Black curatins over stormy windows,
Sad boys crying in their hands,
Secret places abandoned when secrets die,
A surprise not going as planned.
White walls with nothing on them,
Songs so beautiful and sad,
A moon that's full of memories,
People who're sick gone bad.
Stuffed animals with no one to hold them,
A butterfly with ruined wings,
Someone who dies unknown,
Heart-rending songs beautiful people sing.
Broken hearts from infidelity,
Eyes older than age,
Stories with bittersweet endings,
Books missing a page.
When people who love aren't loved back,
Crying in the rain,
Reaching for someone who's not there,
One of your friends being in pain.
Curling in a ball and crying,
Leaving love behind,
When beautiful things get ruined,
Things you just can't find.
Blue Between Black and White
Written by [Your Favorite Stranger]
The day she walked away,
They say it broke her heart that day,
They say she knew she couldn't stay,
And let him use her heart for play.
He begged her please: she answered nay,
The day she walked away.
The life she led was by his way,
Everything for him, it was okay
To hurt for love, she'd always say.
She would do just as she may,
But one bad move, her heart he'd flay --
Until the day she walked away.
His solid touch held dejection at bay,
Her worship of him kept them from a fray,
In the cool of the night, they lay
Wrapped up in each other, and sometimes she'd pray
That they'd be as hidden as a needle in the hay.
But not on the day she walked away.
The day she walked away.
They say it broke her heart that day.
They say she knew she couldn't stay
And let him use her heart for play.
So now she's alone and sits on the quay
Since the day she walked away.
The Day She Walked Away
Written by [Your Favorite Stranger]
They say let go,
Like it's really that easy,
Like it's just a relaxation of muscles,
Like it's just as easy as forgetting.
Hah, forgetting's not easy,
Forgetting's as hard as letting go,
But it is easier, in a way.
Let go.
I laugh cynically.
I can forgive, but I can't forget.
I can hold tight to hardship,
But
I can't let go.
Or is it,
I won't let go.
Why should I?
Would it be easier?
Would it be better for me?
Would it help me win?
I don't really think it matters,
It's not like I want to go back.
Not like I want him back.
Surprised?
I sometimes wish for what we had,
But I would never go back.
No, not ever.
Yes, I loved him, maybe I still do,
What's that got to do with it?
No, don't answer -- it's bull -- and I don't want to hear it.
So what do I have to hold?
What do I have to hold...
You're kinda funny, you know?
I can hold my grief.
Oh bloody...no, shh, be QUIET!
Grief is not pain,
It hurts, but not intolerably,
More...intimately than anything else, really.
It's something when there's nothing.
You think it's bad, don't you?
No, don't answer, I already know you do.
Oh well.
I'm doing just fine, aren't I?
No, don't answer that either.
I am. I know it.
And let's say, hypothetically, I'm not.
I will be.
Yes, I will.
I will win.
Yes, I will.
Remember that:
I WILL WIN.
With or without your pathetic excuse for help.
And my grief will clap for me when I do.
It's there to hold me when I'm alone.
It's there period.
Oh, I'm masochistic?
Are you sadistic?
Well, you're certainly not helpful.
You do not try.
I glare coldly.
Don't lie to me.
It's bull, and I will not put up with it.
I think we're about done.
Yes, I do-- I'm looking at the clock.
I stand up and say concedingly
You're only good for one thing,
And that's to make me mad enough to tell the truth.
So, I will hold my grief close
-- I smirk --
And see you later.
Sessions with Mr. TIPPs
Written by [Your Favorite Stranger]
TIPPs stands for Terrible Inner Psychologist Person. The 's' is just because I want to.
The moon shines brightly onto a bed through the clean windows in a upstairs bedroom. A girl sits cross-legged on the bed. She holds her wrist in her hand, carressing the small, white scars in an affectionate, dreamy manner.
Darkness, a friend, not an enemy,
Nothing for me to fear out here,
Because I am stronger than everything that lurks in the shadows:
I am the shadows.
A queer sort of justice,
Evildoers dead will be found,
Pit life is all I need.
I feed on the blood of those who are evil
Though I am evil myself.
Ah yes, I am damned,
Bound to walk, to kill, to hide in darkness
For longer than my natural life.
But maybe, I'm not so damned,
Maybe, just as a mortal human,
I have the choice to be saved, to be good.
Is it possible?
How can it be?
I kill to live,
Though I'm never alive.
