It's just a memory,

lovemedeath @ 2010-01-03T22:05:00

2010-01-04T05:05:34Z

I am so angry. words cannot ever convey the unbearable aching anger that I feel. so I scream and I claw my translucent fingers across any willing surface and I berate and criticize and all but crucify isaac. from a distance it seems chaotic and unclear and terribly complex, but it's not. he is sane and loving and good. I'm not. this has always been our problem, it always will be. I don't deserve him. I don't deserve anyone. lately I'm pretty sure that I don't even deserve the air that graces my lungs so patiently or the body that carries me diligently around despite the way I've tested it's limits so cruelly for the past 10 years. I am tired, I am weary, I am drowning in my perceived worthlessness; I just want to be okay, closer to stability or the closest I can come to such an elusive feeling. I haven't felt this empty or undesirable in years.

I suppose nothing I really say matters because the truth is that the effortless way that he moved on from me is fucking destroying me.

lovemedeath @ 2009-12-31T13:29:00

2009-12-31T19:29:02Z

I don't want to be an army wife.
I don't want to be a wife.

I don't want to be anything to anyone.

lovemedeath @ 2009-12-27T19:14:00

2009-12-28T01:14:37Z

awkward, fumbled kisses and the fervor with which our small bodies entangle, haphazardly and quickly, falling back onto the cold sheets and sleeping for days. but I don't feel it the way I used to, the salvation of intimacy or the odd comfort of frenzied love. somewhere along the way my loneliness became impenetrable. with him I feel nothing, the pain subsides, but still my body stumbles gracelessly away from pleasure. I am not creating or destroying. I exist, I nurture the effortless perfection that creates isaac's being, I try to love, I fail, I sit in a stupor, refusing to look at him or allow him to occupy any space in my mind, I realize it's too easy for me to erase every ounce of affection I have for him, his boyish grin corrodes my hardness ever so slightly, and I try again. will my entire life be this struggle between my opposing and equal desires for loneliness and intimacy? my worthlessness consumes me more with every passing day, I am decaying as I breathe, as I try to function as a normal person would. but it's so fucking difficult, to drag myself from the prison of my blankets, to apply make-up forcefully to a face I can't stand the sight of anymore, to laugh and smile and speak, to care. I desire nothing, I believe in nothing, I am nothing.

lovemedeath @ 2009-12-16T21:09:00

2009-12-17T03:09:28Z

being here, back in the midst of this barren land, with the emptiness of the memories I clutch onto half-heartedly; is so strange. In the middle of a conversation I suddenly become aware that I am speaking and the person in front of me is blurring into translucent figures and I'm trying to feel the ground firmly beneath me, touching body parts methodically, subtletly, attempting to reenter reality, and I can't. None of this is real, I don't feel it anymore. I feel the harsh weight of matt's disappearance from my life, I feel my skin crawling back towards him, I feel my shriveling heart beating angrily inside of me, vehement at my lack of consistency, my inability to be fulfilled. From the moment of action the desire ceases to exist, it slithers recklessly into another desire and then another. I don't want to be so unbearably light, so flimsy and breakable. A moment of complete contmentment will never happen for me, will it? Because while other's ascertain their direction in life based on what would make them happy, I retreat inside of myself, become lost in the impossibility, the finiteness of life. What would make me happy? What is happiness for me? Do I want to be happy? No. I am horrible flawed. I can only ever remember romantic fantasies of loneliness and loss, impulses towards destruction that devoured me fully. I can't navigate my way out of this limboland between life and death. I know nothing of myself, except my inconsistencies. I am empty and I just want to be filled.

later; so you finally called and my heart was paralyzed by your voice and you were boisterous and speaking quickly and I could tell you were going through a manic episode, but my quietness calmed you and you spoke softly when you said, "I'm sorry, sometimes it's just easier to not respond, this is painful you know, having to let you go." I was evasive and vague and slowly melting at the sound of your voice and I finally told you that I missed you, that your topic of sex was making me incredibly jealous, thinking of you making love to her, that you made me feel things so intensely that it frightened me. But you barely heard it because delilah was getting in the car and somehow the phone was passed to her and I wanted to sob at the loss of your words, and my unwarranted jealousy of her, your wife, the mother of your children. I have no right and she has every right. And it kills me.

lovemedeath @ 2009-12-15T14:49:00

2009-12-15T20:49:41Z

my last day in this worthless city that I've thrived upon and drowned in simultaneously for the past six months. My father and I gulp down southern comfort as we run errands. Our alcoholism, our inability to function; the only bond we have. I am drunk and I miss everyone. Chad's strangeness and the cold, heartless world he inhabits alone. I will miss it greatly. Matt's apologetic love and the effort he put into validating our intoxicating attachment, I miss it with ever fiber of my being. I miss hannah and I want to wrap her small, muscular frame in my arms and kiss her softly. She marveled at my kisses, we compared and contrasted our style of affection, spent hours analyzing our defectiveness. I long to eat bean burritos with her and speed around columbia recklessly, trying to find an outlet for our restlessness, a boy to impress with our obnoxious, wild ways. I feel I am saying goodbye to my hopeless freedom. Maybe I am growing or shrinking into something more human, more stable. When I am curled safely into isaac's strong arms and his endless love I will feel a pang of longing, for the months I drifted, lost throughout dallas, driving the desolate streets at 3 in the morning, sobbing for the loss of my innocence, the careless way I discarded my faithfulness, my ambition. I will find my will to keep breathing, my fidelity to the boy who loves me in such terrifying ways; but the child in me will remain here, trapped somewhere, in a strange man's house or on a street corner brimming with dark figures and brutality. I may despise this city and the suffering I've endured here, but parts of me will forever echo the loneliness of dallas.

