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Chocolateshots.
Martina.
Tina. Marty. Marts.
TiniTinyTina!
An iTram.
An 'IT' ram. (the jay chou of sheep)
celestial beings.
February 2006
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Yes. Someone else’s dreams were indeed shattered that night. She could still pick out the shards as she struggled to think – to beat. beat. beat. And what she felt when it first hit. A pain so flawless. So perfect.
Pain that courses over your soul and into your bones. Starting in your chest and sweeping its way between your ribs, into your stomach and right to the base of your spine. And you feel as if someone literally split you down the middle with a blade so sharp you can barely feel it - initially. But then the red blood blossoms from the gash and you know it’s not just a fragment of your imagination, but that it’s there – this force so strong that it flows through you, corroding your soul as it travels the length of your body.
It leaves you exposed. Your heart, your lungs, your soul give you away to the world. So you guard your face and tell them that everything will be ok, and who knows? You might believe it yourself one of these days. And you lie there while you think about everything and sense your wasted feelings bleed away into the bed below you.
There is something special about this feeling. The pain so great and so beautiful that all you can do is admire its power and beauty. Surrender to the hopelessness. Or maybe it’s because these feelings confirm that one isn’t quite as dead as one thought or as one would have liked to be.
Deep down inside you know this is how it should be. How it’s supposed to be. It is what you have been asking for after all. This is the only way. You even told him, as you lay there talking, pouring your soul. You told him what you wanted. You wanted to know everything, and now you do. And it’s not what you want to hear, it’s there, and it’s the truth. You know it’s meant to help you move on, but you know that all you really want to do right now is to give in to it.
And from somewhere in your head, a hollow, dead voice that you vaguely remember fills your insides.
As usual, you will survive.
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Martina.
Tina. Marty. Marts.
TiniTinyTina!
An iTram.
An 'IT' ram. (the jay chou of sheep)
celestial beings.
12:58 AM, Wednesday, July 04, 2007
She couldn’t sleep so she lay against the blue bed sheets, feeling the waves of pain wash over her, gently. They were almost beautiful. Long lost friends which she hadn’t felt for almost two years. Calmly she welcomed them.Yes. Someone else’s dreams were indeed shattered that night. She could still pick out the shards as she struggled to think – to beat. beat. beat. And what she felt when it first hit. A pain so flawless. So perfect.
Pain that courses over your soul and into your bones. Starting in your chest and sweeping its way between your ribs, into your stomach and right to the base of your spine. And you feel as if someone literally split you down the middle with a blade so sharp you can barely feel it - initially. But then the red blood blossoms from the gash and you know it’s not just a fragment of your imagination, but that it’s there – this force so strong that it flows through you, corroding your soul as it travels the length of your body.
It leaves you exposed. Your heart, your lungs, your soul give you away to the world. So you guard your face and tell them that everything will be ok, and who knows? You might believe it yourself one of these days. And you lie there while you think about everything and sense your wasted feelings bleed away into the bed below you.
There is something special about this feeling. The pain so great and so beautiful that all you can do is admire its power and beauty. Surrender to the hopelessness. Or maybe it’s because these feelings confirm that one isn’t quite as dead as one thought or as one would have liked to be.
Deep down inside you know this is how it should be. How it’s supposed to be. It is what you have been asking for after all. This is the only way. You even told him, as you lay there talking, pouring your soul. You told him what you wanted. You wanted to know everything, and now you do. And it’s not what you want to hear, it’s there, and it’s the truth. You know it’s meant to help you move on, but you know that all you really want to do right now is to give in to it.
And from somewhere in your head, a hollow, dead voice that you vaguely remember fills your insides.
As usual, you will survive.
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