It was with a fit of desperation that she had decided to be coward and leave. There was nothing for after. No future for her, none that she wanted. So what really was the point of it all? Life seemed such a waste of time.
I think of lonliness. I think of giula. I think of Hilda. I think of myself. I think of the future. I think o fmy life. I think of everything that I wont be. I think of people not being able to understand as well as others. I think of my dad. I think of my mom. I think of my brother.
Desperation. A soul into each and every one of our souls, even the best of us.
A deep, aching yearning for the one we most desire.
A pit into our minds, destroying and tainting.
All she had left now was desperation. She struggled harder, not caring that the ropes were beginning to bite into her skin. With horror, she realized that the cold, uneven surface that she was lying upon was not a cobblestone road, as she had first thought. It was a brittle, crunching carpet of bones.
Okay, so I’m out of pain pills, she thought to herself. I can survive without them, right? I’m not a junkie, right? I’m not addicted, right. I’m not one of those cliche housewives who gets addicted to pain killers, right?
She put on her housecoat and went out to the dark corner on the next street over, looking for that skeezy-looking guy who was always hanging around in the alley.
In desperation I tried, oh how I tried to dissipate the damage. The damage was done, in desperation, and now needed to be undone. Desperate measures require desperate dissipation. Desperate I am, I know. Desperate to show you it can be done.
He once told her that her lips tasted like Big Red and desperation. She told him he tasted of tuna fish and delusions. Then they traded drunken smiles and kissed again.
(They never talk about that night, especially not with each other.)
Even through the coarse nylon fibers in her suit, she could feel the heat rising to a broil under her fingers. The metal goraned, threatening to cave under her weight.
“Just a bit longer,” she mumbled, words lost to the thick mouthpiece that covered the lower half of her face. The led lights flickered in her visor, alerting her to the dangerous levels of temperature that were storming around her. Desperation clawed at her stomach, pushing her further across the roof towards the tower spiking towards the darkened sky. She still wasn’t sure if the beast knew of her presence, in theory her suit should have concealed her scent, body heat and weight enough that she would be undetected. But then again, Dragons could be surprisingly fast learners.
I’d have spent the night with anyone at that point. Anyone that would have had me. I just needed to feel someone close to me, feel that warmth that life had stolen from me. I just needed someone.
Anyone.
And that’s what leads to the biggest mistake of one’s life.
Don’t accept anything, you never know what you’ll end up allowing yourself to do.
Disheartened by the need and
Close to the greed
All that I want
All that is there
Emptyness that surrounds
All the immediate resounds
This torture that is so
near and real
He clung to life and she could feel it. He breathed just a little bit, she saw his chest rise. His eyelid flickered a bit, so there’s something going on – even though he’s totally still and leaking pints of blood from a hole in his neck…
Limbs pumping wildly through both earth and sky, her desperation was clear, shining brighter even than the exposed whites of her eyes. Her panting breaths, so sharp they cut at her lungs like shards of glass, sounded in time with the thunderous beating of her heart.
This is me every night: sitting alone in my cluttered bedroom, wishing that I had someone who wanted to be with me. Wishing for a group of close friends, a boyfriend who loved me, a life that I didn’t feel like I was phoning in all the damn time. Something real and vital and maybe not just something I drag around with me all day, like a weight on my shoulders.
When you stood alone and it felt like the whole world was out to get you, everything you ever did was out of desperation. He’d convinced himself that he used others for the sake of self-preservation, but in the end, when the blood was on his hands, he found it hard to justify any action that he took.
Desperation was named after Someone’s experience while walking through the desert. Someone forgot his canteen at his apartment but he did remember his smartphone. So he blogged about how suckish his situation was and he called the sensation of not knowing what to do “desertperspiration,” which the blogosphere shortened to “desperation.”
It was a cold day. The water looked even colder. Still. Untouchable. Nobody would want to be in there at that time. Unless… Desperation, it was all one person needed to fall in love with that cold, deadly water.