lovemedeath @ 2009-12-11T21:55:00

2009-12-12T03:55:57Z

Ashtray bathtub water, rum more rum, I'm scrubbing the remnants of you off of my skin. Today, pulled my sweater close to my face, inhaling your scent deeply, breathing you. I feel you. I imagine fragments of dried cum, crusting over delicately between the softness of my porcelain legs, your teeth prints, hesitant, crawling across the back my neck, almost faded, but still there, clenching paternally onto my body as though I belonged to you. I offer the keyboard, speak some falsely sweet words about wanting the kids to have it. In my mind, it's you that will come, and I'll be sad and small and beautiful, the bluish bruising beneath my eyes guaranteeing your endless love. In reality, she's coming with you. So I'll cancel and postpone until I drag this heavy body far away from you, from the tender painful existence I lead under your spell. I never kissed you goodbye. I fantasize extensively today about harming myself, and search my room like an addict, unable to find my razors. Give up and drink. I want isaac, but more than that I want to fade into nothingness. Burning, all through the wispy, translucent muscles that form my insides. I'm sitting in a cold bathtub with ashes circling my body, drifting through the water playfully, my drink is empty, I've heard this all before, I want to die, tonight, here in this dark, lonely bathroom. It is not fair, the way I love isaac, the distance, my pathetic unending sadness, the way your presence is simultaneously everything I need and not nearly enough. I shrivel into silence without you and with you I am angry, so angry. But alive, painfully, joyously breathing. I wish I had the fervored, aching passion for isaac that I have for you. I wish you would never leave me alone, never leave me. But you have, and my world shrinks down to a radiohead song on repeat and my naked soft body and nostalgia for moments that escaped me, my tragic melancholia. I am nothing, taking up too much space.

the people all call her alaska.

2009-12-08T06:56:12Z

eat, drink, sleep. repeat until I'm nauseous with the repetitive nature of my existence. this silence is overwhelming. I try desperately to mold my lips into something comprehensible, my words into something coherent. porcelain skin, obscene red lipstick, dramatic black clothing. my existence has been reduced to my appearance. endless amounts of blankets, I shuffle around the house like a ghost, I cannot get warm. I dissect and analyze my attachment to matt and find a breeding ground of insecurities and a lack of self worth, but love? I don't see it anymore. I needed him to choose me, even if my rational mind fought against that idea, because of it's impossibility. I needed to be enough for an insatiable man that reminded me too much of myself. I needed to know that the possibility of fulfillment exists for me. rumandcokeandchainsmokingdjarumsandentirelytoomuchweed. but it's not enough anymore either. matt compared the inner-workings of my mind to a pinball machine, once an emotion is touched on it changes directions and becomes something else. I tell him with a smile that I'm tortured by the emptiness of my words, once I speak them, they cease to have meaning. this is unbearable. this beauty, this overwhelming feeling, this aching echoing emptiness, this potential, this desire to destroy, this mess of contradictions that defines me. for someone who's so gorgeous, you sure are hard on yourself. No can see the ugliness that I'm struggling to show them, and yet when they catch a frightening glimpse of it, they convince themselves otherwise. I'm too pretty to be so cold-hearted, so chaotic, so cruel, such a fucking wreck. I see a prepubescent body masked by the curse of voluptuousness, comically sorrowful green eyes, an unsymmetrical face, a small body that exudes sexuality at an alarming rate. I look so hard that I see nothing. none of this belongs to me, it's all temporary. yet the impermanent things are what people will always see. my body always aches, I wake up, go to sleep, live, breathe, exist in constant pain. everyone repeats endlessly that I'm too young, to feel this, to do that, I want to tell them I feel like the oldest woman on earth.

lovemedeath @ 2009-11-29T14:05:00

2009-11-29T20:05:15Z

this is what I want, this is what I see; a messy hotel bed, crumpled sheets, your almond skin, broad shoulders, hauntingly innocent eyes, fucking and smoking, wallowing in our dullness and not caring a bit. because it's you and me, it's me and you. that's all I need. it's what I had, and I lost it. now it's goodbyes and days piling up between us though I'll try desperately to close the distance, to check the days off of the calendar faithfully and convince myself I'm strong enough to do this. to be without you. what happens if...we can't speak the words. we won't accept that soon we'll be standing on opposite ends of world, unable to see one another over the chaotic mess of days that separate us. 28 hours to breathe each other in, my face pressed against yours, I can hardly breathe and your skin, your smell, i forgot it, i forgot how intensely every fiber of your being affects me. i become a virgin again in your arms, i am nervous and tense and sensitive to every brush of your fingers against my skin, you're touching me and I'm screaming and clenching my legs shut and begging you to stop and your eyes are brimming with obsession, it rims your puffy eyelids delicately and you can't stop looking at me, come for me baby, relax, come for me. i am closed off from you still, these parts of myself that i toss to other men carelessly, i am incapable of giving them to you. because it means something. because you mean everything. i don't want to close my eyes, i don't want to waste a second of this sacred time with you, but i drift in and out, and every time i open my eyes you're still there and you're crying softly as i sleep, your hands tangled in my hair, your heartbeat erratic with love. i'm dying and i'm remembering what it feels like to be alive with every glance. i tell you timidly about matt's idea, of sharing me, and you say no and i say ok and then you're silent and you ask me softly what i want. i want you, i want whatever you want, i want to be who you want me to be. i speak the words and for once i'm not haunted by the emptiness of my sentiments. because i mean it, more than i can even comprehend. in the dark, i'm half in this reality, half in the peaceful fantasy of our love and i barely hear you say it, no more guys, baby. please. and before i can even accept your presence in my life you're back in those boots that make you feel powerful and your black beret and your uniform which you're proud of in silent ways and i'm looking at you with fear in my eyes and my heart is pounding painfully inside of me and i need to tell you how afraid i am, but i don't. with your hand resting nervously on the door handle, you kiss me softly and tell me that you trust me, that you know I'm strong enough. your imprint is still etched lightly into the sheets and your smell lingers in the stale air, i feel dead when you're gone.

my best friend in the entire world.

where was I before the day that I first saw your lovely face?

