for it. She had to live with the name, so she had people call her Muse instead.
She disappoints her parents with her love for beats, rather than guitar. Life gets harder with every year; her father refuses to let her mother work, he only does gigs at a bar. They know nothing else but music, they only live for Music. As Music grew, her mother began to fall in and out of love with her father. He didn’t notice, but Music did. She saw when her mother got dressed up, make-upped, while her father was playing gigs in the middle of the night.
She would come back, her hair messed up, loaded with cash that she kept secret. Little did Music know, her mother was silently keeping their entire world together, while keeping her father’s dream alive. She didn’t hear her mother’s weeping in the middle of the night.
Her father was oblivious, a happy fool. He never saw the sadness in his wife’s face, his daughter never dared to tell him. She was his little girl, even though she called him by his name. She insisted that she was an adult at the age of fifteen. She said she was, but there are times that even adults aren’t ready for things.
She definitely wasn’t ready for what happened to her mother. She found her lying nude, in her parents’ bed, covered with a blanket. Her eyes sill open, the pill bottle in one hand, the glass of water spilled over the pillow. She wouldn’t move, she wouldn’t breathe, her hands were cold. Music called for an ambulance, it was too late. She was gone.
And so was her father. He was nothing without his wife. Like lyrics without guitar….he couldn’t live without his oxygen, so he laid down in the same spot and didn’t move. He wouldn’t eat, sleep, drink. His little girl watched him slowly kill himself.
After the loss of her father, the only person she actually cared about in the entire world, Music ran away. She ran away from her little life, cut her hair, changed her clothes. She used the last of her money to buy spray paint bottles and paint the town black. She cried hysterically while she did it. When she was arrested, she went willingly. She was convicted, then went to jail for a few months.
When she was released, she began to play the guitar. She wrote songs, she wrote so many songs about the love her parents showed her. And when she was discovered-which didn’t take very long- she told the man her name: Music.
