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Jun 2014 · 258
Untitled
Andrea Jun 2014
The devil is outside my door and he is knocking
The angels are swimming through my veins and I can see them on my bed sheets
and they are more beautiful than I thought they ever would be

My mom always yelled at me for playing with dead things when I was younger
she said “don’t touch that, you’ll get a disease.”
I don’t understand why she has stopped

My body is the corpse you find laying on the side of the road,
with mangled limbs and a ****** up face and there are flies all over me
eating the pieces of me I thought died years ago

They pick at my skin like vultures and I can feel my heart break
like the time I broke my mother’s mother’s watch
and I could literally feel my time running out

There is music in my head, but it is not the kind of music you dance too
It is the kind of music played at your best friend’s funeral
It is the kind of music you listen to for 2 minutes then decide it is no good

There is heaven and hell on my shoulders
and I am torn between believing in good or accepting evil
I think I will let them fight over my body

Until they tear open my rib cage and paint my bathtub red with all my secrets
Until they carve their beliefs into my memories until they are all I see any more
Until they kiss my neck and tell me to close my eyes and kick the chair

*The devil is outside and I never locked my door
Feb 2014 · 355
Fish
Andrea Feb 2014
Memory is a fascinating thing; it allows us to selectively remember our happy moments, but never lets us forget our worst. I remember the first time my grandpa had taken me fishing. I wasn’t a fan of early mornings at all, but on this particular day, I could call myself the world’s number one supporter of these dreadful sleepy mornings. The summer was hot, but the mornings were the kind of ice cold that bled through your skin and tickled your bones. It was 5:00am and I had just rubbed the grogginess out of my eyes, stumbled into the bathroom and unsuccessfully tried to run my fingers through the rat’s nest that consumed my head; but being so young and naïve, frankly I wouldn't care if I didn’t have any hair at this point. The old floor boards creaked below my bare feet as if they were yelling at me to go back to bed, but this sound was welcoming. As we made our way outside, the dew covered grass soaked my feet; I guess that’s why my grandpa had told me told to wear running shoes-oh well. I welcomed the smell of gasoline as my grandpa started his ancient boat, almost as ancient as the floor boards; pulling the chord back 3 times in order to start the motor. The boat lazily tipped from side to side causing little ripples in the water that started off so grand and significant, then eventually melted away into the dark water; I guess that’s how everything starts off.  It took him 10 minutes to find the perfect spot- in the middle of nowhere. He claimed that “this is where all the big fishies hide out.” The sun had just begun to glance over the horizon, allowing its dull light to charge my body with the little hope that remained. I wanted to catch a fish, any fish, so bad it physically hurt. I wanted to make my grandpa proud. I sat there, waiting patiently to reel in a small scaled creature that would determine my fate. But I was left there empty handed and disappointed. Staring into the deep dark void that had now became this lake. I watched my reflection, distorted by the gentle movement of the water; the only reflection I could stare at with genuine innocence and self-love. A moment in time frozen from the rest of earth’s wildest chaos which would not be contaminated by my future; grandma at this time remembered me; her dementia had not consumed her brain like the cancer that had consumed my mom's throat. Or at this time my grandpa was cancer free and happy, and my dad didn't reek of infidelity and still loved my mom. It was a time which was the closest to perfection I have ever reached, because we were all happy. I guess dark rooms filled with cigarette smoke and  broken souls had replaced fishing trips with my grandpa, and I guess that’s why I can’t look at my reflection any more, and I guess that’s why I stopped swimming and I guess that lake only reflected what I could never have. Like broken mirrors, the fragments of our family had been lost like the ripples in those waves that day and there was nothing I could do to get them back. I never caught a fish.
Feb 2014 · 406
Puzzles
Andrea Feb 2014
I used to love puzzles
The idea of tearing something so complete apart and then reassembling it was the most romantic idea
But ever since I met you I never liked them as much any more
You are like a virus; you inject yourself into the veins of humanity and contaminate the world’s blood for eternity
You are nothing
You are the nothing that fills those uncomfortable silences
Like that time my Grandma died
All you were to me was an uncomfortable silence I wanted to fill with screaming so bad it actually hurt me
Like that time you actually hurt me
You painted me with intricately decorated contusions that made my once human like body resemble more of a cheetah
And you would tell me that I was beautiful
But how can someone be so beautiful when they have more purple skin than white?
I guess you tried to paint the world on my back, and on my legs, and on my arms because that’s what your dad did to you
And I guess that world was better than your reality
Do you even realize how broken I am?
How many times can you pick up the pieces and try to put them back together?
Honey, these puzzle pieces have been played with far too long
I no longer fit anywhere
My pieces have been touched too much
There are too many things spilt on me
I am mangled and ugly
I no longer create that beautiful picture.

— The End —