A feeling when you absolutely don’t know what to do with yourself. for me this means that it is a time when I will be falling on my knees crying and doing nothing but shouting for help from God. Desperation can be for something good or bad, it can be positive or negative. desperate for love…
No other time
was she more
willingly proffered
than when her bare breasts
were pressed
against his bare chest,
arms around his neck,
mouths brushing,
barely open,
breathing each other’s breath,
eyes unfocused
for their proximity.
How could he trade her
for a trick?
For a quick.
For a quivering
moment
of nothing that lasts.
The feeling of wanting something now because your afraid you’ll lose it before you have the chance to get it. The fear of something messing up along the way there, that prevents you from grabbing hold of what you want. If you felt secure about surroundings, you’ll feel better about pursuing something.
And this feeling isn’t new.
He has felt it before, many times, coursing and surging and consuming.
He knows this one.
He lets it take hold.
He lets it devour and strangle and bleed and tear and taste and and and
it’s over.
In her desperation all she knew was that she needed to get out, to get away, and that’s exactly what she did. So she grabbed a backpack, dumped out the assorted contents and threw in new belongings. A few had value but most were sentimental or clothing. There was nothing left he could say to change her mind, so while he was at work, another late night at the office, she walked out, locked the door, and turned off all the lights; the complete opposite of her habits when she planned to return drunk after a night with friends or sometimes even more sober than before after a heart to heart rant between herself and the stars. It was all she knew, and she hoped he’d be able to understand.
Out of sheer desperation, Arvey tugged at the rope and watched the sail billow open like a loose flap of skin, torn and pinkish against the gray sky. Barkelee was looking worse for wear, and no matter how many bandages Mistress Kor wrapped around his abdomen, the blood never seemed to slow its journey down the legs of his breeches. Quinoni kept close to the bow of the small boat, squinting through the mist, as Arvey prayed that they would reach a calmer shore in time.
The clock was ticking, and desperation drove his pounding heart even faster. He had been looking for days, but had not found even a clue that would help him resolve his quest. And now he had only minutes left. The shops would close soon. Would it be the same old roses and chocolates for Mother’s day again?!
In desperation I welded together a wooden owl sitting on my desk and a dark piece of steel, hoping that would be enough to deter the approacher off of my front porch. It was indeed an act of desperation: I would never have believed that a tiny adorable owl was enough to even fight with in a normal situation, but I was panicked.
Fitted whit just his wits, the hero lay face down in the mud, dazed, wondering what all he has left. Just mud. Mud all around but backdrop to his impending failure clutched in his fist will be his only weapon. “I’ll make this not count”
running, running…..scaling past the briar bushes, small thorns tearing skin and fabric alike. Can never stop, for they shall never cease. Have to hide, have to flee, have to…
Quietly, she stepped, as quietly as she could, on the autumn leaves. Desperate for the crunch of the leaves not to be heard. Desperate for there to be no noise. Just silence. Verity didn’t want to hear the angry voice of Lucien, the desperate animal cry that arose from the back of his throat. Mangled blonde hair – she always wanted to run her hand through it – always wanted to comfort him. Desperate to. But she never did and now, it was too late. He was locked up.
The chestnut trees were all she could think of. It reminded her of him, his chestnut hair and eyes.
Finally her arms reached up to take down the picture.
Her knees sank to the floor and her hands clasped her hair, almost pulling in agony. Why did he leave? Now she was all alone. Vulnerable. Exhausted. Shaking she stood up. Anger glazed her eyes.
She hated this feeling, clawing its way up her chest, constricting her throat, restricting her oxygen. Making her feel dizzy and light headed with its horrible oppressiveness. No matter how hard she tried, she could not shake it. Unable to rid herself of its thorn and its claws, eating away at her from the inside out.
“Please, please just tell me what’s going on. I’m so confused, so hurt and worried and upset. Just explain this. Please, I’ll do anything. Why do you ignore me? Why do you think that I’m trying to hurt you? Why can’t you see how much I love you?” she asked with tears cascading like duel waterfalls down her cheeks.
