And A Time To Die

Above the closed and fringed lid
'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid,
That, o'er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?

Nothing to Flaunt but my Loneliness

Patience is testing/Waiting is cruel

You look like you've been for breakfast
At the heartbreak hotel
And sat in the back booth
By the pamphlets and the literature
On how to lose
Your waitress was miserable
And so was your food

It's instilled... To want to live

Suicide Underground

Everyone hated the demise of our neighbourhood from the suicide of the lisbon girls. People saw their clairvoyance in the wiped-out elms and harsh sunlight. Some thought the torture tearing the lisbon girls pointed to a simple refusal to accept the world as it was handed down to them:
So full of flaws. But the only thing we are certain of after all these years is the insufficiency of explanations.

Lullaby For Someone Else

light my candles in a daze

“Emotions, in my experience, aren’t covered by single words. I don’t believe in “sadness,” “joy,” or “regret.” Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I’d like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, “the happiness that attends disaster.” Or: “the disappointment of sleeping with one’s fantasy.” I’d like to show how “intimations of mortality brought on by aging family members” connects with “the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age.” I’d like to have a word for “the sadness inspired by failing restaurants” as well as for “the excitement of getting a room with a minibar.” I’ve never had the right words to describe my life... “

- Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex

doped up and televised

nobody would believe the shit that happens inside my head.

Close your eyes and try count to seven,
And if we die, I'll meet you up in heaven
'Cause you're so beautiful..

I'm coming down from the drugs
and that seems like a sick play that I saw in a theater somewhere.

screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories...of hospitals and jails and wars,

when i think more than i want to think
i do things i never should do.
i drink much more than i ought to drink
because it brings me back you...

an angel has no skin

Cities at night, I feel, contain men who cry in their sleep and then say Nothing.

“I wanted to kill the me underneath. That fact haunted my days and nights. When you realize you hate yourself so much, when you realize that you cannot stand who you are, and this deep spite has been the motivation behind your behavior for many years,
your brain can’t quite deal with it. It will try very hard to avoid that realization; it will try, in a last-ditch effort to keep your remaining parts alive, to remake the rest of you. This is, I believe, different from the suicidal wish of those who are in so much pain that death feels like relief, different from the suicide I would later attempt, trying to escape that pain. This is a wish to murder yourself; the connotation of kill is too mild. This is a belief that you deserve slow torture, violent death.”

—Marya Hornbacher

in a bunker underground.

laying in a pool of clean wishes, fragrances dangle in my air.

cool air wades through such thick atmospheres. though, dancing above the water... it has my pale skin spoiled in it's liquid chambers, entwined with colours of barely-there pinks. transparent water, transparent affliction.


my arm leans over one side of my chamber. my fingertips almost hitting the floor.

maybe not.

i drown in my sleep. asphyxiation.

most colours are gone and there is no conversation. and i think the sky could be dwindling? or i am drowning. but i know this all may dissolve.

scarlet blood blooming through smudged pale bandages clamp my neck (tied like a ribbon)(buckled like a belt). pins, needles. constrict and confine.. i can hear them puncture my skin- fragile silences. swirling around this chamber.
i don't notice. i don't care.
the colours are missing from your eyes. though, they still pierce through this colourless dim haze. murky clouds.
like glass, almost. shallow cracks so perfectly entwining, sewing you together. one by one they climb across you and as i i am watching them infect your body... crawling ruthlessly towards an exit they can't find. watching these greedy, brittle legs grow,, you're only a fraying doll that lays idle under the stairs.
they are eager, the parasites that hold your body... they can contaminate every thought. "take me away from here."

my red ribbons play beautiful tricks. &though you hold my mind, they keep my body from me.
a lonely girl twirling. a ballerina in a music box.
we live in cells. not chambers.




we never drown. we wish only we could.

these people dream of mahogany paneled walls lit by chandeliers...not this.

my apathetically twisted cigarettes slumped along that coffee table...barely lit.
pinpricks of orange escape. intolerable thick darkness, our heartbroken silence... is tolerable.
Cigarette smoke flutters an unattainable freedom. my head on your chest, i watch it coax, plead, tremble. seduction is so irretrievable. i can focus on only this: dissipating so delicately into darkness. helpless in isolation, though surrounded. again and again it withers, devoured merely by lonely shadows.
we are alone: isolated. so far removed from everything. there is only one another... and that dissoluble freedom - it dangles around us.

standing. to look at you alone was excruciating pain- the way the fabric hung from your body, your collarbones bursting from your body. you couldn't look less vacant. i couldn't even pry the blue i loved from your eyes. i was lifeless. &I realized, there was so little of us left it didn't matter that i didn't rush out of that room.
undressed: your fingers crawl across my body, until your arms absorb me whole. you adorn me... tarnished. sedated.
i float...and you deteriorate.



i don't hear her complain,
just begging whispers,
"shoot again".

(if) Not Now. Not Ever.

no more breathing time/an ambulance sped.

a lot of the time i wish i could just be quiet and say hardly anything to anyone. staying in rooms like cells... until the silence began to roar at me. i'll write to you and write to you until it's bright, my eyes will gush with water line after line. the sun will drown out my thoughts and my ideas and i'll tremble as they waste. i will write everything down, my guilt, my joy. telling you my lovestories and the pictures i have in my mind.
writhing in loneliness i am searingly happy.


