Comments Posted By Saskia
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The projector took up the whole wall, the flickering lights left space for nothing else and it was all lies. It left no space for doubt, and why would they? The lies were so big, the truth would be unguessable unless you already knew it.
» Posted By saskia On 04.17.2015 @ 4:13 am
The projector on the wall took up all the space it could, it left no space for anything else – no imagination, and no truth. The lights flickering above my eyes were portraying nothing but lies, lies that everyone else believed. They were so big, there wasn’t enough space for anything else unless you knew the truth.
» Posted By Saskia On 04.17.2015 @ 4:07 am
Didn’t you know
that mountains are formed
by plates pressing against another
they push up the crust of the earth
you. You with
your weathered arms
and tired tired
eyes – those cheeks
like they used to.
You are not broken,
my dear, you are breaking.
into mountains bigger
than anyone else.
» Posted By Saskia On 05.14.2014 @ 8:29 am
I left the bathroom, making sure
there was no trail of paper cut
eyes trailing behind me,
and I met her. She,
whose hair looked like it suffocated
fires and whose great palms
could clench a can
together, so easily. She
whose good graces
I wanted to fall into, whose
charm under smoke exhilarated me
What lipstick colour are you wearing?
She liked it,
thought it looked like summer.
It’s my teeth, I said.
I bight them so sometimes
it hurts to brush them. I had never
told anyone that.
» Posted By Saskia On 05.06.2014 @ 8:21 am
At the age of sixteen
I had realised that my body
belonged to more people
than just me. It
belonged to the corner shop
owner, who stared
and made clicks with
his mouth – clicks
like how you might call over
a dog. It belonged
to my high school lover,
who told me to wear softer
shades in softer lights
and my college affair
who told me not to wear
tight dresses –
they made my legs look too big,
said he. The
day I wore my first
bra was not
wings weren’t born from the sky,
I simply grew. There was nothing
it. I shed my skin
and grew a cup more.
You stare at my biology.
» Posted By saskia On 05.05.2014 @ 8:05 am
cannot save –
It cannot heal
it does not fix
– what you need
is to understand
that your sadness is not beautiful.
there is no one
who can pull poetry
from inside your body
who can writes books
about the way you stare
out the window.
are all there is
in this world and all,
so wear your hair tight
– the higher up
the closer to the gods,
old and new –
and knock sandcastles
into the see
so you can see,
you are powerful.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.19.2013 @ 5:04 am
I was raised in New york by a french father and a filipino mother. I was brought up as a jehovahs witness by my grandmother but was later convinced that god was in the television. I am not fond of the way I was raised. I wish I had a harder life, but..
» Posted By Saskia On 10.18.2012 @ 8:49 pm
Civilization is a myth. It was created by those who wished to impose hierarchy. Wait, that’s a total lie. It was actually implanted through something called agriculture, which depended on the weather, the climate. Which explains poverty and riches and how they’re spread out over the word. What am I talking about? I dunno, ask Jared Diamond.
» Posted By saskia On 10.16.2012 @ 10:14 pm
man hat kein wasser mehr aber braucht welches genau weiß ich nicht was das ist aber man hat auf jeden fall lange keines mehr getrunken und sonst st
» Posted By Saskia On 09.01.2012 @ 9:42 am
Sometimes people text eachother about what is happening in their life. Is that the most important thing, right at that moment in time? No, it is not. Enjoy it, live it, be in the moment and tell your friends later. Isn’t it much more beautiful to tell your stories instead of texting them? Think about it, life is not made to be written down, its made to enjoy every little second of it and be proud later. Now go text it.
» Posted By Saskia On 08.10.2012 @ 3:39 pm
I have this dilemma of not saying my true feelings because I grew up in a hectic house. My sister is bipolar and my little brother is ADHD and bipolar. There I was in the middle. I never wanted to say anything because my mom was already overwhelmed with my siblings and I didn’t want to bother her with my feelings.
