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Running in Circles

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:: 2005 15 April :: 7.29 pm
:: Mood: wasteful
:: Music: Sugarcult - Pretty Girl

I wrote this like a month ago but never finished it.
Read more..

Constructive criticism?

:: 2005 12 February :: 6.15 pm

Unsatisfied in every way
I never want to face the day
What I need, I never know
Please God, my lord, let me go

Constructive criticism?

:: 2005 2 February :: 4.34 pm
:: Mood: brr
:: Music: Bauhaus - Bela Lugosi Is Dead

It was the 5th of November. I was sitting at lunch, staring absentmindedly out the window. The wind was blowing around dead leaves in the cool air. I was looking intently upon the few jostled leaves nearest the window. They lay on the ground, two browns and one a yellowish green. Their corners curled up and inward, toward the little holes left from the weather’s abusing. I remember it all exactly, because that’s the day I first caught a glimpse. No more than a peek, for it was gone so quickly that I almost didn’t know I had even seen anything. It had been a reflection in the window. She stood behind and to the right of me. A somber face, with draping black hair. It was merely an outline, but certainly enough to leave me longing for more.
It wasn’t until 3 weeks later that I saw her again. I had been listening to my friend Thomas drone on about his camping trip from the former weekend. She stood beside him for no more than 15 seconds. Her figure was hazy, like a cloud of fog enveloped her and no one else. I studied her delicate complexion, as Thomas elaborated on a moment, which has been much duller than he was making it seem. I pushed him out of my mind, and absorbed an inch of her with every passing second. Her eyes were a startling ice blue, and her lips looked succulently plump. The hair fell down her back in flat waves, which moved as one.
“Dylan. Dylan!” Thomas had said as he firmly grasped my shoulder. He looked me in the eye, and blocked my view of the girl. I focused in on his grayish brown eyes. “You okay?” he asked, then looked at the girl, though when he turned, she was gone. He looked back and said, “your mouth was open and you were all gogglin’ at the floor.”
“Oh, yeah. I.. guess I kinda zoned out.. sorry,” I mumbled back. I looked eagerly back at the place where she had stood. She disappeared once again, and my curiosity craved for more. Who was she?

Should I continue this?

2 gave me something to work with | Constructive criticism?

:: 2005 16 January :: 12.51 am
:: Music: Kill Hannah - Welcome to Chicago

You get one chance and one only
Mess up and you're out
No fixing, no changing
Not a sliver of doubt

Dance until you can't
Serve until you're sore
Meet the expetations
Do more, more, more

Constructive criticism?

:: 2005 7 January :: 10.30 pm

I underestimate you.

Constructive criticism?

:: 2004 18 December :: 12.44 pm
:: Mood: tired..

Read somewhat quickly, only pausing for that short second at commas and periods.
Not close to sleeping, silently weeping, barely keeping, myself from myself, a sigh felt, a sobbing belt, wishing, hating, knowing, wishing, hating, going, nowhere, I swear, I can't take it, I can't fake it, for the sake of it, I fill a lake with it, stop and sit, a stare, I care, my hair is ugly, my face is ugly, my body is ugly, insecure, always here, always fear, my skin I sear, a jealous tear, soaking the pillow, thinking of that willow, every fucking day, nothing new to say, no other way, no doing what I may, just every night I lay, waiting for that day, that way, that may, to finally say, to bay, to convey my dismay in the way we believe in "they," per se. Fuck this day. Fuck this night. Fuck you and your might. You're weak in fight, and your narrow sight. All I do is bite, my lip till it's numb, and I know that I'm dumb and why does he like me, it's not the way it should be, and I see that I'm lucky but I have no idea why, I can't figure out, I shout and I pout and then I mellow out to immediantly return to doubt, what am I about, not looks or books or humor hooks, what is it then, I just pretend, and bend, and mend, and lend, and fend, but don't send the contempt I feel towards her and him and them and "they," so I lay without sleeping, silently weeping, barely keeping, myself from myself.

1 gave me something to work with | Constructive criticism?