Remember when we found misery
We watched her, watched her spread her wings
And slowly fly around our room
And she asked for your gentle mind

I want to kiss the sickness of mind
My heart without reason
Sunken to deep disappointment.
With a knife
I want to bleed out distress like this.
-Radiohead

you've got such a lot to say in so few words,,,

Fleeing, screaming without a sound, we forgot to stop at the garage, from which the music was still playing. They found her in the front seat, grey-faced and serence holding a cigarette lighter that had burned its coils into her palm. She had escaped in the car just as we expected.
- The Virgin Suicides.

'Tell me that you Love me.', 'I Love you.'

ransom love letters drip
so candidly pouring out in lies - like tar
tangled amoung all this pining
insipid letters of stipulation
fast(ens)
compelling her
virginal mind against pure body.
(an obligation)

in isolation decaying promises rot.
apathetically unrequited,
rendering repetition, as it were.
cradled deeply in an idle coffin
in this deranged hazy light
- oblivion
however twisted. we are happy in here.
drowning silently though violently.
abstracted from normality,
we lay with only four walls
prostitution vs. substitution


One
ran away.
to you.

Two
agreed.
for themselves.


stable, though sedate. this is intolerable.
you finally become a parallax.
dead bodies float through the mo(u)rning air.
...even if i do laugh.

shallow is the way you were born.

A body
no more
no,
less.

hazy/indefinite/burry/trippy\love.

don't hold yourself like that in front of me/

MOMENTS are thick, heavy, dark curtains that fall to the floor. &i want incense- a vile amount of it echoing through midnight air. it's sortof bright in here now,, in a dim sortof way. but the sky looks insane tonight.
you spoke of the stars and the calmness of the rain - i think it's a paradox - but they are connected somehow,, maybe through darkness. you sacrifice everything for a life you think is free.
... i still want to smoke cigarettes with my bedroom windows - a picture frame for moonlight - wide open, my back against the radiator, reading. it's awful trying to keep warm in here.
you're always so cold. but maybe your heart will warm for company, like it does for me.


'I wouldn't want love if I had to beg for it, to barter or qualify it. And I should despise if anyone ever begged for my love. Love is something that must be given - it can't be bought with words or pity, or even reason. I shall never beg you.'
- Valley of The Dolls

Red wine&sleeping pills help me get back to your arms/ cheap sex&sad films help me get back where I belong.

Dear Sir, I have a complaint:
while you make pretty speeches,
i'm being cut to shreds
as your bad day disappears
“i only stick with you
because there are no others”

your eyes are on my wall, your teeth are over there.
your voice is rapping on my window sill-

there are doors that let you in
and out
but never open...
i sat in the cupboard
and wrote it down in neat -
i promise to be good.
won't look in the mirror.
there'll be no more lies.

i get on the train and just stand
now that i don't think of You.
i keep falling over
i keep passing out when i see a face like You.
i'd really like to help you/ You forget so easy.

lay me down
my fake plastic love
kill me again with love,
'cause one day, i'm gonna grow wings,

i can feel death, can see it's beady eyes
our veins are thin &our rivers poisoned.
i've bled and I bleed to please you.
to the shadows blue and red.
but no matter what happens now
you shouldn't be afraid
(today has been the most perfect day I've ever seen)
all the children flew when I touched their hands

heat the pins and stab them in
there's such a chill,
Fifteen blows to the back of your head/
fifteen blows to your mind.
i'll laugh until my head comes off.
nobody wants to be a slave

anyone can play guitar and they won't be
nothing any more.
but my thoughts are misguided and a little naïve...
but I used to fly like Peter Pan.

can't you tell i'm faking: this air iz so thick &lonely ♥ - 3:58am

i don't know what to write, i guess i just know i should write something. this can only resuly in something short and detached.


i met so many people this week&it has gone so quickly,, it says a lot about sitting alone for days on end.
i start back in college on monday &i can feel my mind flickering different cadences, though most of them are positive ♥ college is so bland&i feel an immediate disinterest towards everyone there- it's a sin!
i always seem to end up in Stephen's Green alone? your mind is a mess when you're nostalgic and hopeful/reading melancholic poetry is slowly obliterating the certainty that i'll ambulate grey concrete for the rest of my life- sitting behind frail stems verging blurs of green. reading dreamy novels about running away ♥
it's 4:28am- maybe next week in college won't be so different afterall?






'Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!
Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!
Though cold like you, unmov'd, and silent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
Nor tears, for ages, taught to flow in vain.'

- Eloisa to Abelard is sickly beautiful.

i lost her train of thought/she lost my mind/she told that girl our entire story in 10minutes.

tonight Jess&I fluttered all over the streets we grew up around. we talked for hours about how everyone we've been to school with is separate&fragmented together at exactly the same time. everything is different.

we sit on concrete. dirty cigarette smoke clambers desperately, racing to lonely warehouse lighting surrounded by four empty, pale walls. and in the cold smiles chatter - while fingers persuasively slither around lukewarm papercups for a weary warmth - teeth whistle. scales of beating footsteps abandon our lull but we talk, still...
i inhale/ everything she says/ seeps in/ like delicate blue/ gradually/ deliberately/...i/our/y meyesss
mirrors shatter in the flames.
i told her what happened, y'know. almost all of it- there's only so long you can listen to it. that and the sound of my own voice is beginning to repulse me? sick.


i haven't written in so long it's as if he language has changed.
but soon, i'll have pictures to add to my days x