» Posted By Saskia On 05.29.2012 @ 6:17 am
There’s truth in thunder, there’s truth in every fearful thing. Imagine there was a place where all you held good in this dear world was threatened. A place, where, behind each door was your fear, only you didn’t know what that fear was. You move closer and you torment your brain to figure out its form, hoping to come face to face with it as a friend. But you are a product of fear. That fear is you. So you move closer, yet you still can’t perceive what it is. You are trapped here and you want to get out, but you are just a prisoner of your own device. Until eventually you open up that door and all you can think is; “What else could it have been?” That’s when the thunder roles and vibrates in your veins. When your blood shakes to the surface of your pale skin. When you hear the truth in the thunder. You can’t save yourself from this.
» Posted By Saskia On 12.20.2011 @ 6:41 am
He watched the hands of his love move back and forth over paper, edging in his thoughts and creasing his eyebrows while trying to think of a word worthy enough for this letter. He sat crouched over a table. He sat shaking his head. He sat troubling mind. It was perhaps the greatest letter he would ever have to write. So let his crows out of his body and watched spread onto the parchment, spilling out every last inch of bones. At that moment he was as raw as the blood beneath his skin. And at that moment, watching him torment himself, he found he loved him with an animal desperation. A need to tuck him under his coat and crush him to his chest, till their bones fused together with skin on skin. A need to keep him with him here, to protect him. He’d keep a picture of him in his mind, an unbroken one that showed the truth on he could feel, a panorama. For the two were the others worlds entire.
» Posted By Saskia On 12.18.2011 @ 2:23 am
In the middle of the doorway stood a crooked figure who leaned on his cane. He was tired, and eventually like all, he grew defeated after the persistent thought he gave for her. The shadows overlapped his face so that is was perfectly concealed behind a darkness, flattering him and his crooked smile.
“I wish I could change this fatalistic view you have placed upon the world.”
In a dusty chair she was curled facing nothing. Her head was turned towards him but here eyes saw past his existence.
“I’m in this world aren’t I? Am I not worth being hopeful about?” he asked. He wasn’t angry, not in the slightest, but rather – he was terribly afraid. This was what they had, something great and worth writing about. But there is a darkness in her that he thought he could save her from, and that darkness drained him. He was hers. She was his as much as she ever could be, but, he had to save himself.
» Posted By Saskia On 12.10.2011 @ 5:33 am
There is a path that links me to you, a path that can be fully achieved if either were to speak and tell of their fears even if their voice shakes. But we aren’t like so. The words we don’t speak we choke down and cough out their kind and simple remains. We aren’t the prophets, we aren’t the saviors, for how can you save when you can’t stand forward. It’s not that we’re cowards, please don’t think that, but rather – we chose to observe the movement of life whilst simultaneously living our own in separate to the rest. We don’t sneak but stand in the day, yet we are often perceived as nothing. But little do they know were are great. Ours was this silence that no one seemed to understand. But this silence, though perfect to us, is not just a path but a universe. There is a universe between us.
» Posted By Saskia On 12.09.2011 @ 5:41 am
I wish I could seek you out, and fuse together are existence. I’d break my bones and place them in yours, crack my ribs and re-arrange them in absolute forms with yours, in hopes that they may fit softer. I can’t obey what my mind pulses in itself. You are evil, you are horrid, you are awful. But you are, and that is beautiful. Your long legs twist like spiders around humans and grasp them in their shadows while you take all that they have. You are evil. But i’d break this hold the world has of your voice and shake it. My voice is shaking and I can feel heart dying. But it dies for you. Does evil exist? Or is it just a point of view? I hate myself for loving you but I can forgive my oblivion. It dies for and all you can do is ignore the rhythm and dance to it’s plea, yet you are still what I hold the dearest in the horrible world.