2009-11-28T08:06:51Z

another hotel room, another sleepless night. i rub my hands vigorously over my heavy eyelids, willing them to close, willing my mind to cease the reckless clashing of ideas and thoughts for just a few seconds. isaac is 10 miles from me right now, sleeping restlessly on his deteriorating cot, his heart pulsing erratically even while his calm body fights the activity. i've spent the past month, two months, three months, careening towards this mediocre town, towards the love i wanted to reclaim more than i've ever wanted anything. i'm clutching on to the devotion that allowed me to continue breathing, despite my desire to do nothing more but lay down and become motionless, breathless, lifeless. it's slipping, trickling carelessly through the gaps of my bony hands. matt's suffocating love peeked ever so carefully through his hateful facade today, I am trying not to love you, I am consumed with this anger, I just want you here and this is destroying me. I want you to belong to me. in my mind is the rickety kitchen table, the dark house which we enjoyed so thoroughly, lighting candles to provide the bare minimum of light needed to navigate through the piles of delilah's useless possessions, we repeat our only act of consistency, cigarette after cigarette, word after word, we laughed about how well we passed the time together, it slithered devilishly away from us, the day i left we sat in silence, elbows pressing unforgivingly into the wooden table, hands cupping our chins, gazing at each other for hours without uttering a word or breaking the intensity of our strange connection. he played his favorite song for me, my heart was instantly punctured by the haunting piano and i sat in a stupor, listening intently, tears collecting rapidly in the corners of my eyes. now i lay here on this plush hotel bed, naked and defenseless, torturing myself with this song, this fucking song. i'd do anything to feel closer to him. i'd do anything to be able to let him go. how i'd love nothing more than to become so small that i could slip unnoticed into his body, swim madly in the thick dredge, purple red blue rivers, dig my microscopic claws into his heart and latch on like a parasite, surviving solely on the clenching and unclenching, breathing his air, feeling every minuscule pang of sorrow that ricochets ruthlessly off of his bones, ceasing to exist when he does. it's never enough, it's never enough, to touch, to fuck, it's never enough. i don't want to be alone anymore, i want to be swallowed alive, i want to become a permanent part of someone else. the impermanence doesn't comfort me, the emptiness doesn't liberate me, the meaninglessness doesn't amuse me. i need this to all mean something. i need to mean something.

now that you've found it, it's gone.

2009-11-24T05:28:32Z

blue pills and black coffee, cup after cup, day after day. trembling hands and feet that won't connect with the ground, my skin tingles as though it's being violently prodded by thousands of tiny needles. this boy with his dark skin, dark hair, sweet voice, innocent caressing, is eerily similar to isaac. so I let him stay. this is my life, an endless series of rooms and faces, isolating my tired body with other tired bodies, it comes naturally, lost people find their way to me. we touch and speak and fuck love, but it's not love. when the air in the room becomes too imposing and suffocating we drive 40 miles into the country and pick up a dwarfish girl, skin littered in tattoos. she spanks my ass and calls me honey, tries to carry me when the pills take effect and I can no longer see or speak. back to the hotel and he's touching me lightly and hushing me softly when my words began to deteriorate and crumble into tears, I can't take care of myself, this is what happens.they're sweet but they're only strangers and they tuck me in and wander off to a place where there's not a crying girl, bloodstream swimming with painkillers and booze. I'm cold and lonely and I lost my door key so I can't leave and I swear to god I'm never going to make it through this week. I picture isaac's horrific death every day and I push the suffocating sense of loss back down my esophagus and placate myself with promises that when he stops breathing, I will too. a duprass, a bond that can never be destroyed, but oh how I've tried. our limbs will entangle and our sweet baby voices will bleed together into one and our bodies will rejoice that they've found one another again, but how I fear what I want, and having it. matt tells me he's picking me up from the airport on the 30th and doesn't allow any room for a no or a yes. a day goes by and he doesn't text me or call and I want to die, and I want to die more for wanting to die for such a stupid, pathetic goddamn reason. I'm crawling, wriggling, sliding out of my skin. I wish I could. I don't feel anything when this boy is inside of me. matt ruined me, destroyed the delicate fine line I had drawn between love and sex, never allowing the two to collide or coexist. the line is gone and the two are swirling madly together and my body won't respond to a passionate touch devoid of love or indifference or anything but matt. I am growing out of my sadness but it beckons me back like the sweetest of lovers, it won't let me go and I've never been strong enough to say no. I am safe here in this cocoon of apathy and longing and loss, I am secure in my desire for death. I am sleepy and I wish this boy would come back and press his body close to mine and feign love and fall asleep with me. I am small, smaller, smallest, nonexistent. hold my crumbling body and don't let me go.