I judge those who are like me,
Though they do what they do not out of necessity,
But out of greed, out of malice.
So? Does that make me different?
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
Could God forgive me this?
He knows I want to be a saint, though I am a killer.
Lestat
J. M. Kent
posted by J. M. Kent @ 11:16 AM 1 comments
Sunday, October 30, 2005
You Were
You were my breath, you were my water,
You were my life, you were all that mattered.
You were my comfort, you were my dream,
You were my love, you were all I would need.
You were my sky, you were my sea,
You were my rain, you were there for me.
You were my bed, you were my friend,
You were my music that would never end.
You were my chocolate, you were my kiss,
You were my angel, you were my bliss.
You were my smile, you were my wings,
You were my laughter, you were my king.
You were my warmth, you were my joy,
You were my hug, you were my boy.
You were my pillow, you broke my shell,
You always caught me when I fell.
You were my heaven, you were my hug,
You were my moon, you were from above.
You were all these things and more,
You were everything I could wish for.
You loved me for being me,
I was who you wished to see.
Now you're gone, like everything else.
Can I live, without myself?
I don't want a man who [catches me up when I fall], I want a man who [keeps me from falling]
Just as a once in a while thing, when I feel down, I'll talk to you, referring to you as you, rather than him...
How can I help feeling let down? You may not have actually promised me much, no, not much at all, but I seem to remember a few certain things, and you did say you'd love me no matter what happened, that in five years, it wouldn't matter what people said, am I right? Of course I am. But I mean, you still say that, so what's changed? What's changed indeed. I suppose the fact that I've stopped lying to myself might have helped me see that you never did (and still don't) really love me. So I can't really complain to anyone but myself for you not loving me can I? Well, for me finally knowing that you don't love me and feeling rather alone and used, possibly for the first time. Oh well, first time for everything eh?
*upon entering, begins coughing uncontrollably
Ever have periods where you don't really feel much emotion, you don't really seem to think as much? Where it seems to be that you are simply existing, rather than living? Almost like a sleep of the soul, I suppose you could say poetically, if you wished. To me, it's rather alarming, and I'll try to fight it, try to feel soemthing, try to think about things that make me have feelings, but it doesn't seem to work. I feel horrible, it's like going to a funeral and not crying, you know? Anyway, I may very well be the only one who has ever felt this way. Oh well, better for the rest of you right?
Hey Dad,
Just kinda wonderin' where you are.
I mean, I know you're never far,
But tonight, I feel alone,
Like in my heart, nobody's home.
I'm just wondering if you remember your promise --
To never leave me? Have you forgotten?
Cuz there's heartache close behind me,
And I'm hoping that you'll find me
Before the world comes crashing down
In top of me and I hit the ground,
Where the floor has been worn thin
From when I fall and fall again.
Honestly, I hate to complain.
I mean, I can probably stand the rain.
It's just, you told me you'd be here,
But I don't feel you, so I fear
You've let me down. You've walked away.
If you were anyone else, I wouldn't have anything to say:
If I were anyone else, I'd walk away too.
But, see, the thing is, you're not "anyone"; you're you.
I seriously thought you were someone I could trust,
You always said you would get to me or bust.
But where are you now?
All I see are stormclouds.
Dad, I really need to feel you near.
You really get me, loud and clear.
You really love me, even when I hate me.
And right now, I really need you to save me.
Provide the cave where I can hide,
Help me to be brave while I'm on this ride.
Please, don't just leave me to sink or swim:
Without your arms around me, I doubt that I can win.
Please come back, I'm calling out your name!
I don't want to go back to being lonely and without aim.
Oh, wait. From my heart, from deep inside some cleft,
I'm hearing a whisper, it's saying... "I never left."
A Letter To Somewhere
This, in case you don't know, not written to my physical father, who I actually call Pa. It's written to my father in heaven and on earth, and really, all over. Just thought I'd explain that.
I see a girl sitting all alone
Her head hung low
I touch her shoulder , cold to the bone
Her eyes more skittish then a doe
Have you come to play?
she tenderly asks
I can tell shes been sitting here all day
But at home I've got endless tasks
Her eyes are clear
the lightest blue
It would kill me to seem them unclear
Or a darker hue
So I sit on the bench and hang my head low
I look out far as she begins to sob
As her tears fall so does the snow
Her body shaking trying not to sound like a snob
She whispers it silently
Love...she mutters
It's like a young child killing you violently
It hurts worse then death she stutters
I just nod my head
And close my eyes against the blistering snow
She thinks of death
as we both hang our heads Low.