» Posted By Saskia On 12.04.2011 @ 3:17 am
I’m not alone because the TV’s on. I’m not insane because I take the right pills. This is the world we are fed. We are the generation that has no great war, but rather ours is a spiritual one. We fight our minds against what we are told, we like to believe we have trust but in the end it’s just us. Leaders don’t lead. Kings are dying as presidents turn corrupt. I don’t understand this place anymore.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.26.2011 @ 10:52 am
The flare of the match lit up his eyes, and she could see the crinkle between them. The flare of the match showed the anger in his hands, and she could see the power in his fists. She sat and watched is face turn emotions, just waiting for him to speak. He lit embers into into fire and watched them slowly destruct the room, just waiting on her to give up on him. He was angry at the world and he was fighting himself. He was torn in two and he could not decide which was worse. He did not have the capability of just being, his mess was slowly corroding his mind. So he just sat in a room and lit up matches watching them all die out.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.19.2011 @ 11:47 pm
I remember when I you told me all the things you thought about this world, and I could see there was a universe inside of you. We’re all universes, black masses and hidden spaces, but you, your stars were dying and fading into but planets. And I could see that. So I told you the things you wanted to hear, in and out came these words, in and out, but they meant nothing to me. You were fading and showing it, no longer masking your eyes that flickered as each electric nerve in your brain died. I told you the things you wanted to hear, and I hoped it helped, but they were not the truth. They weren’t what you had to hear. I am a satellite, I float and never land and can’t feel right in the place that I am. The truth is, no matter where you are it’s the wrong place. But I tore up these tiny hearts for you, and tore up my words.
The sun shone through the pollution in the air and we kept hold of that moment because we knew that once I left we would find no other that held captive these same fears. So take my words and let them not go useless. Take them and try your best to believe in them.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.17.2011 @ 4:17 am
The last man left on on earth sat alone in a room. He sat on a wooden crate that creaked under his frail matter, creaking with each breath. His lungs were filled with dust that made him choke with each rise of his chest. His skin clung horribly close to his bones, so he had tried his best to ink his bones with something great. In the end, that’s all that’s left of us, bones caked in soil. He fought his fight and held on dearly to his world, yet his life was not great without any other presence except for space. He liked the silence, the constant chatter of humans made him grow mad, but the vast space of nothing made him insecure. The last man on earth sat alone in a room. A room of destruction and horrible remains. Past the silence, he heard a knock on the door.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.16.2011 @ 5:12 am
In oblivion, everything is great. In reality, nothing is so. But the truth is, no one wants reality. Soon fires will spread as masked faces riot through her core. The quiet will be no more as the crown less take the King. From the shadows are fire will be fed, and an inferno will devour our minds. The King is dead.
They say the captain goes down with his ship, so will we go down with our world? And what will happen, when there’s nothing left. Just static. Just space. Empty space. We are the same decomposing organic matter as the earth, we all rot. In oblivion, we are immortal. In reality, we all die. It’s easy to see why most choose not to live in this reality.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.16.2011 @ 4:45 am
Charcoal lined her palms and spread into it’s creases. A black dusk slowly eating away at her hands, he hands that she needed to create her immortality. The world is quiet here, in the solitude of a room that was built by paintings. Not pretty paintings, not clever paintings, but awful paintings. She drew her mind.
I loved her so, with the brick beating in the cavity between my ribs, I loved her. But I am not brave anymore darling, I am broken. They have broken me. I fell in love with her silence, and her touch, and it is these things i believed in even if the world indulged in suspicion that she isn’t all she should be. I loved her, and that was the beginning of my end. She is the darkness, while I am nothing. She is greatness, while I am nothing. She is has become immortal, while I am nothing.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.14.2011 @ 3:39 am
Facing the mirror he would stand, bare and naked, scrutinizing his own self. He’d look at his flesh and find cuts, look at his hands and feel the hard skin, stare at his face and find eyes that were bland. He’s beginning to hate himself. He’d feel cold in the winter air as he stood facing that mirror, then he’d turn round and be confronted by all the pictures on the wall. This room is an image of him. His life in on that wall. He’s beginning to hate it. Slowly he starts to take each picture, playing them in a grave under his bed. Behind each frame is whiter patch of wall that the rest. And soon, that’s all he’ll have. A wall of dust with white patches, while his old self in buried under his bed. This is his beginning.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.12.2011 @ 2:01 am
