Comments Posted By paper
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somewhere between watching him peel off the dirty bandaid and picking strands of dust out of the half-dried blistering wound underneath, he feels sick, gut and throat. the travesty of all their dreams is here.
» Posted By paper On 08.01.2015 @ 9:31 pm
sometimes it echoes in k’s head. “composure is my greatest skill.” wonders if it’s true. wonders what bad habits j had when the skill was still a weakness; lips chewed swollen and pink, bitten fingers that turned white in the shower. restless sighs in the dark and feet combing through cold sheets and hands in places. midnights that k feels uneasy imagining. wonders how much of j they really know, now.
» Posted By paper On 06.23.2015 @ 1:34 pm
him in that sleek gray suit with his rings clinking on cocktails speaking of all the other unspeakable things new money does in a way that makes him want to pull him down through the rungs and see the bright blue billiard chalk dusty in the ridges of his fingerprint, to lock eyes as the eight ball sinks into the corner pocket, to hate the bastard and win the game.
» Posted By paper On 01.30.2015 @ 2:11 am
because nothing gets her off like hands and knees on the ground and most especially when it’s someone as infuriatingly sweet as this one, with that cupid’s bow on her lips and cupid’s arrow on her tongue.
» Posted By paper On 01.22.2015 @ 6:50 am
don’t you hate that shit. trying to step out and then you get roped back in. you could quit but then you get lonely. no winning. twenty-first century, no such thing here. just cold blue screens and cold hard numbers. acting like you don’t care (i know you care).
» Posted By paper On 12.17.2014 @ 10:51 am
it’s got you locked in place, that sickly mutation of your soul, got you stuck sticking feet sunk into muddy souls where all things green grow from and yet it is nothing but dirt and what you reap depends first on what you sow. do like those fortune cookies and white-teeth authors say, love, and water me. or, be barren and let your feet float free, rootless, hurtless, like that poor baby in the elevator heading to the 15th floor whose hand i will never let go of. the boy’s got you tight as thread between thread and then he tells you everything needs a way out.
you know where the exit is. you are tired because you know exactly where it is and you say please please please and still you end up like this, selfish and pathetic and clawing for a reason to stay in.
» Posted By paper On 12.14.2014 @ 7:52 am
“you got another think coming,” t says and looks him in the eye. how one could be so defiant with such a soft girly tongue, ah. but c has other things to think about.
expression fierce like eagle talons over beds of lavender, that wild beauty of nature. t is something like a painting. something to look at from afar. not a scene to step into.
» Posted By paper On 12.08.2014 @ 3:14 am
thinking about what you’ve become and how you never thought you’d be here. learning you are made of red. painting skin, painting walls. fingerprints. watching the rest travel in packs. you become an animal alone. the echo of your past howls worn and tattered in your human eardrums, the wild streak marring your heartless organized structure, a cave made for thousands so empty it presses your skull in.
» Posted By paper On 12.07.2014 @ 7:49 am
you’re pretty as drugs, with your hair curled and your eyes cold as ice. there’s nothing in a name here. they’ve fucked us empty and left us to die; it’s only you and me, now.
let’s go home, pretty girl. let’s go home.
» Posted By paper On 12.06.2014 @ 7:00 am
the mascara hurts on her eyelashes, hard like dry bare branches in the dead empty air before winter. she remembers when kohl was smudged and soft and sexy, she remembers cold night air on her bare thighs and glitter and when She was heavy and warm on her arm. her eyes feel dry and foreign. like Her, flighty and yet so low low low beneath the earth, wherever She lives, somewhere across the sea.
» Posted By paper On 12.04.2014 @ 8:02 am
probably, at the end of the day, when there’s nothing left and he’s sitting there with blistered feet on black linoleum he’s gonna say okay, well, to hell with it. to hell with you. that’s not fair to the boy, a voice in his head will say, it’s a good thing, probably. and then the boy will come and smile sadly and say sorry one last time and he’ll think no. to hell with you. to hell with you.
» Posted By paper On 10.13.2014 @ 6:00 am
losing definition of myself and wondering if it’s okay, screeching top down hair whipping high school legend on the highway is what i never was
» Posted By paper On 07.23.2014 @ 8:14 am
When did it start? I think
that one time when you meant to prop your knee up on the bed and tripped and fell onto the floor. When I made you mad, and it hurt me. Getting to touch you wherever I want whenever I want, and that empty feeling as I wait for you to touch me back. A little loneliness, knowing you or me are not enough. Cold sheets. Hot air. The back of your head. Fear of falling off the balcony ledge like little paper ashes
» Posted By paper On 07.16.2014 @ 7:02 am
this is here. the place that i’m always coming back to. the craving eats me up inside, soft poison touch floating over that delicate delicate thing we call happiness, fluttering like a veil at the top of the mountain, nestling down below in the dark bitter earth. waiting for me to come home.