Look a poem for you my pretty
Written by [Ego Diligo Tu]
*hugs knees tightly to chest* I want a hug. Not a hug from someone in my family, not from Caleb, or from Bethany, or from someone who it would be normal, or awkward. I just want a hug. Cuz I'm just so feakin' emo, if that's what you wanna think. Cuz I just want attention, you can think that too. You can think what you want cuz it's a free country. But I still want my hug.
I daze off contentedly into space
With you whispering sweet nothings in my ear,
Words that mean nothing, yet mean everything.
We are safe, we are protected, because we waited
Until the right time, until the right night.
So let me touch you, let me kiss your mouth,
I made a mistake before, but not with you.
I am forgiven, and you are amazing.
Touching, holding, loving is not a sin for us,
And we never profaned the gift together.
So let us open the gift, again and again,
Because it never gets old, and it’s always beautiful.
Let me take time to absorb your beauty,
And I’ll glow for you like a star,
Because your love will make me shine,
And our innocence will be our key
To unlocking the door never opened by either of us.
I never had that key, you never had that key,
But together we’ll open that door,
And explore what lies behind.
Waiting
For my soulmate, who’s out there somewhere
May Break My Bones
Waking up to a bleeding sun in a bruised sky,
I wipe my swollen eyes, minding the swelling.
I pull on my jeans, careful of my broken leg,
Then slowly pull on my shirt, avoiding the cut on my chest.
I look in the mirror, not bothering to cover my wounds with makeup:
No one will see them anyway.
Gingerly, I make my way downstairs, to my car.
At school, they wonder why I’m slow and quiet:
I’m slow because moving hurts,
And I’m quiet because I hold my pain behind my sealed lips.
I make it through the day, functioning normally,
But I might as well be a zombie.
I feel blood oozing from my cuts,
I feel my broken bones going in strange directions,
I feel my bruises throbbing like the bass in your car.
I drive slowly home, loathe to return,
Knowing that in the silent loneliness you’ll hurt me again,
And again, and again, just because you don’t care,
And you want me to know it.
I walk through the door, and you’re right there,
Smiling at me like the cheshire cat,
Knowing that I’ll return to you no matter what.
I cringe, feeling the blow to my shoulder,
But I won’t fall, not now, today I can win.
Your smile deepens, because you know what I’m thinking,
And I know I’m gonna get it.
And I do, right in the chest, your favorite place to hit,
And my eyes start to tear as you pull the switchblade out,
Still smiling your horribly lovely smile.
Then you utter the curse:
“I love you, Jai”,
And I collapse to the floor, all my injuries hurting worse,
My will totally broken, until the next time.
Then you pick me up and carry me to the bed,
Crooning soft, caring words into my ear,
Making me love you even as I bleed from the wounds you inflicted.
It’s a common story: “I thought he loved me.”
But ours is slightly different.
No one can see these battle scars,
But they’re there, in the most obvious places.
Just look through my eyes and you’ll see.
Written by [Your Favorite Stranger]
People always say “It’s gonna be ok” when someone’s crying. Why do they say that? I mean, duh, it’s gonna be ok, thanks for that news update, but that may be a long way off, or feel a long way off. If you haven’t got anything brighter to say, it’s just as appreciated if you just hug the person, or let them cry on your shoulder, or rub their back, or w/e. Something I find comforting it someone hugging me and saying “Shh” like you would for a baby. Something that really irks me personally is when people say “It’s gonna be ok, I know, I’ve been there.” That’s you, and how do you know you’ve been there? Don’t make this whole thing about you, people! Another thing, when people are crying, or upset about something, and another person feels obligated to tell their story about it. I know all these people probably mean well, and just don’t know how to handle the situation, or they wish someone would comfort them too, but don’t be selfish, please. If you don’t know what to say, don’t say anything. And don’t tell them not to cry, or say that it’s gonna make you cry too. Guilt trips will not make a person feels better. Just let them cry.