I'm bouncing around manically when they return and I grimace at the sound of their voices and their dull presences. they try to touch me and i slip easily through their fingers, like sugar, like water, like nothing. i was never there to begin with. i am disgusted with their inane conversation and the silent awkward pauses that they are too ignorant to fill in or be comfortable with. i strip dramatically and throw clothes wildly around the room, slipping a grey linen dress over my nude body and knee high black boots on my cold feet, and in a 2 second blur I'm gone, storming out the door with a "do your thing." wal-mart and all the employees know me now and i browse over the same items i've seen a thousand times, call hannah and tell her i miss her and there's two people fucking in my bed. the cop at the door is exceptionally good looking and smiles sweetly and shyly at me, we flirt for an hour and i'm back on my broomstick of lonely mania. the bitter wind is nipping and biting relentlessly at my exposed skin in the parking lot as i write song after song and turn down car after car offering me a ride or a this or a that. fuck you and leave me alone. walk to cvs and there's an indian man following me around and he catches my eye near the stationary and makes my skin quiver in a split second of fear, and then my cynicism and suicidal wishes return and i accept that he could very well rape and kill me and i just wouldn't have the strength to care. the filipino boy calls and says he and the elfish girl want me back in the room, they miss me. I scoff at his useless lies and I wander back to the hotel after flirting obnoxiously with the cashier at cvs. stick the door key in and twist the knob and discover the deadbolt is on and i want to punch him in the face when i see him but instead i make snide comments and pull away when he tries to touch me. it's too familiar, and it's barely the same. groups of three, my jealousy. i don't love him, i don't even like him but I am ridiculously more attractive than her and yet his attention is focused because men are insecure and lazy and my curvaceous body and green eyes aren't worth my cruelty. my lack of desire for them is painfully obvious and luckily they are not incredibly unintelligent, they leave in a haze of hesitance and nervousness and, yes, there, hidden beneath all of the uncomfortable emotions; fear. i smile gleefully when they've gone and listen to iron and wine and fill my mind with peaceful beautiful fantasies of birthing dark skinned green eyed children, of mismatching armchairs and sundays spent reading and making love, of a creaky house with too many windows where the sun is forever crawling across the walls lovingly, of my husband, my beautiful boy who has spent two long years trying to destroy the walls that barricade me from everyone else. i am not afraid anymore, i am ready, to love and be loved.

lovemedeath @ 2009-11-21T22:31:00

2009-11-22T04:31:15Z

I'm in a tiny, delightfully sad hotel room by myself, listening to radiohead, curling into a ball because I'm cold and I don't want to turn on the heat, craving a cigarette but not in the mood to deal with the men that flock to me mysteriously, willing my heart to stop quivering nervously, my fingers to stop tingling with an intense need to feel his skin beneath them, once more. Just a picture of his beautiful face, defined Lithuanian nose full voluptuous lips reserved sadness circling the irises of his unforgiving blue eyes; my heart ceases to function as it should, I am paralyzed by desire. I am trying, I am failing. I want, need, have to bury this love. but there once was a need and a deep haunting desire that I disentangled my heart from, there were feelings I forgot the depth of, a capacity for love that I was sure had been destroyed. he's everything I had to forget, in order to survive. I want it to end, but it's never-ending. this love was never created, it can't be destroyed. it simply exists, just as every minuscule particle that forms my body is tugging it's way forcefully and selfishly back to him. some things cannot be easily surrendered or forgotten.

lovemedeath @ 2009-11-20T14:00:00

2009-11-20T20:01:30Z

I need to remember so I can stop forgetting so easily. the timid boy with black hair falling delicately into his eyes who wants to fall in love with me is not isaac. this intelligent man that fucks me senseless and falls asleep with his arms tangled around my body is not isaac. matt with his sweet sentiments and angry words at my absence in his life is not isaac. I undress and present my curvaceous body with a flourish and without a thought. I should feel guilt but I don't, despite my strenuous efforts to create some semblance of morality inside of my empty, echoing heart. if he were here, I wouldn't be doing this. But that means nothing in the light of my shattered promises and growing promiscuity. I am so painfully detached from the idea of marriage and fidelity. I miss the faithfulness I had to isaac that I was proud of in quiet ways. The innocence and fear that created mine and isaac's comfortable co-dependency has been lost, and I wonder at the possibility of recapturing the heartbreaking-ly honest love we shared. in eight days I'll stand before the man that I will only ever see as a child, with his newly formed muscles and dedication to something greater than himself, with my diminishing frame draped in intensely black attire and my wild hair, sticking out at every angle; and we will have become two strangers to the world and each other, regretfully leaving behind the sweet, shy children we once were, trying to attach ourselves to the idea of this new, brave, resilient person in front of us. my body aches for the safety of his sinewy, boyish body next to mine, for the coffee stained carpet we spent so many hours crawling around on in boredom, for the ball of fur with an elegant name that we deemed our child, for the beautifully calm love we whispered into the early hours of the morning, the salvation we had found in each other that etched it's way joyously across our smooth, unlined faces, the idea we had of forever that seemed easily attainable.