» Posted By paper On 07.12.2014 @ 3:28 am
every time i climb over your skin i feel like i am falling into your imperfections. the patches of skin where i feel your anger, softest. you know i have a sick adoration for your dirty blues and black thoughts.
» Posted By paper On 07.04.2014 @ 7:22 am
i like things in ink and blood– too heavy for the every day man, i know, but i’ve always been too invested and yet not open enough. closed and hard like a cold iron drillpoint powered by nothing but puffs of air, sort of like the whirling hurricane that pirouettes en pointe with it’s head in the clouds, but without the dignity. the only words i won’t take back are the ones that i write, but in the meantime, please let me take back my self from your heart.
» Posted By paper On 05.17.2014 @ 11:07 pm
it seems like the longer i live the more it all leaks out through my pores. to explode of overpotency, or to fade away in lukewarm peace? you tell me to stay, stay, but here i am dead and we’re all smiles. don’t you have anything to say? i’m slapped up trash and oozing shit juice. how can you even recognize me like this? yeah, i stayed. but think of me blanketing the earth, ghosting over your sheets like the leftover warmth of a loved body, dissipating into the winter morning air before you can even remember to remember me. intimate and yet so far away; empty, because i am stretched thin over and out, everywhere and nowhere and impossible to grasp, brimming echoes and fog and Sunshine, all for you. think of me like this, and tell me; have i been a good girl?
» Posted By paper On 04.29.2014 @ 6:04 am
there isn’t a place in the world that M would rather be right now, even though there are dead leaves clogged up all along the gritty corners and by the rain pipe. S had been here, and that made all the world melt away under him, leaving only the touch of the sky. this isn’t a place in the world. this is the world.
» Posted By paper On 12.06.2012 @ 1:11 pm
there’s nothing for him to grab onto when he’s feeling the human need, and it makes him sad and folded. he’s not here, and himself is just a boy who will wrinkle and smell of rotting and eventually disappear, just like him.
» Posted By paper On 10.08.2012 @ 11:04 pm
a peek, no more, she giggles and it’s infuriating, a tinkle of laughter like bells. pretend innocence. she knows what she’s doing, sending me a mischievous look before running off, leaving me here with the image of her skin burned into the back of my eyelids.
» Posted By paper On 04.28.2012 @ 10:31 pm
it was eighty-four the other day. damn hot. reminded me that summer is coming soon.
i used to love summer. i used to love a lot of things.
sigh; well, boohoo, time to move on. no use crying over spilled blood. i’ve gotta go, i have to go stock up on long sleeves. what? i live in the same reality as you now, i know how to be practical, don’t look at me like that. i’m just like you. we’re the same- human beings.
does that scare you?
» Posted By paper On 04.18.2012 @ 6:03 pm
i don’t know why i’m trying so hard. i’m not benefiting anyone else, and i’m not hurting anyone else by not trying, either.
summer is coming soon. i used to love summer.
this one will be spent in long sleeves.
» Posted By paper On 04.18.2012 @ 5:50 pm
there’s a reaction for every action, as the theorem goes. always. that seems to be the way it is for them. rise, fall. leave, chase. he doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t think he can do it any other way.
there’s action and reaction; and then there’s with and without.
» Posted By paper On 04.03.2012 @ 8:53 pm
my roommate asked me if i liked rainy days today.
there’s really no accurate word to describe my feelings for rainy days. when it rains, it is like the day might as well not have happened.
when everything is gray, i might as well be dead.
» Posted By paper On 03.30.2012 @ 4:55 pm
there’s something to be said about the romeo/juliet dynamic. it wasn’t overdone in it’s day. it’s not overdone when he reaches out and his fingers close around nothing and it hurts even though he’s young. when will it get old? does pain ever get old?
forever young, forever young.
» Posted By paper On 03.28.2012 @ 3:33 pm
if there was a purple thing on the table, he would probably pick it up. especially edible things. grapes. the small sweet ones.
he has lots purple jackets. they don’t smell quite as sweet. more like sweat. he dances hard and calls it purple. the energy. it’s purple, he says. that’s why i like it.
‘it’ meaning dance or ‘it’ meaning purple, i didn’t ask. they were probably the same thing to him, ingrained into the stitches of his purple hoodie.
» Posted By paper On 03.28.2012 @ 9:09 am
don’t laugh, says who? i’m not gonna do it.
well if you don’t, who is?
shit, somebody just do it, we’re all gonna fall.
» Posted By paper On 03.27.2012 @ 7:57 pm
chicken dinner also known as tin turtles and the smell of smoke and the cold beer and the heat from the fire and the laughter and the quiet and the sounds of a desert night.
» Posted By Paper On 05.04.2011 @ 4:16 pm
to deep need
a new start
where have i been
» Posted By paper On 05.26.2008 @ 2:26 am
Back To Stats Page
divide your thoughts
divide your emotions
from the commotion
» Posted By paper On 05.24.2008 @ 3:51 am