It's ripping at me, tearing me apart, and I wonder how I can still live when I've already gone through this. I remember, back in the days, that if I felt the blood and the chaos that marked this as my life, I wouldn't survive it again. I refuse to die, as always, but how long, how long can you cut and rip and maim and kill before there's a broken doll where a girl once stood?

Dress, undress, pull apart, put back together. Can you see the stitches? I feel them everyday.

Curiosity killed the cat, but which cat this time? Run over its tail, fling it back, dump it on the streets, ignore its frantic calls. Are you surprised to hear the screams come from me?

Be careful what you touch. A single finger brush can form a bullet hole.

Pain echoing like an ugly gong in my head, and you're surprised I can't hear? Every word, every touch, every goddamn lie pounds in rhythm to my heart, and can you blame me for wanting it to slow the fuck down? Sometimes, I even want it to stop.

But we call that insanity.

Is it? There's nothing there for me to love. I have to take it back. I try to sleep at night and you appear, even though I've said a million times it's over, I don't care, this isn't me. How many times do I have to say it to make it real? How many times before I can move on? How many times do I have to speak before someone will listen?

Fate and time aren't going to. They never do.

The hearts of angels can't exist, because I don't know where mine is. How long has it been since I felt safe? How long has it been since I knew that I wouldn't find the umpteenth knife in my back? How long has it been since love has been given to me unconditional and pure in intentions and in thought?

How can I believe.

Faith. Faith. Hope. Faith. Reality. None of them fit hand in hand, because faith and hope will abandon those who aren't worthy. How did I mess up? Was I too sad? I can't help a physical condition, show me why it was given to me!

How many tears have I shed over this until I felt spent? There isn't enough sadness I can share anymore. It's become so wedged in, such a part of me, I don't know what to do and it doesn't help you pounded it in. No escape, you sealed it off.

You made it so I can't move on. Every word an insult, and I was worth so little... why are you here? Is your life spent on making others miserable? What did I do to you? I loved you and you ran away.

Are all the others going to run away too?

Lock me up, throw away the key. No amount of help can save me. You drew me down to your level, and I still feel the poison cursing through my veins. You couldn't keep it to yourself, could you? The first one I trusted, and he ran away. The second one scarred me. The third one showed me paranoia.

Why did you destroy everything I had left!

How can they understand? How can they get that I let you rule me for so long, and now that I'm without corruption there is NO path for me! I have to wander alone, and hope I find my path again. Alone, alone, alone. It was your worst fear, wasn't it? Why throw it on me?

I have but one comfort, and it's the fact I'm fucking alive. You may have tried to kill me, but keep this a secret: you can never kill me. You can take everything from me, but you can't make me die. I wander these paths, and don't know my direction, but I have the comfort you metaphorically killed yourself.

Pity you couldn't take me with you as with everything else. I'll heal, you won't. I'll find my way, and I'll be the last thing you see when you disappear in the fog. There's nothing more you can take from me. You took it all, but I'm finding them, piece by piece.

One word, three words, six. As many as you say, as many as you think, they'll breathe their own meaning and nothing will be the same. There's no way out, dying, forgetting, losing.

(because you know you're killing me within)

How many times can you break me until it's enough for you?

(with all your weapons darling, it's ohsoeasy to imagine)

Live. Breathe. Live. Live. Death and decay surrounds us because we don't know what to do. Let's pretend for a minute we never died inside, and that we actually knew the souls that lived within. How long would it take until we came to this? Can you guess? I'm patient as always. Losing my mind, losing my mind, losing my mind...

(the answer's nevereverever so let's keep pretending)

Let's dream longer for a moment or two. Screaming's lost in the tide and I can't swim in this... it hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Keep going, keep dreaming, but just know I'm falling behind.

(it's only a dream; it's only a dream)

Warping reality's a fix for us, because that's all we know how to do now. But when I want to risk a step I KNOW you will not follow. I snap, I scream, I fight, but it's a losing battle because you never heard a sound.

(so-my-fury-will-be-the-death-of-us-all)

Fake it. Pretend it. Imagine it. Blood and gore surrounds us but we can hardly see because our fear is right there. It's mocking me, and all I can do is run. Away from the drug, because I don't want it there. I'm tired of dying and I'm tired of praying.

(can you hear one last word?)

You don't hear me anymore. I'm a mockery of hell, someone without hope or faith or wisdom. Don'tbreathedon'tbreathedon'tbreathe...

(how can angels exist when the only one i wanted was taken away)

See the red now? See the crimson now? Open your eyes; open them, open them...

LOOK AT ME!

Do you see me now? Not the superficiality, not the person you made up in your head, not the person you pretended to love, but do you see me?

(i'm dying)

Don't fix me. You'll break me apart. Don't cure me. The disease will spread. Lose me, forget me, kill me, but I'm the pest you can't get rid of. But don't worry darling, insanity is brief and you won't know what to do with me.