“I don’t care for desperation, leave me alone,” he muttered in reply coldly.
Desperation can consume you to do terrible things, things that you wouldn’t normally do under normal circumstances. So unless you have a clear mind, and the strength to overcome your feelings, you can make some grand mistakes.
If he could possibly do anything to get back to her, than he would do it. He’d gladly through himself into a black hole if it meant somehow he could find her once again and hold her within his arms, warm and soft and wonderful. But he couldn’t do anything. The problem was, there was just enough of him to think there was something to be done, and it made him desperate.
She lurched forward, tears still falling, and grabbed his hand tightly, nails digging into his palm. It was the only thing that made him turn around and face her. His face was still hard with anger as he waited for her to speak.
“Please, Todd, wait.” Jillian begged, her voice laced with desperation. “I swear to God, I can’t let you walk out of my life. Please stay, I’ll do anything. I promise you.”
“I’m sick of your promises, Jill.” His voice was unusually calm, and thick with unspoken emotions. “You broke my trust way too many times…I’ve made up my mind. I’m sorry.”
“NO!” She screamed as he broke the contact, walking away. She watched, wanting to follow but knowing it was useless. He soon turned the corner, out of sight.
desperation
a feeling
a terrible terrible feeling
desperate people do
desperation things
steal from me
lie to me
kill me
then justify it
desperate times call for
desperate measures
desperate people do desperate things
does this really justify it?
I looked up.
No. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t.
I could barely see the light from down here.
Fuck my hands, my hands!
Blood streaked the rugged stone walls from where I had torn my fingernails out in a desperate attempt to climb.
A willingness to give into the chaos
Keeping a frame of reference a focal point
So world world doesn’t start to drastically turn round and round
Causing nausea from the upheaval
Take a breath
Find a focal point
Mine is your face
It was with a fit of desperation that she had decided to be coward and leave. There was nothing for after. No future for her, none that she wanted. So what really was the point of it all? Life seemed such a waste of time.
I think of lonliness. I think of giula. I think of Hilda. I think of myself. I think of the future. I think o fmy life. I think of everything that I wont be. I think of people not being able to understand as well as others. I think of my dad. I think of my mom. I think of my brother.
Desperation. A soul into each and every one of our souls, even the best of us.
A deep, aching yearning for the one we most desire.
A pit into our minds, destroying and tainting.
All she had left now was desperation. She struggled harder, not caring that the ropes were beginning to bite into her skin. With horror, she realized that the cold, uneven surface that she was lying upon was not a cobblestone road, as she had first thought. It was a brittle, crunching carpet of bones.
Okay, so I’m out of pain pills, she thought to herself. I can survive without them, right? I’m not a junkie, right? I’m not addicted, right. I’m not one of those cliche housewives who gets addicted to pain killers, right?
She put on her housecoat and went out to the dark corner on the next street over, looking for that skeezy-looking guy who was always hanging around in the alley.
In desperation I tried, oh how I tried to dissipate the damage. The damage was done, in desperation, and now needed to be undone. Desperate measures require desperate dissipation. Desperate I am, I know. Desperate to show you it can be done.
He once told her that her lips tasted like Big Red and desperation. She told him he tasted of tuna fish and delusions. Then they traded drunken smiles and kissed again.
(They never talk about that night, especially not with each other.)
Even through the coarse nylon fibers in her suit, she could feel the heat rising to a broil under her fingers. The metal goraned, threatening to cave under her weight.
“Just a bit longer,” she mumbled, words lost to the thick mouthpiece that covered the lower half of her face. The led lights flickered in her visor, alerting her to the dangerous levels of temperature that were storming around her. Desperation clawed at her stomach, pushing her further across the roof towards the tower spiking towards the darkened sky. She still wasn’t sure if the beast knew of her presence, in theory her suit should have concealed her scent, body heat and weight enough that she would be undetected. But then again, Dragons could be surprisingly fast learners.
I’d have spent the night with anyone at that point. Anyone that would have had me. I just needed to feel someone close to me, feel that warmth that life had stolen from me. I just needed someone.