lovemedeath @ 2009-11-17T15:39:00

2009-11-17T20:39:34Z

I need the comfort of touch without the expectation of sex. I need someone to understand what I mean when I say my reflection is foreign to me now and it's frightening in the most peculiar way. I stare at myself endlessly in the mirror and the longer I'm faced with my reflection, the less it makes sense. I don't look like myself anymore, somehow. He's beautiful, in his tiny apartment with landmines of books sprawling across the floors haphazardly. His isolation is beautiful, the perverse comfort he finds in the cold, emotionless nature of numbers. He's 29 and he's never been in love, or he's convinced himself in retrospect that the things he felt weren't love, they couldn't have been, not by his definition. Loud, guttural moans escape between my soft, full lips as he touches me sensually from behind. His hands travelling slowly over the folds and bunching of my flowery, poofy skirt, wetness coats the delicate skin between my legs, I am ready, always ready to go, to be fucked, to forget, to try to sate this crushing urge. He likes it when I kiss his neck as he thrusts into me, I smile devilishly, my light, feathery kisses aren't matt's anymore, his neck is not the one I'm nuzzling into at night, was it ever? Our love existed during the day, during the lapse of her presence. This anger is devouring me and I want to hurt him, I want to hurt myself, I want a release from this gruesome longing, this need to destroy. why couldn't you just love me as I was, instead of trying to mold me into something that would fit more effortlessly into your life?he says no, he says you're trying to justify leaving, I love you madly, I miss you, I need you. I don't believe a goddamn word he says anymore, I don't believe he'll ever realize the sorrowful motives behind his actions, he'll never break free from her chokehold grip on his life. A few days ago I devoted myself to isaac, last night I fucked another man, and this morning I couldn't easily recall who isaac was. Attachment is suffering, yet I'm wallowing in my very own endless pool of anguish caused by my lack of ability to attach myself to anything with meaning. I lose my resolutions, tossed thoughtlessly aside like the packs of cigarettes that litter my room. Everyone is disappointed, they believed my fairy tale sentiments, they were under the impression that I was capable of loyalty or remorse. I don't expect anything of myself, I'm never disappointed. I down shot after shot and I mumble that I'm still coherent, that's no good. I read my old journals and write songs about the girl I used to be, the one I still vaguely am. just one brush of your skin against mine could destroy me for a lifetime. I am paralyzed by touches so tender that my heart begs me to fall in love. I crave more, always more. Touch me, breathe me, fuck me, love me. I tell my father to appreciate the woman that cradles his frozen, cruel heart between her fragile fingers and I realize I'm telling myself. I am fortunate to have someone that wants to deal with me, with my barricaded heart and my compulsion to destroy every inch of love that comes my way. I am lucky, but I don't want to be. I don't deserve this, but I want to. I will murder every particle inside of this useless body to give isaac the love he deserves, I never wanted to lose myself but it's all I crave now. Mold me into something that's easily captured, melt my heart into one that could love without the impulse to destruct, love me, love me, love me.

lovemedeath @ 2009-11-12T16:21:00

2009-11-12T21:21:44Z

I smile with my lips pressed against his, mumbling through the miniscule vacant spaces that separate our bodies, "today is the last day I'll ever see you, realistically, and it's three months to the day that I first spoke to you." The reserved sadness he tries so desperately to mask contaminates his words as he whispers that he'll miss me. Pulling my body so close that we merge into one muddled, odd looking shadow on the wall, his hands holding my ass firmly, delicately kissing every inch of skin from my breasts to my lips. I watched him sleep for hours last night, his body twisted awkwardly on the floor to avoid the landmines of dirty laundry, his toes gently wiggling ever so digilently and faithfully. Kisses so undetectable and soft, etching my invisible lip prints across his skin, cupping his long, elegant fingers between both hands and holding them to my chest, pressing my lips against his in a touch that's like a whisper. I want to be his wife, I want to bear his children, prepare his meals, clean his house, lay out his clothes neatly every night and devour him fully so he would never feel the ache of loneliness again. But I can't rescue him from his mindless bitch of a wife or detach him gently from the memory of love he had with her, he'll destroy himself to fulfill an impossible ideal of perfection and I can't bear to witness it. He speaks of her with a tangible hatred in his voice and I want nothing more than to tell him to leave, to find happiness once again with the woman who so digilently catered to him; but I can't. I can't do anything but to leave and try my hardest to never return, despite his pleas and compromises. be with both isaac and I, I am unbearably jealous and this hurts every second, but you're worth it, don't go away, please. I know I can't, and I know I won't. I miss isaac in a way I'll never miss another, our lost bodies collided one winter and it feels as though they'll never separate, despite time or distance. I feared the loss of self being so intimately intertwined with him, but I realize now that without isaac I am just a faceless girl tumbling down a spiral staircase of wistful longing and despair. He is my home, and after all of these months drifting weightlessly through indistinguishable places, I want nothing more than to go home.

lovemedeath @ 2009-11-08T02:55:00

2009-11-08T07:55:07Z

I try to ignore the emptiness that hollows out the room, closing my eyes and riding digilently, trying to be somewhere else, in another life, perhaps. destroy the desire for that which is impossible, and accept what you get with a smile. but I'm incapable or unwilling. I'll never have him fully, by my rigid old fashioned standards, and that sparks a need for a certain level of indifference, of flighty nonchalance. Especially around her. Drunken voice mails, she hasn't heard my voice in almost three years, vodka and orange juice and my fingers gliding effortlessly over the keyoboard, hello darling, oh just a drink or two, but soon I'm on the floor and I'm spinning in one direction, the room twirling recklessly in another, I mumble through the vomit, I have trouble with loneliness, I'm so sorry. there are garish red cuts on my arm and a painful grimace on my face when no one is looking. Do you think I'm happy here? Am I happy anywhere? My stomach is weak and it is empty, I'm increasingly pleased upon inspection of my diminishing frame each morning. Your love is draining me, I'm dwindling into nothingness again and I enjoy it. Hannah's words are firm and unrelenting, she questions how I swallow the tragic lies I feed myself, how I gobble down man after man and proclaim the deepest of loves. you don't love and you don't need, you're preoccupying yourself, once a flower in the park in prescott made you happy and now nothing does, I don't know where you've gone or why you limit yourself. the boy next door wants me, the boy at target, the boy... I flaunt and I tease, I have the desire to incite jealousy in him. I want to hurt him, the compulsion grows with each denial of my intensely fragile heart. He turns my arm over lightly, averting his eyes slightly from the 50 horizontal scabs and says, you're not strong enough to take care of yourself. Maybe I don't want to. Maybe I am envious of blake's newfound salvation with jesus christ. He's discarded the dissatisfied, destructive life and escaped himself, almost fully. We shared the need to be anyone but who we were, his darkness rivaled mine and brought me an odd sense of comfort. My head is heavy and my body reeks of sex, I hate waking up to two people instead of one. I hate the way he makes my ideals on love and monogamy seem trite and close-minded. I want to be the only one, apparently that groups me into everyone who fails to understand him. I'm not alone because I don't care enough, about anything. I'm not alone because someone always wants me and saying yes is easier. I'm not alone because I've been detached from everyone for so long that loneliness and happiness don't exist anymore, and if they do, there's no distinction between the two. I stare at pictures of isaac and I beg my heart to react, even the slightest twitch would do. His face is beautiful, but strange to me. That symmetrical, sculpted face is no longer one I recognize. I only know how to lose things, not to keep them.

