VampiresBleedToo

i'm sick and tired of words that turn to dust in your mouth and still you spit them out i'm sick and tired of holding your hand, and your heart, and your demons off all along with mine i'm sick and tired of being so cold and colder because of you i'm sick and tired of fading faster in the onslaught of your artificial sunlight i'm sick and tired of biting my tongue after I've failed to keep it silent

Sometime we need it a little louder so we can here the noise Sometimes we need them drawn onto our skin before we can understand what the words mean Sometimes we need to carry color in our hair so that we remember who we are when we are stripped of our childhood Sometimes we need to decorate our bodies so that we throw off a light of our own Sometimes we need to rebel in order to feel wanted/ valued/ remembered Sometimes we need to scream at the  only people we trust to love us when we're done

I will  admit to waking before the sun rises and hiking into the hills, laying on my stomach in the dusty trail and sticking out my tongue to taste the early morning dew from the sweet grasses to running and vaulting myself onto my bed at night in order to avoid the monsters under the bed-frame to touching myself out of curiosity rather than in search of pleasure to putting glitter in my bath to running barefoot through mud of questionable origins without a thought to eating strange things in strange combinations in strange places to staying up reading and sleeping late to chasing after birds and lizards to believing in true lov

I am a self-admitted chronic eavesdropper. because really, maybe the world DOES need more female truckers. 589-9320, you say? Sure, I'll call you back. Monday, right? God, I KNOW! My last dog was picked up by a hawk too! That's living in LA for you. No, babe, I didn't cheat on you, and her name was Sonya, not Sarah. I wonder if these people realize they're not in a cone of silence on wheels. I shake my head at you fools.

when did I stop being nice and became "scary" was it when I started correcting others' grammar, other than just my friends? or was it when I found my voice, am I talking too loud? is my pushing people away too forceful, too pronounced? instead of the weakness I am trying to hide, do they see cruelty that isn't there? I never thought people would believe the front I put up so thoroughly maybe I am too forward, too present. I think it is time I sat back and stayed quiet.

my daughter drowned in a pond impregnated with duckweed less than knee - deep and cold, like a body just vacated beneath the greenery little fish dark about oddfish like a cross between your generic goldfish and a common minnow they lie in wait they flutter around the feet and legs of curiosity they open their jaws, exposing rows upon rows of tiny needle-like teeth and before you know it they've latched onto the skin but they're not why my daughter drowned the stoneturtles that lie for years undisturbed their shells buttered by algae bite (when stepped on) but it wasn't the stoneturtles that killed her teabirds dive-bomb wander

with a laugh like her's, like rain pattering on windowsills i comment, watching arms the color of cream flail and reach for something not there you'd think she'd sound better drowning all i get is a shrug in response that's okay bodies say more when they're silent tongues and hands lie eyes, not so much

I flew in my dreams for the first time and quite honestly, its not all its cracked up to be yes, there is a sense of freedom but its not that amazing I still felt lost and no one told me I'd be running from something something I know is not there so my first flight was powdered with feelings of supreme stupidity and weighed down by disappointment even in my dreams

Jerome where have you wandered around which river and bend upon which tree have you climbed and looked onward which bird did you follow back home?

make no mistake, she is wind-kept wild hair and blank eyes she'll dance through your lungs leaving you breathless and colder (than before) he is a child of mournings skin a soft gray and the coo of a dove as if a touch would push him and he'd scatter like dandelion seeds they are a pair of river rocks twins - without gender or feeling if ever there were hearts made of stone I've found them my children of earth and stone my children of flesh and bone