The Anger Was Just Boiling Up. I Didn't Know What To Do With The Excess Water. It Was Overflowing The
The anger was just boiling up. I didn't know what to do with the excess water. It was overflowing the styrofoam cup and I needed to put it somewhere. I needed to throw something. I had to punch someone so hard it hurt me more than it ever hurt them. I grabbed my scalding cup and poured. A whispering drizzle ran down the hill side drilling into the dirt digging at the rocks breaking the dam of soil to bring forth a rushing river. Hurt yourself. I pounded my fist into my thigh. Hurt yourself. I scratched at my arm nails on a chalkboard. Hurt yourself. I didn't stop when I started bleeding. Hurt yourself. My skin was stuck under my nails. Hurt yourself. I was drowning head down in the deep waters so hot it was icy cold to the touch. Hurt yourself. I liked it. That hurt the most.
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it's selfish,
I know it is.
I apologized for it,
which I know means nothing.
yet I still pressed send,
for me not for you.
and I tell you that,
in typed out abbreviated words.
'so sorry chat',
like it fixes my cruelty.
I could've left well enough alone,
but who am I kidding.
my friends wonder why people vape,
when they know it's bad for them.
well why do they procrastinate writing essays?
why do we stay up late on school nights?
why do I scratch and scrape at my scared skin?
why did I press send on that damn message?
it's selfish,
self harm its in the name.
I apologized for it,
which I know means nothing.
I am so fucking sorry,
for all the wrong reasons.
I am made of flesh I am made of bone
most of which is my very own
I am made of muscle I am made of skin
the likes of which resembles my kin
I am made of stardust I am made of rain
I carry with me my mothers pain
I am made of laughter I am made of sorrow
I am someones dream of a better tomorrow
jk guys we are so back
"its never over"-jeff buckley
as I let nature reclaim me I slowly but surely delete my ties to slavery swiping
I am deleting tumblr, my second to last stop as I fade into the trees
I leave to you my few posts in hopes of being remembered
there is a version of me that doesn't like to say goodbye
~andria
If I were a runner I'd be a sprinter
And if I were a painter I'd never buy varnish
If I were your rich great aunt I'd bore you with stories of a drunken Italy
And if I were a mother I'd eat my children in one sitting
If I were your girlfriend I'd be the summer to your tom
And if I were a musician I'd have five singles you had to buy separately and burn onto one disk
If I were a writer I'd be a poet
And if I were a poet I'd never breath a word of this to you
I saw you looking
So why did you say you didn't care
why look at something you dont like
instead look at the trees blowing in the air
I caught you looking
and i caught the blush in ur cheeks
the soft smile on your lips
like the cutest little geek
I noticed you not looking
so i tried to forget
it wasnt all that hard
but then you had to look again
this time your eyes were lower
and i wouldnt have minded but
i saw you looking
then you said u didnt care
glass
the earth grumbles beneath you. the walls rattle the hanging picture frames. the glass shatters on the floor, releasing those memories like ghosts seeking closure. you desperately dig through the folds and frantically search the corners. you find nothing but the answer blinding your eyes. knees colliding with the hardwood floor, your heart lets out an agonizing wail, a painful yearning cry. i stand at the door and observe, careful not to step on the shards of glass. after a moment, you grow silent, staring out over the horizon. you are still, except for the rising and falling of your chest as you take hovering breaths. it was inevitable.
Oh how I love the way people love. The fire filled passion dulling to the content flame of long lasting love. But even then the flame burns bright and hot as a dying star. Sometimes it even starts a wild fire. Spreading through unspoken words and the softest of kisses. Every day dream adding wood to the pile, every flirty glance keeping the flame tall and proud. Oh how I can't wait to experience the way people love. To be in love with someone, just two people working to keep their star from exploding into a nova of pain guilt and sorrow. I know some people aren't satisfied with satisfactory but oh I long to be satisfied. To grow old with my one my only and our flaming star burning as bright as the day we fell into that devastatingly dark pit. But until then I will write what I think love is and be laughed at by those who possess such bright beautiful stars.
If I were your girlfriend I'd be the summer to your tom
There was a simple joy in just staying up for a while longer. Consciousness could be exhausting. Often it was. But it could also be sublime. And so there was the option to go to sleep. But you thought you may as well just stay up. There was time to do things, learn things; and you didn’t need to be anywhere tomorrow. So, simply stay awake and keep your mind going for a little longer.