:: 2004 25 November :: 1.45 am
:: Mood: Realistic

You're wearing a red garter belt under your genuinely torn up, and faded jean shorts. Not that store-bought bullshit. This garter belt is holding up your black fishnets, even though they stay up just fine on their own. You lounge there on a beaten, and stained gray couch at your best friend's house. Your back is resting against that beautiful emo boy you desire. Your lover, your sinner, your one and only. Blowing out the smoke from that cigarette between your fingers, you lean your head back and look up into his face. He smiles. One more puff. Black hair pushed to the side of his face, practically hiding one eye. A thin line of eyeliner around those emerald green eyes. Lip ring. He's still smiling. You grin back and look down at your cigarette. It needs ashing badly, but you don't give a fuck. "I can get a few more hits out of it," you think. An inhale. Slow..ly.. e x h a l e.. So relaxed that you never want to move. Glancing at the self-proclaimed stain on the arm of the couch, that you added to the collection of many last week. Oh what a party. It would sound like any other drunken, emotional, sexual party to anyone else, but no. Each one is different. To you, that high is never the same. The numbness, the mood swings, the overpowering wave of emotions at once, is impossible to get used to, or find familiar. God, those are the moments you live for.
Suddenly, you feel the warm ash on your leg. You wipe it off into the couch fabric, smearing some black on your skin. Oh well. You're so warm and comfortable. The lights are dim, and the air is thick with pachouli incense. Coming down to the last half of the orange filter of the cigarette, you finally smush it into the archaic ash tray. One smooth movement, and you pull yourself into your boy's lap. He smirks back at you, and you know he approves. You run a hand across his neck, then kiss him hard. You stay with your lips against his, in a passionate, but completely silent moment, incense tingling around your nose, then release. Your lips are still touching, just barely, and you feel him let out a small sigh. Lying your head down on his shoulder, cuddling into him as closely as you can, he wraps his arms around you in the securest way. Nothing really does get better than this.

1 gave me something to work with | Constructive criticism?

:: 2004 21 November :: 11.03 pm

I stayed up an hour later than I wanted to writing this dumb thing, so I had to post it. I'll try revising it tomorrow, because I think it could be a lot better.. somehow. But I'm too tired to do it tonight.

One by one they leave me
I'm here pondering my life
I know they're pretending they can't see
Mindless, meaningless, useless strife

I can't seem to stop sighing
Will I ever feel resolve?
Whining, wishing, writing, crying
I wonder if I help the world at all

Two by two they're leaving again
I thought I felt lonely before
Hated, heartless, hideous has-been
Neglecting a terminal sore

Here is the heavy silent mist
I'm fragile, and fearing this fact
My words are sounding crisp
And my lips are growing cracked

Three by three I'm more alone
Reality is becoming distant
A captivating thought is my new home
Eternal love?-I must've missed it

What is happening to me
Peculiar sounds fill my head
There's an image I constantly see
And it's always coated in red

Four by four I'm feeling hollow
There's a figure up ahead
In his wake a buzzing follows
And my thoughts are filled with dread

Hello, hello, who are you?
What is that you say?
Nonsense, insanity, lunacy too!
You think in the most curious way

Five by five they leave my side
It's just you and me now, friend
You're always there, not once have you lied
Who says this plan is pretend

Why do I feel such delightful glee
Hello little man in my head
I've got a knife, soon they'll see
How the worms are fed!

Six by six I chop and bash
I'm swimming in their repent
Swish, slice, slaughter and slash
Over a river of red I'm bent

Wait a moment here
You're not laughing with me
Friend, is this what I fear?
No no, it can't, it can't be!

At me you laugh mockingly
And the blood on my hands appear
Twisting, taunting, terrible trickery
For once, the evil in your voice I hear

Bodies, corpses, cadavers galore
Panic ensues, and I cannot think
Curse me and my mind no more
Serpent, to the bowels of hell you'll sink

Do not refuse my order
Go away with your horrendous acts
No? no?! You retort, sir?
You forget what your beastly essence lacks

"A body, fool!" And I reach my arms out
The point of the knife at my chest
Releasing one last agonizing shout
Among these bodies I rest

2 gave me something to work with | Constructive criticism?

:: 2004 11 September :: 9.59 pm
:: Music: The Cure - Watching Me Fall

darkness in a room
three outlines
one still invisible
i watch

her hips pressed
against his
her breasts
pressed to his chest

so close and silent
his hands
on her waist
dancing to their breath

i keep watching
still unaware
i exist
she presses firmly
against his body

he holds her back
feelings overcome

then grabs her back in
a pleasurable sigh

a room of passion
an outline still unknown

lips touch
heavy breath
moving slow
to a hushed rhythem

one whisper
'i need you'
and the silent outline

3 gave me something to work with | Constructive criticism?