lovemedeath @ 2009-11-06T17:59:00

2009-11-06T22:59:26Z

I just want someone to hold on and never let go.

lovemedeath @ 2009-11-05T00:53:00

2009-11-05T05:53:27Z

'crush the enemy', tom repeats like a prayer. Yes, but tommy dearest, how do you retain interest without the threat of loss? His cuddly, boyish face is bewildered, plagued by an innocent charm that negates his wrong-doings, "I don't want a girl when I have her." I understand dear, and then on goes the pleasing french techno, and off with the chic, black, leather clothing. Dance parties at 5 am in hannah's wonderfully barren apartment. We squeal in delight, bouncing quite literally off of the walls and each other, like children who have snuck into the candy stash after halloween and become wild eyed and manic with the pleasure of the forbidden. We are on a permanent sugar high. Our three bodies, which are ridden down with anguish and the exhaustion of being so aware; are brilliantly free for a few moments in time. We dive in the air, fondle each other mid-dance move, rejoice in our own pessimistic way at the happiness that permeates through out the room, seeping out through the cracks in the doors. We are narcotics to one another, an overdose of self, prolonged exposure would result in final, irreparable madness. But the beauty of our simultaneous breakdowns is such a delicious temptation.

And as I sit here writing this, in the presence of two admittedly simple people, my heart swells obscenely and collapses back into itself just as quickly. I am a hopeless pessimist, a proud misanthrope, a nihilist and a person devoid of faith or morals. I am quite frankly, in every sense of the phrase, 'meant to be alone'. My unbearable anger infilitrates every relationship, and cruelty is a favored vice of mine. I can be sweet, but it inevitable dissipates and disappears as most feigned actions do; without notice. I enjoy anger and loneliness and cold, devilish cruelty so much more than play pretend love, hugs and kisses, "I love you's" before bed. So why am I here? The question is endless. I don't love him, or I've convinced myself that I can't, which is one in the same. I can't love fully or continously. My love is intense and overbearing, disgustingly sweet and easily dissolveable. I melt like sugar in a boiling cup of tea, fragments of me drifting through the murky liquid, stinging your tastebuds unexpectedly. But if challenged could you gather the shards of me and place them back together? Would they create the same image? The sex is pleasing, but you destroyed my appetite for it with one simple, revelaing gesture. Tears were forming in my feline-green eyes as I writhed beneath you, devoured by pleasure, possessed by some false or true sense of love, depending upon one's perspective of love's validity and legitimacy. As I began to surrender myself to you, the telephone rang and you shoved me off of you, quite forcefully. Strewn aside like trash on a desolate highway, carelessly. Delilah becomes angry if you miss a call. Snide comments crowd my mouth, pushing angrily against the back of my teeth, begging to be spoken. But the fragility of my heart renders me immobile, it is not breaking or it is not broken, simply drowning in wistful disappointment and wrapping itself in nonchalance as though it were the finest fur coat.

I am sick with the idea of anyone claiming ownership over me. I run not from myself but from the rapid death of love. The touches that seem so full, bursting with intensity, and ever so quickly, but subtlely, always unnoticed, into a touch whose emptiness could devour me. I've never understood the act of belonging and I'd cease to be myself if ever I claimed comprehension. I am free, or I am shackled. Either way my heart denies entry and my palms radiate emptiness. That is the manipulation that taints my existence. I fit effortlessly everywhere, as though I were the missing puzzle piece to everyone's heart, but I don't belong anywhere. My ability to find perverse contentment in any situation renders me incapable of true happiness, of true anything.

I am a real phony.

