Free Write

A demon in a glow of light, a star among the embers of Hell. Here she is, your angel, your savior, your slut, your whore. When cast in that light, she's not a saint anymore. A rose, a rose, a box of chocolates! Romance is in the air! And then it's not, torn asunder, a heart wrenching cry of despair. The long lost art of conversation does charisma make. But when the Soc is for all the losers, do you even dare? I want not to be a false idol for faux worshippers at a fallen altar, but a Goddess, churchless in midair. Did I stop making sense? Yes, my faults progress, digress, wander back to demons. But a demon is a fallen angel, so are my faults broken virtues? Philosophically speaking, I suppose they are. Candles lick at the underside of my hair. The flames will not be doused, the thoughts not be repressed - did I err in unleashing my more human side, my soul, my heart's dank lair? Ah, yes, 'twas a mistake, a folly on my part. For what is contained inside will not be broken apart. It floods this page, my fragile living, so easily ripped and torn. (And from this folly, graveside flowers, they bloom and are born.)

Conflict and Drama

I am very, very confused right now. Conflicted, I suppose you could say. What is this madness, and what initiated it? I'm about ready to slit my wrists, just for relief from the tug-a-war fighting for possession of my being. Drama, drama, drama.... Have I mentioned how much I loathe drama? I don't WANT two guys fighting for my heart, if only in the 'in my mind' sense. It'd almost be preferrable if they were physically fighting, the two guys, because then I could turn around and walk away from the whole situation. As it is, the two of them clash in my mind, and there is no escape.

I'm exhausted already, and the day's only just started. I don't want to deal with this. Maybe it'd be simpler if I just stopped thinking. Yeah, right. I'm the QUEEN of over-analyzing things.

What possessed me to give him my number anyways? Perhaps I merely found it gratifying to be the chasee rather than the chaser for once. I didn't expect that he'd attempt to close on me within the day. And over the phone!!

I find it rather pathetic that two guys can screw with my mind so completely. Am I not a woman and proud of it? Men are inconsequential to my cause. Pah! Why am I attempting to interject logic into this scenario? It won't solve anything, as emotions have nothing to do with things falling down the page into truth. So, I guess I'll just ride it out. It's the only thing I CAN do.

Declaration

I am amazingly angry at you. You have no idea. What you did was so excrutiatingly bitchy, it makes me want to pull your spine from your body with a stapler. Maybe it's your party, but so what? That doesn't give you the right to step on people as you please.

If you only have a certain number of invitations to hand out, we understand. But only if you're not broadcasting the party to anyone and everyone who will listen. It's a slap in the face to those who have stood by you and helped you and put up with you. And the most appalling part of this situation for me? YOU DON'T EVEN CARE.

That is the height of discourtesy, and you know how hyped I am on manners. I knew you were self-centered, but I thought that with all the times you've been stepped on and hurt, you'd know better than all of this. How utterly foolish of me to think so. You don't care about anyone but yourself.

I wasn't going to go to your party because I had other obligations, but now I'm not going to go because I don't want to be around anyone who hurts her friends like this. I do not want to associate myself with anyone so self-centered and insensitive as you are. There are much more generous, caring, kinder people I could hang with - for example, those friends you so cavalierly dismissed as unimportant.

Gravestone Epitaphs

I am stuck on the concept of forever on a gravestone epitaph. After all, that's all that will be remembered of us - our final dying sentiments etched in cold marble, slowly being erased by wind and weather. It's our longest goodbye and then it (and subsequently all evidence of our once existence) is gone, lost to the true forever.

Don't you despise how random poetic concepts sometimes become a thorn in your heart, weaving their chemicals through your blood, lacing through your brain, until you can only regard the world through the lens of that concept? Well, I have come to view every human action as another desperate attempt at achieving the ultimate gravestone epitaph, the one that penetrates true forever. No one wants to believe that they're as insignificant as being forgotten. We all want to think that we are important, memorable, an inked mark on the records of eternity! Alas, not one of us is. We will all fade from even obscurity.

But that does not stop us from trying. It's hard to accept that only our belief that we are the center of our universe interjects us along the edges of those of others. We MUST persist in that falacy that states that forever is a possibility. We HAVE to, no matter how futile we recognize that hope to be. For on my gravestone will be five words - "She wanted to be forever."

Poison & Elixir

I am confused. No, really. I am perplexed, baffled by the intricacies of human interaction. Why can't people just say what they mean?!

Sense is suddenly returning, shocked into rejuvenation by the naivette of that demand. It would be no fun to break hearts (or at least dent them) if those fragile organs were displayed prominently on a sleeve for all in the world to see. So it is for the best that I must guess at the next move in this peacock's waltz. The fact remains - I am mystified by this situation.

It would be much too simple to complicate things by asking advice of others. No, the only way to help yourself is to HELP YOURSELF. 'Cause, hey - only you live in your day to day life 100% of the time. It's not like your best friend sees life looking through the same baby blues you employ for use. Face it - it's your milk that's spilled, so you're the one to clean it up or cry over it.

Poison loves company - it makes the job go that much quicker. Fortunately, the same thing applies to healing elixir, else we'd all be dead. Like likes like, I've heard it said, and it ranks up there on the list of truths I've stumbled across so far. But when you mix poison and elixir, what events transpire? Ah, THAT is the question that's got me puzzled. For humans are poison, elixir, or some shade in between and it is rare to find someone with anything close to the same consistency. So what happens when you cross poison with elixir? Wait- don't answer. I swore I wouldn't ask.

