i said "so much", not "too much", i'd love to live a lifetime with you...

hold up the bucket,
for the absent rain to fill the abyss,
a few droplets,
drown any feeling of worthiness.
it makes me wonder,
that if my head hits the desk frequently,
and hard enough,
whether unconsciousness will take me.
into the dark folds,
of memories knotted in with day-dreams,
and my nightmares,
that could've been actualities.
i won't look down now,
convincing myself never to fall,
but i was wrong,
no need for fear or feelings at all.

Deleting excess personal traits, because the people in the attic are screaming, that it’s better to be simple and we all want to be better...

she slumped back in her chair and exhaled noisily out her nose. she looked at the screen, then at the keyboard and back at the screen again. nothing came to her, she wanted to write, an urging desire to communicate filled her mind. wisps of words and sentences and stories drifted through her conscience, but none were enough to make much meaning. desperately she mentally grabbed one and started typing. the light from the t.v. flickered across the faces of the watching audience, their eyes glowing with the reflection of the screen. but not everyone present were paying attention to the film, there were more important matters at hand. she gripped her head in her hands, swaying slightly. her fingernails pressed into her scalp, she closed her eyes and started humming to hopefully help her clam down. this isn't the way life is meant to be. paint smeared across the surface of the canvas, skillfully enough not to mother droplets or globules that would grow up to spoil the black back ground. if there was any markings, they were meant to be there, precision was the artist's closest friend and most acclaimed quality. he thought nothing would stop him from finishing his latest masterpiece. but glancing out the window and down on the street proved to make him stumble. weaving amongst the crowd was a shining maiden, full of colour, bursting with beauty and he was gone. she pushed her way inside his head and occupied his dreams and day-dreams and filled his imagination, brightening up his mind with factitious conversations and filling it with splatters of emotion. it was then that precision left him. "if only i was taller" she muttered, pulling a chair over to the book shelf. She stepped up and grabbed the book she was after, exciting a colony of dust that had been relaxing there for the past four years. particles tickled her nostrils and she could feel the sneeze coming. her eyes closed, she tried to grab onto the bookshelf but caught a small book in her hand. the sneeze threw her balance and she tumbled to the floor, the desired book in one and the small book in the other of her hands. grateful that she hadn't managed to grasp the bookcase as it would have most likely fallen on top of her she looked at the small book. but the name of the book wouldn't come to the writer, it fell through her hands like sand in an hourglass. and so now out of words and out of time she is left with ramblings on a page that may grow up to be stories of their own. or may not. she slumped back in her chair again and sighed, her fingers tapping on the keyboard, but not actually pressing down the keys but still making a satisfying noise that was quite soothing indeed.

sleep with all the lights on, you're not so happy, you're not secure...

in her metaphorical hands, she held out her emblematic heart, 'this is me' she whispered and all he did was laugh. with his ringing vocal sound, her lips were forced to smile, 'it is only me' she remarked, putting self-worth into denial. these figurative kicks, kept her down low, 'i'm only a joke' she laugh, 'only a joke, i know'. but masks wear thin eventually, often too late, hers slipped one day, to reveal burning self-hate. 'take me, please take me a-fucking-way from me, this isn't worth it, i'm not worth it, you made me see. that i stand alone, and i always will, please end it, my life is yours to kill.' the boy stood still and looked down at his hands, he'd already taken her life, finally he understands. with a hug he thinks, all will be okay, so he wraps his arms around her, and softly begins to sway.she doesn't hug back, standing broken and small, her emblematic heart, is merely symbolic after all.

man this sounds like crap. i'm just sick of people throwing around my opinions like i don't care about them. please support my theory that i told you that because i can trust you not to laugh it off like a joke. it hurts, that writing sucks and i'm in a bad mood. maybe i need to kick something, no, i'm too "non-confrontational" for that. i mean i am, but no need to rub it in my face.