One After The Other by AlucardFantastic, literature
Literature
One After The Other
I used to collect the tiny coloured beads out the back of the manufacturing companies, digging through piles of broken and slightly mishapen jewellery that never had the oppurtunity to be put to good use or be well loved by somebody. For your birthday, I gave them to you in a twisted, distorted jar. My favourite one. The one that had sat on my shelf for years, gathering dust. I had cleaned it all up for you, made it shiny, made it new. When I gave you the beads, your lips slowly meshed into a fine line. You told me broken things are useless, and one by one, as we dangled our feet off the windowsill, you threw them into the garden. My head reb
I hate Mondays.
The way you trawl in with your grey work jacket in tow, expecting your meal to be made and your underwear ironed.
I should've guessed you were lying, about where you were going at night time, who you were seeing. Some things just never change.
I tell you about the book I bought, the one all my friends recommended, the little girl in the red hood that ran barefoot in the forest.
You said she reminded you of me. Lost and alone, barefoot and uncertain. Tears rolled down my cheeks and my vision blurred.
We were in Melbourne, in the heart of the CBD. You told me she smelt beautiful. Fresh, awakening, like lemon zest. Soft, all
I hate the way you sit there and squint, cupping your pudgy hands to your ear in an act of melodramatic exaggeration.
The deep contours in your forehead, and the blatantly yiddish circles beneath your eyes tell of years of emotional anxieties and pain.
But I hate the sight of you, and I hate what you have to say.
When you aren't laying down and dying of some new disease that's combatting with your rationality, or hiding away under the house amongst cymbals and sound production programmes, you're finding new ways to convince me that you love me.
As if playing a round of cards after so much persuasion and force proves this.
As if sitting b
California Skateboarders by AlucardFantastic, literature
Literature
California Skateboarders
It's all over now, I've learned to walk again.
My short, firmly grounded legs drag across the familiar cobblestones, and I think to myself that they are just like lots of tiny little stone hearts, that were broken once, but were moulded back together with some cement.
I guess that's sort of like the healing process, it's slow but even if it's healed form is a little twisted, it still holds together strongly.
They're all tiny little stone hearts, many different heartbreaks, many different healing processes, many different people and situations that are too heavy for me to get involved in. So all I see is the aftermath.
I sit in the tree, s
The Damage Is Done by AlucardFantastic, literature
Literature
The Damage Is Done
I saw the way the tears were welling up in your almond-shaped eyes.
You're such a paradox. Like a fable without a moral.
I snuggled into your warmth as we watched beefy boys kick a pigskin about.
Your heartbeat steady, your breath heavy and deep and your eyes sad and worn.
I'm sorry he's not here anymore.
And I'm sorry that you weren't there to say goodbye.
But I can tell you this:
He loved you more than anything else in the world.
And I know in my heart, that he knew how unfair it was, for you to suddenly get so close to a normal relationship with him, only for it to be snatched so abruptly by the jaws of death.
You are my favourite
Even as I am dressed up, I am still alone.
I sit in a chair with a velvet cushion, listening to the clock tick.
I am still alone.
Forever I sit, banana gloves, red lipstick, black high heels, waiting for company.
Nobody comes.
I am still alone.
I wander about my house, lighting incense, stroking my cat, making sure that no fur sticks to my mother's clothes.
I feel beautiful. I feel dazzling.
I am still alone.
In a world where young men die and old men live, where streets are paved with passers-by, and the time is ticking
away, the clock strikes twelve again and again.
I am still alone.
I want to be loved, I want somebody to see me
I hate Mondays.
The way you trawl in with your grey work jacket in tow, expecting your meal to be made and your underwear ironed.
I should've guessed you were lying, about where you were going at night time, who you were seeing. Some things just never change.
I tell you about the book I bought, the one all my friends recommended, the little girl in the red hood that ran barefoot in the forest.
You said she reminded you of me. Lost and alone, barefoot and uncertain. Tears rolled down my cheeks and my vision blurred.
We were in Melbourne, in the heart of the CBD. You told me she smelt beautiful. Fresh, awakening, like lemon zest. Soft, all
I hate the way you sit there and squint, cupping your pudgy hands to your ear in an act of melodramatic exaggeration.
The deep contours in your forehead, and the blatantly yiddish circles beneath your eyes tell of years of emotional anxieties and pain.
But I hate the sight of you, and I hate what you have to say.
When you aren't laying down and dying of some new disease that's combatting with your rationality, or hiding away under the house amongst cymbals and sound production programmes, you're finding new ways to convince me that you love me.
As if playing a round of cards after so much persuasion and force proves this.
As if sitting b
California Skateboarders by AlucardFantastic, literature
Literature
California Skateboarders
It's all over now, I've learned to walk again.
My short, firmly grounded legs drag across the familiar cobblestones, and I think to myself that they are just like lots of tiny little stone hearts, that were broken once, but were moulded back together with some cement.
I guess that's sort of like the healing process, it's slow but even if it's healed form is a little twisted, it still holds together strongly.
They're all tiny little stone hearts, many different heartbreaks, many different healing processes, many different people and situations that are too heavy for me to get involved in. So all I see is the aftermath.
I sit in the tree, s
The Damage Is Done by AlucardFantastic, literature
Literature
The Damage Is Done
I saw the way the tears were welling up in your almond-shaped eyes.
You're such a paradox. Like a fable without a moral.
I snuggled into your warmth as we watched beefy boys kick a pigskin about.
Your heartbeat steady, your breath heavy and deep and your eyes sad and worn.
I'm sorry he's not here anymore.
And I'm sorry that you weren't there to say goodbye.
But I can tell you this:
He loved you more than anything else in the world.
And I know in my heart, that he knew how unfair it was, for you to suddenly get so close to a normal relationship with him, only for it to be snatched so abruptly by the jaws of death.
You are my favourite
1. Put your Itunes on shuffle.
2. Put "In My Pants" after every song title.
3. Laugh like a crazy person.
4. Embolden all the ones that made your side erupt.
1. Blood Bank in my pants (Bon Iver)
2. Fuck It All in my pants (Slipknot)
3. Let's Dance To Joy Division in my pants (The Wombats)
4. Runaway Love in my pants (Ludacris)
5. Run It in my pants (Chris Brown)
6. D.A.N.C.E in my pants (MSTRKRFT)
7. One Of Us in my pants (ABBA)
8. Sweet Child Of Mine in my pants (Guns and Roses)
9. Don't Give A Damn in my pants (Chairlift)
10. Tears Don't Fall in my pants (BFMV)
11. Raised on Robbery in my pants (Joni Mitchell)
12. Run with Fl
well, gunz is gone.
i feel sorry for dad, losing his best friend and his dad.
life sucks.
it's one long, unprepared wait.
like the blizzard patch of WoW.
*sigh*
so many people to miss.
still sort of trying to figure out whether i should put "windy roads" in a collection with "the month of april" and "nana mascouri".
the focal point of that collection was the glasses, so i thought it would work.
i'm also adding another one, that will feature carolin wearing them.
i think i may have to convert the pictures to black and white before making it a collection though, so it will fit better.
tell me what you think.
M chan!! I am sorry I had to hide your message on my Bonds piece...only because..I didn't want people reading it to think it actually happened to me! But it was a beautiful note - thank you very much! <3 <3 Love you too!