lovemedeath @ 2009-10-30T12:59:00

2009-10-30T17:59:25Z

the movement of my hesitant hips is out of sync with the pulsing techno music, I sway reluctantly, wanting my body to react to the environment, to the music, to anything. An endless stream of bearded hippie boys who all know my name, who playfully call me marla and dig their dirty fingers into my wild hair, sticking out at all angles. I want to be here, I don't want to be anywhere. I curl myself into smaller and smaller positions on the bed, hiding my face in my knees, ignoring the drunken boy with women's panties peeking out from beneath his stained, deteriorating jeans. I hold the phone to my ear with my arm that feels particularly wobbly, my bones are mush, he's saying he needs me, he's saying come home, come home, come home. Now that he's obsessed, now that he feels his existence is empty without me; now I lose interest, ever so slowly but far too rapidly for anyone to understand. I don't understand. Hannah is screaming, throwing shoes across the room, speaking so quickly that her words collide into one another, rushing, fleeing the prison of her body. And then she's slumped on the floor, staring despondently at some invisible point in the empty air surrounding her. She is me but I am growing, up or down I can't decide, but we don't fit together like we used to. My shape has changed, it must have. I don't fit where I used to and I'm exhausted with the act of cramming into spaces too small to hold my sadness, or endless empty spaces that echo and tease me with the euphoria that used to consume me. I'm coming home to you isaac, I want to feel the way I used to. but I don't mean it or I know its impossible. Matt is my home now, but it was unintentional and I'll continue to fight it with all the strength in my weary body. I cut my hair off and I've stopped eating again, the cold frigid air is slithering so effortlessly beneath my skin. I want to be fucked until I forget who I am or the lack of desire that terrorizes me. I want to be held so tightly that I can't see or feel or fall apart. I want to sleep for a very long time. I've been forbidden from speaking his name and I play along with these tired acts of jealousy but his presence still haunts my days and I can't grasp what happened or what didn't. His apathy filled in gaping portions of my heart and hollowed out my mind, I was the stephani I remember again, the one chasing a ghost, being ripped apart by unrequited obsession. We should do what comes naturally, ignore me and I love you, love me and I'll ignore you. Men want to break me, destroy my facade of nonchalance. No one realizes I've been living my life on the floor, crawling sluggishly from obsession to obsession, losing shape and girth, becoming more and more translucent and meaningless. So break me, or love me, I won't feel a thing because I feel everything.

lovemedeath @ 2009-10-27T13:44:00

2009-10-27T18:44:13Z

cold nose, cold fingers, cold toes. I'm crumpled into increasingly awkward positions on a bus, speeding across these midwestern states too quickly for latitude or longitude to mean much. Crunching down on stale sugar coated almonds, turning them into dissolving shards of sweetness that leave red angry blisters on my tongue. Leave it to me to hold onto dates so dearly, days long past that I can never reclaim but that I never fail to mourn, with the years dwindling down so quickly. Did I learn my lesson then? That "I love you" is only a glorified means of destruction? No, not quite. My phone buzzes, sliding erratically across the wooden floors. His texts crowd together in my inbox, unreplied to, lonely in their empty boxes. I miss you so much that it hurts, I need you to come home, I need you, all of you, I feel as though my heart is being pulled from my body the farther you wander from me. . I write letter after letter to isaac, but I rarely send them. There's an echoing, empty space where he once was and I know that his size and shape has changed inevitably, he'll never fit quite as perfectly as he did again. I miss matt in an intensely frightening way, this clenching of my heart, the tightness constricting my breathing, this feeling of being crushed, by the weight of my growing love for him. I can no longer control it, or walk quietly away, and that scares me more than anything. A strange car in the cold darkness of a chicago night, broadway and well what's his name I don't remember anymore, bitter polish vodka and an inability to focus on anyone other than matt. A caramel skinned boy repeating my name, begging to my boyfriend. But I don't hear all that much or anything because matts voice is in my ear and my heart is swelling violently inside of it's confines in my chest. So which is better or what brings happiness; an incredibly loving man who brings a calm happiness into my life, or the sweet, delicate boy who's love saved me one desolate winter, who makes me feel unbearably needy and weak but who I can't let go of for some sad, strange reason? If there were a simple answer I wouldn't find myself on this train or that bus, wandering alone down street after street, inhaling djarums as though they were my life source, desperately searching for a solution to my insatiable need for love.

lovemedeath @ 2009-10-22T02:10:00

2009-10-22T07:10:28Z

blue black hair twisting wildly around my oversized head, blue black smoke curling languidly around my tongue, my lips, drifting off slowly and dissipating into the musty air. I left today, neglecting to bring my keyboard, forgetting items with a childish hope that they would bring me back. The universe will lead me back home, just like it lead me cruelly to you. Everything that has happened brought you right here, sitting next to me, isn't that enough? stop fighting the inevitable. I love you, let me take care of you, let me carry your pain, you and I are meant to be, I believe. garish purple hickies spread themselves lavishly over my chest and neck, I flaunt them proudly. I belong to you, in this instance. But never really, and you know it and I know it. A purple journal, a relic from the darkness of my childhood. I realize with a chesire cat smile that I haven't changed at all in three years, I've simply become more eloquent and more adept at feigning heartlessness. If I don't laugh the sadness will devour me. I can't feel, I can't see boundaries. Everything is too abstract, spinning madly, the lines blur and collide until the most basic human emotions are rendered meaningless and futile. Polyfidelity, it crawls slowly and cautiously off of my tongue, am I more open minded or more numb? We don't sleep, we speak endlessly and succumb to the pleasure of touch, we chain smoke and fuck until we're raw and senseless. I believe it too, I believe I've spent my life clawing at scraps of love and feeling, knowing that if I could survive it would mean something, to someone, someday. Will you belong to me? in a world that made sense you and I would be shackled to one another by more than the love we whisper in the eerie blue light of a living room lit by movies on mute. in a sensical world the unbearably heavy chain binding us together would cut angrily into my flesh at my insistence to run. My fantasies disappear as easily as the smoke that corrodes my lungs and deepens my voice, because I am here and you are there. I am running and you are waiting digilently for me to return. You asked me gently to remain faithful to your ghost which will loom unceasingly above me, I want to be the only man who has the pleasure of touching you, of savoring your delicate softness, let me, I laugh weakly and agree to your terms. My body responds only to you, I said I had no interest in sex, I left out my inability to enjoy anyone inside of me but you. My love for you finds me crumbling into fragile shards of optimism. Don't break me, don't break me, don't break me. Destroy my hardness with your intensity and your masculine neediness, I would gladly live my life as a pile of ruins, if only to be at your feet, worshipping you the way you worship me.

lovemedeath @ 2009-10-17T20:56:00

2009-10-18T01:56:47Z

is it possible to be fully in love with multiple people simultaneously? Can you still appreciate an old, slightly stagnant love when you are falling madly for someone new? Can three people participate equally in a relationship, without the threat of jealousy ruining it?

