Tris Prior dies

Im so sick of this ideology, the notion that earth is just a gift to us humans. That we can trod and trample and destroy the only thing willing to put up with our **** and give us the oxygen we need to live. Humanity is a sickness. Animal testing is a disgrace. HUMAN TESTING IS ENEVITABLE. let's take all the drug addicts and murderers in prison for life living on free food and cable and subject them to hours of radiation and harsh chemicals, then maybe something will get accomplished. Putting makeup on a bunny rabbit who shares less than 75% of our genetic data then saying its ******* safe for humans will never work. STOP

Another Monday comes and goes
and with it brings a new set of woes.
More ******* assignments
and papers to write
about **** that I don't care about
but I'm forced to try.

Got my graded calc test
I scored a 68.
Because I don't care about your curves
or if the line is straight.
Teach me something useful
like how to be an adult.
Don't fill my head with nonsense
That I'll never use at all.

College is a joke.
Such a cleverly crafted scheme.
To get us to throw money at them
because we "need them to succeed."
But I grow tired of the *******
and I'm sick of your games.
Just give me my degree,
and I'll be on my way.

Loving you is agony in which I cannot differ pleasure from pain as my hands crumple up the sheets like talons snatching up its prey and I pray that he isn't watching as your lips trace my hipbones oh god it burns like acid but Ive never craved it more

So sick of getting discouraged by the way my own hands write lies for no body but my eyes alone to see. I do not create metaphors in the way I speak for interpreters to breathe, I only bleed to feel. I want to be whole again.

The saddest thing ever written about a girl and her words are the ones written to rid the ink on her quill.
- from stained hands and a broken heart

At least if I stand in your shadow mine won't scare me.

wish I were a book so id at least have a spine

Please tell me why my eyes feel hollow and my cheeks are sunken in.  

Don't tell me I told you so because I already know and I won't say I'm sorry because I would do it over again a thousand times.

think I've forgotten how to write. I know i have a voice. It speaks in my mind but its receding like the hairline I know yours will when you're forty and I don't know whether it will come back and I'm afraid that if it doesn't I'll forget how to speak to you and we'll grow apart like leaves on a tree in winter so glue a pen to my palm and make me dance and hopefully words will relearn how to waltz across the page.

I don't want to speak in coordinate tongues to imply that our paths will never meet again. The mutation of passion is what keeps us together but we can't keep using this double helix as a crutch . I have these fragments of words, and paper and hearts and glass, syntax of my own DNA that I know not what to do with.