(becausenooneeverdoes)

Catharsis:

1 : purgation

2 a : purification or purgation of the emotions (as pity and fear) primarily through art b : a purification or purgation that brings about spiritual renewal or release from tension

3 : elimination of a complex by bringing it to consciousness and affording it expression

(i want it back)

A lot of teachers need to grow up.

Yeah, I know. They go through a lot of shit. It's hard to plan out the day, it's not exactly easy with the paycheck, and yes, I will say it, the kids are often a pain in the ass just because they can be.

But seriously? Go through umpteen years of college and you think the kids will be angels? Hahahahahahaha. Hahaha. Haha. Ha. That's great.

Will we talk? Yes.

Will we be annoying? Yes.

Will we act like we do with our parents? Yes.

Will we slightly understand when you look a little tired? Eh, sure.

Will we care? Fuck no.

Seriously, teachers should know what they're getting into when they want to teach in a HIGH SCHOOL SETTING. Hormones + puberty + shit at home + lack of sleep = evil little trolls. Can't handle it? Teach college.

Eh, maybe I'm being slightly unfair. It's just so damn annoying when teachers whine about "wanting to teach AP and IB" when really, they're just as bad, if not worse. You know what happens when kids get overloaded with homework, stress, and anal parents?

Hangovers!

Yeah, I'm out.

One.

No matter how far I run, it's still on my back. The monster you and I formed, despite all my efforts to stay away... it appeared, it existed, and now you left me to deal with it.

Two.

Now it's growing bigger, stronger. I can run all I like, but it chases me just as fast. I've confronted it. I've changed it. Something bearable for me, but it'll be so much uglier for you.

Three.

Now it's my friend, but it's such a hideous friendship. We'll stab each other in the back before long, but I have better plans for it. Maybe you can see my strength, and I can oh-so-subtly pass it on.

Four.

You see me, I see you. You're just as shocked as I am because of what I've become. Finally, I rip my little friend from my back and pass it on to you.

Five.

Snap.

There, you got back your goddamned mess. I'm out of here.

The game blew. Well, not the game itself, but as a spectator surrounded by people, I can officially say that people... well... SUCK.

Luckily Douchebag #3, aka ex of hell, didn't show up. But Douchebag #1 and #2 showed up. Now, normally I wouldn't have a problem with #1, if he didn't blow me off without so much of a by-your-leave.

Ugh.

And then #2 speaks to me and smirks, which scares the SHIT out of me providing what he has done in the past. So finally, I walk over to my best friend's house, because for some reason I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown. Kill me, please. We talked, I discovered something shocking. It was pretty much a sucky night. If Douchebag #3 showed up, I probably would have gone on a rampaging killing spree. You walk in front of me? You say hi to my pretty, new shotgun.

Works for me.

The dance was great though. Grinding with girls? Getting your date out of his paranoid bubble? Kicking random people? That's my idea of a fun night. Of course, it helps I was pumped up on dragonfruit and XXX vitamin water, but ya know. Small obsessions like that tend to save me. And my dress was HOT. Especially with my new haircut? Go me. Jen and Will, you rocketh my socks off.

Even though my friend scared us all when she got a stomach problem (again) that she suffered last year. Had to go to the hospital. But this year? Oh, she's faking. Just to be a drama bitch.

But I digress. It was a fun enough night without it.

I found a new band today. I'm gonna blast it until my mom starts to show signs of insanity. (more than usual)

Not looking forward to Friday.

Well, I am. There's something terribly amusing about seeing your ex's eyes pop out due to your new do, and then him being shot down twice in one night. He deserves it. He's a hypocrite, a liar, and a fraud and I despise him to every inch of my soul, but I simply just don't want to see him.

But then again, I can probably find some inspiration there... and I'll write a story about my hatred and pray to GOD it works. So I can live my life without having my blood boil every five seconds.

One of these days, I'm gonna run out of blood. But I'm not looking forward to the same sap I get every single time I talk to him

"All my best times were with you. I'll do anything to get your trust. You can insult me all you want. I can't look at him in the eye anymore..."

Nothing to see here, people. Move on.

"Did he fucking leave it! He just fucked me over! Well, that's different. You didn't stab me in the back."

SOMEONE call the fucking wambulance, this kid's dying of bitchery and whinefests.

"I don't expect you to come back to me, I don't expect you to be friends with me, I don't expect you to drop this whole thing..."

Liar, at 12 o clock. Fire when ready. BAM! Goddamn it, I missed the target. One more time, men!

"I really care about you, and I thought you wanted to talk to me..."

Rather talk with a brick wall. Or a tadpole. Tadpoles have your brain capacity, true, but at least they're cute.

"I never abused you..."

Just STOP! Oh my God, you SUCK! Either throw yourself out a window, or grow up. STOP! No, stop talking! Oh JEEZ! I fucking quit.

Just an FYI, all my text in parenthesis, unless the writing is official, is lower-cased.  Just one of my quirks.

Exercise begins... now.