One looked like a man bending over a silhouette, a body maybe? Either way all he say was a death. The other looked like a butterfly, but it’s wings were clipped as if it itself gnawed them off. Print after print he was shown. And all he saw in these manifested blotches was chaos and static and horrible things, oh such horrible things. This is what his mind in. This is what he is. This is what we’re afraid of. And he knows this. So he cleverly tells others what they see, but in his mind he chuckles at the fickel matter of what we are. He is more. He is a blackness that sweeps over and makes you nothing, for only after you’ve lost everything are you free to do anything.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.10.2011 @ 4:59 am
Finally, the flesh reflects all the madness within, just another malice. I am drifting.. but not to sleep. Here I can shake the views of the world and find myself. History will absolve me. Time is askew. And I am in it. I am what’s wrong… I am still alive. The world is dying, and it is my fault, and I can’t bear it another day. You are forgiven, always and entirely, forgiven. I promised not to lead you into this darkness alone, and I kept my heart to that. We are both lost, and we won’t be found, for this world is not your home. The future is not yours, the policies rule you. There is a patent on freedom. Have not love, for I am nothing, but just another malice.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.09.2011 @ 3:14 am
She’s something, but not much at that. She lived by a philosophy; that you had to know that someday you would die, until then are you useless. We are all the same decaying organic matter as the next, all part of the same compost heap. Placed under pressure after death till out energy is trapped inside us. She was waiting for a day when the world would no longer be waiting, and realise that no one is better than another. She walks with limped a bone, and like autumn, she brought sadness. She is something. Just something. Like us.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.08.2011 @ 7:53 am
Feet perched high on a table, with cracks in their soles and hard skin around the heel. Those feet ache as veins pulse to the surface, as toenails bleed from the careless thoughts of its inhabiter. She can’t quite seem to find a way to care, and she just needed to rest. It scared her, how immense the world was and how full of emotion it can be, but none of her own. She remembered feeling her fathers heart beat once, pulsing blood in a fast rhythmic fashion that proved he was alive. She could never feel hers. She tires of these hopeless thoughts that she might ever feel, though she wishes dearly she could. She understood the premises, read of poets voices in which they loved, knew the horrible fears children cry of. She even wished to feel that last second of pain that a dying man issues. But she tires, of never feeling.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.06.2011 @ 3:58 am
He had searched for countless unexplainable reasons. Taking planes to every single destination that the cards ever told, following the forgotten clues to where he might possibly be. Yet in all doubt he foresaw even then that this was all but a mad chase of someone that long ago wished never to be found again. But he never stopped. It was the combination of a hopeless desperation and a horrible will. Then one night, in an ally way that reeked of beer and sweat and that rust of dried blood he caught his first glimpse. He saw the filth of the street and the dirt on his face and he saw the same pity. His fingers would tremble every time his face showed in mind and how it made his heart ache, but he new this had to have an end. The two were now separately lost and they won’t be found. It was the combination of a sudden mentality and a tired heart, that brought the end.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.04.2011 @ 10:47 am
He is a universe in himself. A galaxy in the empty cavity between ribs of paper. He’s changed and altered all of who he is, ripped apart his beliefs and reconstructed his soul. When he was younger he used to believe good things came to good people, that no good thing died. But the damned control our fates while the wicked rule our minds. And this awful epiphany made his existence. Death will cheat out of all you hold dear in this good world. So he reformed his mind and adapted to hostility. And the universe of him is all but a thousand different hims to change to. He is never one, he is thousands. He’s learnt to pretend in order to survive.
» Posted By Saskia On 11.02.2011 @ 7:52 am
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Cold cracked hands grasp for the pen. Cracked hands that are flawed with scars and bumps. Cracked hands open to the vulnerability that any shattered person attracts, hands of a person who knows the feeling of fresh salt in fresh wounds. Dry blood cakes around his finger nails that have been ripped and torn by teeth, in the attempts of orderly cleanliness. But he never cared much for that. The young boy raises his old hand and slashes it across the page. Hands of anger write out furious words of life, and hell. People are afraid of the damaged, for they know they can survive. But he, he never planned on it. So why is he still here? He writes and spill out dirty ink that taints the surface of white. He needs to know just where to go and who to be. He is not passionate, he is determined.
» Posted By Saskia On 10.31.2011 @ 11:38 am