Anyone.
And that’s what leads to the biggest mistake of one’s life.
Don’t accept anything, you never know what you’ll end up allowing yourself to do.
Disheartened by the need and
Close to the greed
All that I want
All that is there
Emptyness that surrounds
All the immediate resounds
This torture that is so
near and real
He clung to life and she could feel it. He breathed just a little bit, she saw his chest rise. His eyelid flickered a bit, so there’s something going on – even though he’s totally still and leaking pints of blood from a hole in his neck…
Limbs pumping wildly through both earth and sky, her desperation was clear, shining brighter even than the exposed whites of her eyes. Her panting breaths, so sharp they cut at her lungs like shards of glass, sounded in time with the thunderous beating of her heart.
This is me every night: sitting alone in my cluttered bedroom, wishing that I had someone who wanted to be with me. Wishing for a group of close friends, a boyfriend who loved me, a life that I didn’t feel like I was phoning in all the damn time. Something real and vital and maybe not just something I drag around with me all day, like a weight on my shoulders.
When you stood alone and it felt like the whole world was out to get you, everything you ever did was out of desperation. He’d convinced himself that he used others for the sake of self-preservation, but in the end, when the blood was on his hands, he found it hard to justify any action that he took.
Desperation was named after Someone’s experience while walking through the desert. Someone forgot his canteen at his apartment but he did remember his smartphone. So he blogged about how suckish his situation was and he called the sensation of not knowing what to do “desertperspiration,” which the blogosphere shortened to “desperation.”
It was a cold day. The water looked even colder. Still. Untouchable. Nobody would want to be in there at that time. Unless… Desperation, it was all one person needed to fall in love with that cold, deadly water.
A feeling when you absolutely don’t know what to do with yourself. for me this means that it is a time when I will be falling on my knees crying and doing nothing but shouting for help from God. Desperation can be for something good or bad, it can be positive or negative. desperate for love…
So she won’t forget
why she left
No other time
was she more
willingly proffered
than when her bare breasts
were pressed
against his bare chest,
arms around his neck,
mouths brushing,
barely open,
breathing each other’s breath,
eyes unfocused
for their proximity.
How could he trade her
for a trick?
For a quick.
For a quivering
moment
of nothing that lasts.
Desperation is when you are left with nothing. No one. You are getting whatever you can, even if it’s wrong.
The feeling of wanting something now because your afraid you’ll lose it before you have the chance to get it. The fear of something messing up along the way there, that prevents you from grabbing hold of what you want. If you felt secure about surroundings, you’ll feel better about pursuing something.
I am black coffee
staining horizons in an
unconventional watercolor,
but lord, sometimes it’s beautiful.
I am midnight
and owls, eyes so wide
they swallow moons–a spine
of moonash and cloudy sparrows.
Though I be disasters…
I cannot simply be “molested.”
I cannot.
And this feeling isn’t new.
He has felt it before, many times, coursing and surging and consuming.
He knows this one.
He lets it take hold.
He lets it devour and strangle and bleed and tear and taste and and and
it’s over.
In her desperation all she knew was that she needed to get out, to get away, and that’s exactly what she did. So she grabbed a backpack, dumped out the assorted contents and threw in new belongings. A few had value but most were sentimental or clothing. There was nothing left he could say to change her mind, so while he was at work, another late night at the office, she walked out, locked the door, and turned off all the lights; the complete opposite of her habits when she planned to return drunk after a night with friends or sometimes even more sober than before after a heart to heart rant between herself and the stars. It was all she knew, and she hoped he’d be able to understand.
Out of sheer desperation, Arvey tugged at the rope and watched the sail billow open like a loose flap of skin, torn and pinkish against the gray sky. Barkelee was looking worse for wear, and no matter how many bandages Mistress Kor wrapped around his abdomen, the blood never seemed to slow its journey down the legs of his breeches. Quinoni kept close to the bow of the small boat, squinting through the mist, as Arvey prayed that they would reach a calmer shore in time.