When readers read my novels, I want them to feel shocked, surprised, or pounded emotionally at the end. That's because, to me, novels are something that's supposed to have some sort of impact on your life. It's supposed to have a lesson, a theme, something that will impact your life. The greatest novels I have read have left me thinking for days, weeks, months, even years to come afterwards. Even in manga, the ending had better be a shocker with an ending that will make you THINK. It'll leave you emotional, and you can use that lesson when you come by a hard experience or time in your life. There's always something to think about in a novel, at least, an interesting one. The beginning should leave no hints, but show you how weak the character is at first and becomes stronger through the middle, and more thoughtful, until the ending gives them the lesson and the readers too. When you read a really good book, you become the character, more or less. That's all there is to it. Books with flat characters or no hard times are books that should be taken from the bookshelves, and placed in a paper shredder or SOMETHING. They're a waste of space. It takes good writing to make books like those exciting, but there's still no excuse not to have a powerful, well-themed ending. The plot should be solid, thick, without many holes or cliches. And if it is cliche, still, show character development. It isn't hard to make a character "grow up." Even in the most stupid, twisted cliche of boy meets girl, Girl doesn't like boy, Boy wins girl's heart should show character development and a THEME. It's hard to come by, for sure. Manga captures this well, because you can SEE the emotions and SEE the lessons. But it isn't hard to do in novels either. So I try to make my plot solid, and something slightly original. At least cliche with several twists and turns. I want my novels to be a roller coaster ride. Something that makes the reader not want to drop the book until they read the last word on the last page. No matter how difficult it is, I will write until I achieve that goal. It's something I'll probably have to fight with my whole life. Novels are an adventure, a story, a journey. Something that makes ME grow as well, because sometimes the lesson I find in the end is something I never even thought of. It's my adventure too, and when I become the character, it's something beautiful. I hate unimaginative words. Short sentences are nice for points, but NOT for description. Description worries me the most. Am I using too much? Too little? Normal amount, but I'm not focusing on the plot enough? It's a very difficult path, writing is. It's something that's worthwhile for me, but plots, subplots, and descriptions scare me. Everything else... I pray I have it down.

Ten minutes of puke from my psyche, baby.

Hey.

It's the same old thing, same old song. It's what I always say, even though so many more words are trapped behind my mouth. You thought I let go a long time ago, didn't you? A few months, maybe a year, and everything goes back to normal. The plastered smile on my face you could never see through, because I spent years practicing the art of never letting my feelings show when they just got in the way. But occasionally, I still cry inside, because I can't give this up.

You've moved on, and so have I. You moved on so quickly; I could feel my heart shatter and break apart under your feet. I could only stare in horror as blood seeped through it. I wore my heart on my sleeve, like everyone told me to. But you ripped it from me, and left it broken. Whoever said "It's your mess. You clean it up" obviously didn't count in heartbreak. You knocked over the vase, and I was left cutting my hands apart trying to put myself back together.

You never saw me, did you? I always had my arms wrapped around myself, trying to hold everything I had left inside me. I was bleeding from wounds years old, and you started patching me up. We dug a hole, and you found a way to get out when it got so deep. You ripped your seams out. Now I'm still stranded in there, lost and bleeding, I lost a friend in this mess. She called me weak and an idiot, and I shouldn't have loved you for so long after my world crashed around my ears. But she didn't get it. She didn't get exactly what I lost. I lost my boyfriend and I lost my best friend.

I don't know if you know that, but that's what you were. My boyfriend, a friend I held so dear. I didn't know you were just as insecure as I was. You were so smart, so caring, but you weren't afraid to stand up to authority. You put others before yourself, and nothing was more important to you than friends. Your grades were dismal, but you weren't afraid to live. It was that sense of freedom I envy, and that I fell so hard for. What happened to force the knife on my skin? I'm so sick of bleeding, but I can't completely repair myself. There's no use to be careful around you. I've gotten strong because of you, yes, but the passionate side of me still lies in pieces. And no matter what, they won't fit.

The sick thing is I don't care. I don't want to be fixed. I don't want to be saved. I'll try forming the pieces into something different, a mosaic, and I won't stalk you. But a part of me won't ever let go, and it may kill me. My friends tell me to be careful around you, but there's no use. I'm out of the hole, but my scars are still there. Simple reminders of a past that'll be stuck with me. The wheels are turning, and I can't fight against them. My memories are all I have left. Pain is the only thing keeping them alive.

It may break me. It might even kill me. All my demons, they're hunting me. But good luck to them. If fate is against them, they may even find me.

Love, always,
Me.

School. Writing. Video games. More school. I think it's time to cut video games from my life, or at least MAJORLY truncate it. Friends get pissed? Sucks to be them. I'm gonna blast music, and I'm gonna get good grades, and write, and that's all there is to it.

So write a few words every day. Got it. Cool, easy enough.

Well, vitamin water XXX is tasty. Blueberries? Pomegranates? Acai? I'm game. It has enough antioxidants to choke a monkey. If I get cancer, I'm gonna be pissed. I think that's enough for right now. =/