:: 2004 20 August :: 11.39 pm
:: Music: The Killers - On Top

I'm a bum
I really haven't been writing lately. Sure, I write a lot of entries, but I hardly write stories or poems anymore. I get ideas, and write them down, but don't get around to making them into anything. Gah. I need to get writing again. I really do. Give me some inspiration, give me motivation.

3 gave me something to work with | Constructive criticism?

:: 2004 25 June :: 3.27 pm
:: Music: Oasis - Wonderwall

One day as I was walking down the sidewalk furthest from my house, I bent over to pick up a penny left on the ledge. I took it, then my eyes fell upon a pair of shoes, standing in front of me. I looked up, and there he was. A man dressed in a heavy brown trenchcoat. He smiled, and merely stood looking down at me.
"Hello.. sir," I said timidly. He stared for second longer, then replied.
"Nice day, don't you think?"
"Heh, yes, very." I stood up, being a little under face level with the man. He squinted up at the sky, and said nothing else. I watched him for a moment, stuffed the penny in my pocket, then began to turn away from him. He didn't say anything, didn't even stop looking into the sky. Halfway back to my house, I glanced back and he was still there. Only difference was, he was setting down what looked like a penny, on the ledge of the sidewalk.

3 gave me something to work with | Constructive criticism?

:: 2004 21 June :: 6.15 pm
:: Music: Aerosmith - Dream On

This is pretty much nothing. Forget it.
With his back to her, she watched him reach for the button on the top of their son’s stereo. His blonde hair was rumpled and messy. She could tell he had tried to comb it out of respect for the occasion, but to no avail. He pressed the button and turned to her. As he walked towards her, the soft mellow sound of David Gilmour’s voice filled the room. He sat down in the chair next to hers. Still staring at the spot near the stereo, she could see him bury his face in his hands out of her peripheral vision. He rubbed his eyes, and moved his fingers through his hair.
“We should’ve waited, Eden,” he said through his hands. The woman looked up at him. She leaned over and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, laying her head against his.
“I know,” Eden replied.
“All he’s known is fighting. Yelling.. anger.. the divorce.. he’s so young.” He stood up and walked to the bed across the room. He looked down at his son, sleeping silently. The boy was weak and fragile looking. Jack crouched to his knees, looking at his face longingly. He smoothed the child’s hair back a few times, then cried into the blankets. Eden watched him with her eyes full of tears. She let out a little sob, then left the room.

2 gave me something to work with | Constructive criticism?

:: 2004 21 February :: 3.12 am
:: Music: Devil May Cry - Watcher of Time

I can't see across the land
The winds are filled with dirt
The smell of blood is apparent
Not a soul was left unhurt

Horror sealed across their faces
Grief plastered in their eyes
Staring blankly back at death
None will ever rise

The war held out past time
A fight built upon emotion
The basis of it all is simply
A mindless attack of devotion

The instigator of such a massacre
Owner of this battlefield of blood
Sits behind a shield and watches
Bearing not a single drop of mud

Roaming this slaughtering domain
She holds the hearts of men
She hates it all with everything
But tonight she'll watch it again

No escape from the daily torment
Because her thoughts are in a bind
This bloodbath of bleeding love
Is all an illusion of her mind

okay.. after the first two stanzas, I kept falling asleep, that's why it sucks.

2 gave me something to work with | Constructive criticism?

:: 2004 12 February :: 10.32 pm
:: Music: A Perfect Circle

Money so they say
Is the root of all evil today
Though it's no surprise
If you ask for a rise
They're giving none away

Too bad I didn't actually write that.
Here's my own attempt at a decent poem about money:

The weary old man
Sitting by the stairs
Has everything he wants
But not a person who cares

His hair is neatly combed
Not a wrinkle on his clothes
But inside his heart is screaming
And not a mortal knows

What more could he ask for?
There's nothing left to buy
So he sits by the stairs
Counting every sigh

So this is his life
From working so much
But the thing he wants the most
Is something you can't touch

Material and substance
Don't satisfy the heart
Each day he cries a tear
Wishing to restart

meh. could be better

Constructive criticism?

:: 2004 12 February :: 9.21 pm

Oh how I wish
Wish you were here
Nothing compares
To this that I fear

Confusion is free
Giving hope to all
Determine the end
When all of us fall

I'm feeling sick
My poems ramble on
There's nothing to write
Everything is gone..

Gothic music droning
Her voice makes me dull
Absolutely nothing to do
But let it bounce in my skull

Oh this is so pointless..

1 gave me something to work with | Constructive criticism?

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