i built a home for you

i'm so uncomfortable with everything going on around me right now. It's kind of difficult to explain, but i miss being sad. When i'm sad, i have control. When i'm unhappy, i sink back into my true self. Control over what i eat, i can write freely, i fall back into my excessive internet usage, listening to the music that only i listen to, taking pictures of everything i see, reading thinspiration blogs, talking to my old best friend. Idk, i've been so swept up in everything recently, i'm barely home. I know spending less time on the internet doesn't seem like a bad thing, that going out with friends proper loads isn't exactly dragging me down, but it just makes me feel so uncomfortable, like i'm pretending. Its one thing to go out and smile and have a great time, but the control just leaves me. My individuality literally just seeps from my skin, falling away into nothingness. Laughing with my best friend, kissing someone i'm seeing, running at the gym, prancing about at work, it all genuinely feels like the biggest facade. I'm waiting for someone to come and burst the balloon so i can sink back into my indescribable sadness, my aching loneliness, my excessive tumblr use. It all sounds so miserable, but i crave it. The patheticness of it all that inspires me, reaches out it's spindly fingers and gives me control. Idk, i don't enjoy being happy.

casiotone for the painfully alone

you call me perfect and i don't know what to say. I don't know how to explain the agony and raging self loathing that lies beneath my skin. It's not even like i'm pretty on the outside and all the ugliness and hatred is hidden away. It's all out there for everyone to see. My snaggled hair, my dull skin. freckles peppered unevenly accross my nose. Eyes too cloudy, eyelashes too short. Ears too small, nails too thin. Skin too pale, torso too short. Legs not long enough, thighs too big. Hips untoned, chest too small. Ankles too slim, wrists that only draw attention to my spindly fingers. Lips too dry, teeth too dull. Nose too pink, cheekbones too unpronounced. I'm too short, i'm untoned, i'm sad and it's more painful to look in the mirror than it is to do anything else in the entire world. So why, why would you tell me that i'm perfect? Why would you humiliate me in such a way? Because it is, you know, humiliating. To be told that you're perfect, just to be made aware that you're not. Someone calls you perfect and you're sat there, alert and painfully aware of all your flaws, out there to be seen. It's mocking, it's patronising. It's the dagger words that splinter away at my chest while i sleep, beelining for my weak and pathetic heart.
Beautiful. Pretty. Amazing. Gorgeous. Goddess.
the words themselves make me physcially ill. What the fuck is wrong with me

solace in misery

All the hearts we broke, all the decisions we thought would matter. Those nights spent in somebody’s arms, people whose names now escape us. It’s an underlying current, an emotional whirlwind where we all put feelings on the lines for taking risks. All the times we took our chance on love. All the times it failed us.

We’re all just broken, lonely souls wondering how to get out next fix. Drugs, alcohol, love, thrills, obsession, sex, manipulation, lies; it’s all the same. A roundabout of momentary pleasure, cheap thrills that dance along your consciousness, swaying precariously on the bridge between uncaring and regret.

You sit there with your eyes glazed over as she tells you all the ways you could draw your life up from the ground, what a fucking shining star you could make of yourself. Her eyes aren’t so much enthusiastic as they are pleading. Because she pities you really. Watching you turn to danger and destruction, watching you turn it into a lifestyle. But your expression remains the same, as always. Because caring is so much harder than remaining impassive. Hating so much easier than admitting love. Finding something to pour your heart and soul into akin to telling everyone your innermost secrets.

So you choose the kaleidoscopic pleasure of living cheaply. Cheap thrills, cheap friends, cheap life. Because you’re clever.

Just not clever enough.

in your hands

Just when i think i'm rising above it all, that i'm shedding the skin of insecurity and obsession, it comes back. Like a candle flickering in the darkness. The paranoia, the anxiety, the craving for perfection. I know i should burn all my magazines, rip up all my obcessive lists, but i can't. i enjoy it all too much. The feeling of being in control, the confidence that comes with being empty and flawless. Of sizing up everyone around me and gloating inwardly when i come out on top. It's horrific, but i can't escape it. So many times i've pushed it behind me. Because the feelings of confidence, the feelings of happiness? they're fleeting. So so so so so fleeting. So fleeting that they might as well never have existed. In it's place are insecurities and misery. A down spiral into depression and self loathing. But it's all i've got. Skin stretched over bones, endless hours of nothing but tears. So for now, this is what i'll stand for.

hang me from the heavens

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person wanders into your stupid life… you give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should just be friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination, not just in the mind. Its a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love

19.7.10

i want to be nothing. to throw my head back towards the sky and feel the night air kissing every inch of my skin. to be refreshed, renewed, to stand under an unfamiliar sky where i float along as  if a ghost. weight is no longer a number, because what are numbers to one who knows only of the breeze? a world full of achievements never made and hopes which were dashed would simply fall away from beneath me, no longer pulling me back to the ground. i could spread wings weaved from a spiders web and float accross the night's sky. and you wouldn't even remember me. because i am nothing.

down the street i'm the girl next door.

all the times we shared, the decisions we thought would matter. Walking down the street; surrounded by material, all we cared about was each other. The taste doesn't matter, the cotton wrapped around your frame means little in the end. Because it was the soft beat of your heart, the distance between us that was never more than a few inches, the vision of open hearts bleeding out into the air, telling each other things that words alone cannot portray. It's not the colour of my nail polish they will remember, nor the cracking of the plastic cover on your new cd case. Its us, it's the feeling of the unknown, that hesistant step before the cliff face. You and i, and everything that makes up what we are.