Oh my gosh, the lock-in was so messed up! Okay, we were all there, hangin’ out after we had our pizza at nine, then they tell us all to get into the trailer cuz Matt had somethin’ to talk about. I was already in the trailer, but I went out to the worship place and sat down. Everyone was kinda wondering what was up. Then Matt tells us that someone was smoking in the girl’s bathroom, and that if someone doesn’t fess up, we’re all calling our parents and packing up. He went outside and said they had two minutes. So some of the guys stood up and said that no one was going to think less of the person who smoked if they confessed. We sat for about a minute, and still no one got up, so some of the guys started packing their game equipment up, and getting ready to leave. Then Ken came in and told us that we were all gonna go into the sanctuary, and whoever did it could just hang back. We all head out to the sanctuary, and some people start calling their parents. Then we’re told that the person confessed, so we’re all happy and stuff. But it was a false alarm: Matt came in and said the person had one last chance. Still no one goes forward. So I hitched a ride with Matt back to his house, where a couple girls spent the night. It was a bummer.
Last night, I got re-saved I guess. I wasn’t sure if that’s what I was supposed to do, so I was like, “Dad, what do you want me to do here?”, and I felt like I should do it, so I did.. The whole deal was this: They played a dvd called A Letter From Heaven and a Letter From Hell, which is basically, these two teens who died. In the letter from Heaven, Kimmi was a Christian, but hadn’t really lived her life for Christ. She gets to heaven, and sees the Master, and she’s so awed and humbled by the scars, scars that he chose to have so that he could save her. There’s a hugacious pile of twigs and rubble and mess, and she knows that’s all the times she sinned, all the times she disobeyed God, and she’s so ashamed. Then it catches on fire from God, who is, by the way, sitting enthroned with millions of saints and angels worshiping him. So she can’t even look at him, she’s so ashamed and she just kinda hunches over. Then, she feels a hand on her shoulder, and it’s Jesus, and he says her name and says “You’re forgiven.” And she sees that underneath the ashes from all her sins and stuff, there’s a solid base, the base of her Savior. Understand this, I started crying a little when Jesus said “You’re forgiven.” Cause it was like it was me, I was the one with all the burning trash, so ashamed, but then he touches me, he actually touches the one who’s messed up this bad, and tells me he forgives me. I’m tellin’ you, you gotta feel it to believe it.
Then you have the letter from Hell. Josh: The boy in Hell. Zach: The Christian friend of Josh who never told him how to be saved. It was scary. The guy really sounded terrified, and I felt so bad for him, and so scared that one of my friends might suffer the same fate. It’s really scary, you have to hear it. But I started crying and praying for everyone who popped into my mind, Nick, Chris, Sasha, Liz, Caleb, Bolton, a whole lot of people. I was begging my Dad to save my friends. I was scared. Not for me, but scared that the people that mean the most to me might be stuck burning forever and having emotional torment and a whole lot of other bad stuff. Lolly gave me a hug, and told me it was ok.
Then, Matt told everyone to close their eyes, bow their heads, and anyone who wanted to be saved to look up at him. After a second’s hesitation, I did. Then he said the sinner’s prayer, which I repeated. Next he asked everyone who said that prayer if they would come up on stage. There were eight of us from that one youth group who stood up there, silently proclaiming that we were Christians. You got a couple guys in Tripp pants, a few skater-looking guys, another girl, me, and the drummer from the youth’s band, crying his heart out like a big sad teddy bear that you just want to make happy. I love it.
Then hopefully tomorrow night I’ll be at a lock-in, watching a Halo tournament.
What's in a name? A name is a word, like 'gun', or 'car', or 'you'. A name is what people call you, it's not what you are. You get it?
Enjoy, my loves.
Imagine a world where the colors are not colors, where the shapes defy geometry, where there is no mass, no weight, no area, but it is a place. There are boundaries, you can’t walk out, but it goes on forever. Where you wouldn’t know if you were walking, running, or even flying. Where nights are days, and days are nights, and no one ever gets tired because of it. Where there is light, but the light isn’t really light, it’s darkness, and there is darkness, but it’s really light. Where you have to chase after emotions and add them to your collection like trading cards. Where people forget they forgot they were sad, and remember they’re supposed to be happy. And sometimes vice-versa, because you can’t always be happy. Where you know what something is, even if you can’t see it with your eys, because it carries a feeling that you remember, but not all the time. Where there is no up or down, no ceiling or floor, no space and earth, no sky and ground. Where you don’t just see with your eyes, you see with everything you have; every taste you can see vividly, every smell is a picture, every caught emotion like a painting. This is why this world is so real, so alive, because you see everything there is to see, every spectrum is combined into one that allows you to see them all, all these things people can only see here. Every new thing allows you to go further into forever, to chase new emotions, to see new things, taste new tastes, smell new smells, feel news feelings, and understand more of this world.