The clock was ticking, and desperation drove his pounding heart even faster. He had been looking for days, but had not found even a clue that would help him resolve his quest. And now he had only minutes left. The shops would close soon. Would it be the same old roses and chocolates for Mother’s day again?!
In desperation I welded together a wooden owl sitting on my desk and a dark piece of steel, hoping that would be enough to deter the approacher off of my front porch. It was indeed an act of desperation: I would never have believed that a tiny adorable owl was enough to even fight with in a normal situation, but I was panicked.
Fitted whit just his wits, the hero lay face down in the mud, dazed, wondering what all he has left. Just mud. Mud all around but backdrop to his impending failure clutched in his fist will be his only weapon. “I’ll make this not count”
running, running…..scaling past the briar bushes, small thorns tearing skin and fabric alike. Can never stop, for they shall never cease. Have to hide, have to flee, have to…
Quietly, she stepped, as quietly as she could, on the autumn leaves. Desperate for the crunch of the leaves not to be heard. Desperate for there to be no noise. Just silence. Verity didn’t want to hear the angry voice of Lucien, the desperate animal cry that arose from the back of his throat. Mangled blonde hair – she always wanted to run her hand through it – always wanted to comfort him. Desperate to. But she never did and now, it was too late. He was locked up.
The chestnut trees were all she could think of. It reminded her of him, his chestnut hair and eyes.
Finally her arms reached up to take down the picture.
Her knees sank to the floor and her hands clasped her hair, almost pulling in agony. Why did he leave? Now she was all alone. Vulnerable. Exhausted. Shaking she stood up. Anger glazed her eyes.
She hated this feeling, clawing its way up her chest, constricting her throat, restricting her oxygen. Making her feel dizzy and light headed with its horrible oppressiveness. No matter how hard she tried, she could not shake it. Unable to rid herself of its thorn and its claws, eating away at her from the inside out.
This poem.
“Please, please just tell me what’s going on. I’m so confused, so hurt and worried and upset. Just explain this. Please, I’ll do anything. Why do you ignore me? Why do you think that I’m trying to hurt you? Why can’t you see how much I love you?” she asked with tears cascading like duel waterfalls down her cheeks.
“I don’t care for desperation, leave me alone,” he muttered in reply coldly.
Desperation can consume you to do terrible things, things that you wouldn’t normally do under normal circumstances. So unless you have a clear mind, and the strength to overcome your feelings, you can make some grand mistakes.
If he could possibly do anything to get back to her, than he would do it. He’d gladly through himself into a black hole if it meant somehow he could find her once again and hold her within his arms, warm and soft and wonderful. But he couldn’t do anything. The problem was, there was just enough of him to think there was something to be done, and it made him desperate.
She lurched forward, tears still falling, and grabbed his hand tightly, nails digging into his palm. It was the only thing that made him turn around and face her. His face was still hard with anger as he waited for her to speak.
“Please, Todd, wait.” Jillian begged, her voice laced with desperation. “I swear to God, I can’t let you walk out of my life. Please stay, I’ll do anything. I promise you.”
“I’m sick of your promises, Jill.” His voice was unusually calm, and thick with unspoken emotions. “You broke my trust way too many times…I’ve made up my mind. I’m sorry.”
“NO!” She screamed as he broke the contact, walking away. She watched, wanting to follow but knowing it was useless. He soon turned the corner, out of sight.
desperation
a feeling
a terrible terrible feeling
desperate people do
desperation things
steal from me
lie to me
kill me
then justify it
desperate times call for
desperate measures
desperate people do desperate things
does this really justify it?
I looked up.
No. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t.
I could barely see the light from down here.
Fuck my hands, my hands!
Blood streaked the rugged stone walls from where I had torn my fingernails out in a desperate attempt to climb.
A willingness to give into the chaos
Keeping a frame of reference a focal point
So world world doesn’t start to drastically turn round and round
Causing nausea from the upheaval
Take a breath
Find a focal point
Mine is your face