Catstrings

You know how when you want something you don't have, you have so much fun working to get it, but how once you have it, you wonder why you wanted it in the first place? Pickup artists have a name for this situation - catstring theory. That's right - we're human kitty cats fascinated by a piece of string dangling just out of reach. Rather pathetic, really.

In any case, you're the string in this scenario. And you've just dropped yourself right in my lap. And boom. Just like that, you've lost your appeal. You're not interesting anymore. I don't want you like I did before. There's a lot of truth in the idea that it's the chase and the chase alone that makes relationships fun.

Besides, what do you even know about me? Yeah, I know you're aware that I've got a pretty face and a body to die for, but what's my last name? My favorite subject? The names of my two best friends? That's what I thought. For all we've talked over the past few weeks, we've only discussed you. You hate math, you draw more than you write, you're a visual thinker, you have a black lab and a welsh corgi, moved from California, and your favorite color is red. Mere scrapings from the wall of things I've learned about you. I'm more than a smile and a listening ear, nothing you would know anything about. And perhaps that's why you're so interested. I'm your catstring, and I'm hardly likely to simply drop into your lap.

Game

The boys in front of the bar claim they've got game, but so do the guys in front of the geometry textbooks on their desk. Both are lying. Everyone likes to think that they're big and bad and they've got the answers to all their problems, but it's obvious to everyone, including themselves, that they're just bluffing their way into a corner. They can't follow through! They're fantasizing here and projecting it to the real world - the fantasy being that they can get any girl their groin desires. To be honest, I find the whole affair laughable.

Sure, they can read psychology books written for the incompetent masses and try and weight the scales of attraction in their favor, but all in all, they're a dime a dozen. Until they've got the confidence as well as the nice guy factor, they're just disciples thinking they're gurus. They're worshippers at their own altar who are stealing from their church. (In other words - they got nothin'.)

Now, you know who are the ones who've really got it? They're the ones who never TELL you - they show you, and you cannot mistake them for anything but what they are. They're the real deal, the actual players, the ones who will take you for spins on their psychotic merry-go-rounds, and once the rides are over, you're still cheering something along the lines of 'again, again!' Cause it's obvious - a millionare doesn't have to say that he's rich.

So, a tip to the boys in the bar and the guys in geometry - stop talking your false game, stealing from your church's collection plate, and start doing. You'll find that people are much more impressed. After all, if you've got it, why is it necessary to tell people about it? It'll be clear as truth, whatever truth happens to be.

Charm

I know how to charm, but it's rare that I bother. I'm addicted to cynicism, so I often find that it's not worth the effort. After all, who aspires to make pals with people who appear unpleasant? (In other words, pretty much everybody.) The most interesting people spend less time talking about themselves and forever focusing on the one person who is truly important in your mind - you! They've got a spotlight in their hands and they're shining it on you. But when a person is on stage, it's impossible for them to see the audience. You're blind, and you don't even know it.

To some it would seem as though I've got the world in my messenger bag, friends and fun and wit and smarts, but have they ever minced down the halls in my stilleto heels? No, I didn't think so. 'Cause from where I'm standing, I've got everything I could possibly want right at my fingertips, but am so reluctant to seize it lest it seize me back. What happens when I want to let go? I'm trapped with its burdens forever, the task of its maintenance thrust upon me. And now I ask the question that's a stand by for my soul - who wants to be forever?

So I know the way to charm a body, but I suppose it's only in theory, 'cause the way human beings appall me? Damn, I'm in no hurry to assume the mantle of groundskeeper for the mansion my charm would build for them.

Back to School

For some reason, I expected something to change over the past two weeks, shift, reveal something new, but I have found, to my great dismay, that nothing has. Everything is exactly the same. My friends are still self-centred, too busy talking at each other to pay attention in class, school is still dull, and the hallways still lock me into my customary silence. Why did I expect anything different?

This day is going to pass, as so many have before, in a series of inconsequential dramas that will be forgotten before the day is out, and in slow burns of overstimulation headaches. YAY! This day shall be just like the rest that have spiraled away into the annals of forgotten history. It's good to know how little it takes to get back into the school swing.

Would it appear strange if I were to bang my head against my desk repeatedly?

Ice Skating

We went ice skating today, my two best friends and I, and when we were skating, we didn't skate together. Tamora, the flirty charismatic one, immediately found a new group to skate with, one girl and four guys. Kitty, the sexy, stylish one, skated with her boyfriend, his hoodie hanging huge on even her voluptuous frame. And me? I skated alone, knees bent low toward the ice, head bowed, arms outstretched for balance, the quiet writing one.

We whirled around the rink, sometimes passing each other, but ultimately absorbed in our hopelessly separate worlds. An hour of this, if you can imagine, each turn in the frozen atmosphere irrationally bringing tears to my eyes. I blamed it on the shards of ice flying through the air with each turn of the blades upon its slick surface. We had planned this excursion to be together, Tamora, Kitty, and I, but it was obvious that things do not always go as it is imagined they will.

I finally slid to a crisp stop before Tamora and her new found friends. She had always been so quick to befriend - everyone LOVES Tamora. She did not express surprise at my stopping, but instead smiled in that way of hers - the one where it is impossible to gauge whether her mood runs warm or cold where you are concerned. But the girl she was with smiled with clear heat, her eyes sparkling in her pale visage and burbled out, "So YOU're the best friend!"

I was completely taken aback. Tamora was my best friend, yes, but it had been a long while since I'd thought of myself as hers. She was too often with Kitty, rarely with me. Then I realized - the new friend had mistaken me for Kitty. Yes, that was it. I grinned politely back at the girl, hiding my hollow heart in the smallest, most cramped closet in my soul to re-emerge eons later as a skeleton secret.