This place is full of empty, endless hall ways, which are sometimes not so empty, because people run inside and hide in them, or run down them, looking for an end. Silly people, all they have to do is look up, and they would see freedom, for there are no roofs. There are rooms too, where people hide, where they say out loud the things they can’t say out loud, where they fight with mirrors and sometimes lose, sometimes win, where they yell at, or talk to, or just cry to people who aren’t really there, but who are standing beside them.. Yes, this place is full of hiding spots and empty places: woods, rooms, hallways, skies, but there’s always more, always more places, more visions, more feelings for the people. And many times you will meet someone who’s not there as well, and you may talk, or you may just look, or you may nod in acceptance. You may even learn something from this person, see a new emotions to chase down, and maybe, if yu’re lucky, you’ll chase it down together
Ah, those emotions, sometimes they are so fast and hard to catch, and sometimes they are slow and you practically run into them, which sometimes hurts, and sometimes makes you laugh for hours, and sometimes makes you go to an empty place and think. But once you have them, many of them are really hard to lose, so be careful which ones you chase after: you don’t want to be stuck with a useless one, like Malice, or Depression.
Also, all the images there are floating around are obtained in an interesting way. They are absorbed somehow into the place that goes on forever, and they just stay, always. But sometimes, they are hard to find, and you may think they’ve gone away. Or they are hard to get to hold still, slipping and dancing away right when you get to them, and you end up bothered by them. Which is really silly, because often, if you ignore the image, it will come to you. They’re really spiteful things sometimes, jumping on you when you least want them, or evading you when you want them so badly. But not all imgaes are like that, some are really quite kind and come to comfort you when you’ve caught Sadness, or when another image is really giving you a hard time.
Sometime these places are fortified by strong brick walls, which is sad, because on the other side of the walls are better things, more places. Walls are for the fearful, and the fearful don’t learn very much, they don’t smell all the smells, or taste all the tastes or feel all the emotions, because they are scared of them, which is really silly, because they rule this place, and they should discover and conquer everything. Some of these places are full to the brim with all they hold, because they are never used, and we must wonder if this is worse than the walled places. Nothing is savored, nothing is cried over, or laughed over, no floating about, no climbing to heights that never end. No alone places, nothing. That must really be horrible, like having a door that you want to open without a key, and you have the key, but you don’t know it.
Among the many empty rooms, there are also rooms filled with gazillions of things. There’s the Beauty Room, which you fill with all the beautiful images you worked hard to catch, or that pleasantly surprised you with a one-way visit. There’s the Black Room, where you can hide all the nasty, dirty, scary images you mistakenly caught or that rudely pounced on you. There’s the Library, where you can store all the knowledge you obtain from the images, the feelings, the tastes, the smells, the sights, and of course, the random words and thoughts and sentences and even whole books that sometimes slip into the place that goes on forever. The Library is often the largest room, or it is divided into smaller rooms for easier access. Some of these Library Sub-Division Rooms may have titles like Random Information Room, Embarrassing Things Room, Wisdom Room, Things-I-Shoul
Lots of places that go on forever are littered all over with torn emotions, emotions that have been marred by other emotions. The same with images, though they aren’t so common, or so easily torn. Most all of the broken emotions are good ones that have been set upon by bad ones. You couldn’t save them, or you didn’t know they were being torn up. Emotions are a lot easier to bang around then you are, remember that. Sometimes, a really bad thing can happen: the spiteful emotions from the Black Room will massacre the good emotions in the Beautiful Room. Hate ripping at Love’s throat, Pain and Broken clawing at Happy and Whole, Wisdom fighting off Fear, Jealousy, and Foolishness singlehandedly
Numbness. It sucks. It ruined. No maybe saved. It ruined the best moment of my life. Or it saved me from the worst.
Break me together,
Figure me in,
Put me apart,
At the end you begin.
A commonality of individuality,
A saint of the sinners,
A galaxy in a molecule,
A loser who beats winners.
An extrovertish introvert,
A tearless mourner,
An inarticulate poet,
A circle with a corner.
The insecure security,
The comfortless sympathizer,
The tuneless melody,
The slowly trickling geyser.
Your favorite stranger,
Your friendly enemy,
Your guardian demon,
Yourself in me.
The publicly esoteric,
The cryptically plain
The inconsequentia
The extraordinaril
The seriously silly,
The dreamer of reality,
The color-blind artist,
The outlaw of legality.
A word with no sound,
A book with no cover,
A smile with no lips,
A rival and a lover.
Ambiguous