How can he say these wonderful things to me, praise me endlessly, promise me everything; when he's already found the love of his life?

lovemedeath @ 2009-10-17T17:25:00

2009-10-17T22:25:13Z

I speak endlessly of how I can't belong, and I disregard the overwhelming desire I have to be his. I am paralyzed by his touch, his hands traveling cautiously over the hills and valleys of my body, his unbearably honest love, his effortless comprehension of the enigmas and riddles that stack together haphazardly to create my being. I tell myself I'm being open minded, that the sacrifices are insignificant, but all I'm really doing is desensitizing myself further. I question his love with a blank expression and I remain placid as the corners of his eyes begin to sparkle sadly with tears; occupational hazard, I say. I'm unimportant in the long run, I mean much less than you could imagine. I nuzzle my nose into the soft crevice of his neck and whisper my body is a cage, I want out, I don't want to feel this anger anymore. His approval makes no sense, his desire to carry my sweet burden, to caress my defects and accept them as his own. No one has ever wanted me so innocently or so selfishly. My hand began to tingle painfully as I held it gingerly over the pale skin encasing his heart, I want to believe he is lying, I want to indulge in the smugness of disappointment; but its empty. The ease with which we fit gracefully together is frightening and heartwrenching. We grab our chests in the dark silence and say, it hurts, then we fall dramatically into one another and allow the hopelessness of the situation to devour us. I will leave. You will miss me, but you'll move on. It's easy.

lovemedeath @ 2009-10-15T09:26:00

2009-10-15T14:26:10Z

some things we remember, some things we struggle to forget. I remember the entrancing way the pale yellow lights danced across the trees as I sang silently along, "its not that we're scared, its just that its delicate". I remember the voracious, enigmatic look that haunted your intense blue eyes the night we met. I remember your cartoonish pumpkin head looming comfortingly above me as I twisted myself around the toilet bowl, embarassed at my lack of grace. I remember faces nestled affectionately into necks, breathing in each other in because somehow we both felt our impending demise. I remember vague, metaphorical compliments and the shy smiles that graced my lips when you spoke so kindly to me. I remember the frightening calmness that pervaded your demeanour when I had been away too long, when you showed up on my doorstep, telling me softly that you missed me. I remember being a crumpled, pouting mess on your floor after another one of your crude remarks had punctured my wall of apathy, and you crawling slowly towards me, gently pushing my wild, tangled hair out of my face and kissing me softly on the cheek. I remember the effortless comfort that our hesitant intimacy provided and I remember the delicacy that cradled our lost bodies softly, enveloping our broken hearts and allowing us to temporarily forget that we had denounced love and all of its connotations. These are the things I'll carry safely inside of my battered suitcase heart and I'll convince myself to forget the deep chasm of apathy that forever kept us at arm's length from each other or the way you made me feel small and insignificant. I'll forget the painful clenching and unclenching of my heart when you spoke those words of detached hatred. I'll forget the hours I spent gulping tequila through my tears, deeply fearful of the permanency of your goodbye. I'll forget in order to remember your strange sweetness and your unbearably heavy heart, begging you to shed its icy layers and allow some form of warmth into your life.

lovemedeath @ 2009-10-07T21:57:00

2009-10-08T02:57:36Z

the words are there, drifting lazily through my bloodstream. I cough and cough but all that comes out is smoke. All feelings are meaningless, my feelings for you are meaningless. I struggle to remember that. If you had asked me to stay, I would have. If you had asked me for anything I would have smiled sweetly and held out my measly offerings for you. But you don't ask and I don't give freely. I was lonely in your bed, disgustingly worn out from jealousy and forever trying to become tangible, something you could hold onto and not this translucent ghost of feelings and love that's escaped me. Your head was heavy in my tiny hands, dramatically large and substantial as I pulled my fingers slowly through your thinning hair, basking in a temporary fantasy of things just out of my reach. The emptiness, the gnawing, the aching; I felt them pull back and disappear as your body struggled against sleep next to me. I clenched your arm and moved closer with each muscle spasm. I always tried to deceive your mind, paralyzed with slumber, into becoming mine. But even in sleep you fought against our attachment, against the confused, "probably" love that contaminated our closeness. My head aches and I am dizzy with my resolution against sobriety. I am nothing that you want or like, our intimacy was a mere juxtaposition of loss and loneliness. I'll fight that too but it will overtake me. I am small and weak and I want to sneak back into your pocket and be sweet for you. I cried silently on your porch, as I chided myself for succumbing to the torture this desire causes when I don't sit on it solidly and deny its existence, its possibility. We don't try. For anything except our future loneliness. We don't realize the futility of the comfort of touch, or the ramifications of closeness. I squeal in delight at the harshness of my life, of your words and you never allow the thawing of your icy heart to even begin. My heart is mush, rotting with perverse hope. Yours is layered in permafrost, desirous only of coldness and cruelty.

lovemedeath @ 2009-09-29T11:23:00

2009-09-29T16:35:33Z

Allowing myself to indulge in my longing for matt sent my heart on a crushing nostalgic journey through all of the loves I've left, but never really left behind. My days have been haunted with the memories of innocent touching and harsh words spoken out of fear. Just as I began to succumb to the weight of my impenetrable sadness I woke up with a smile on my face, one out of genuine pleasure and not a joker-ish smile to cover more undesirable emotions; without any aches or pains plaguing me, and suddenly instead of feeling painfully heavy and sad, I feel unbearably light and unattached. I am searching for my tragic euphoria again. It is not so difficult to find, rather the discovery is in letting go.