You made me promises,
And I wrapped myself in them like melodies on a hazy Sunday morning,
I savored them, twisted them and made them into fibers that I wove into my existence.
And then,
Then you broke me.
And I let you.
I let you because I didn’t know better.
Beyond time and tide you were a brilliance, a light, that warmed and coddled me into this desperate oblivion.
A ***** oblivion.
Polluted.
Shards of glass beneath my feet.  Clothes made of extreme anxiety.
And in this moment, I blame you.
But, no longer.
I accept that I allowed your entrance into my life.
I allowed you to be more for me than I ever trusted anyone else to be.
It isn’t my fault that you disappointed me.
I suspect that I am not the first of your disillusionments.
Look at you.
Your physicality is breathtaking.
Every muscle, every nuance of your outward being is a tantalizing treat of enticement and temptation.
I know it isn’t where you end, though.
You had it in you to devise your plan of promises and expectations.
Did you catch what I said there?
Devised.
A negativity.
Not something endearing or stunning.
Maybe I am wrong.
It has been years into this.
And I was wounded well before you.
In consideration of that deep disdain, I must not always believe you to be a fraud.
Surely, not every fraction of your being has set out to malign my heart.
Yet, you have.
Maligned me.
Cast me out into a void that stinks of rot and old.
And so, I float. I linger. I coast along.
Slow-motion.
My own private Hell.
Wondering every time you go out if you will return with the stench of infidelity wafting through the air.
So, I float.
Oil and water, flesh and bone, separate and together.
Endless.
Or, is it?

Spilled Dreams!

Hide not away.
Be not concealed.
No need to run.
Escape from a teacup of dreams.
Try to pull yourself out.
Be careful not to spill the contents on the grass

On a wild escapade.
Should you let your china teacup tip.
Your dreams will ***** the soil.
Become doused in muddy mess of moments.
Spread across the grass.

Then they shall be lost.
No stratagem to rescue them.
When they're gone.
They're gone.
Lost forever and maybe a day!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

I hate the way her eyes scan me over with jealousy. She's so enviousm but what does she think I have that she doesn't? I'm the diluted image of my mother's beauty, yes, & she wants that. But she doesn't realize that full pouting lips, the large startled etes, the palest coffee-cream skin comes with strings attatched, a think contract she has no idea about, full of clauses & fees. the very last page reads 'Amelia', signed with my blood but written in my mother's decided, sure hand. She doesn't see all the chameleon shades in me, or how I need them just to get by. She has no idea of my longing, my yawning morning yearning for the way she's the same girl every day. I admire he belief in (the lie) that no one can **** with her, while every person I meet makes something in me panic, wondering if they'll be the next to discard me after taking me out & finding that I'm both too much to handle & not enough to stick around for. She can shrug off a punch & barrel through a crowd, moses to any sea, any shore she finds herself at the edge of, while the simple swat of an absent hand creates ripples & gusts that send me tumbling, toppling *** over teakettle. She scans aisles of people, tasting, testing any that are above her minimum standard, but I've never had that kind of freedom; I've always been a sample, appetizer, appease me, please me. babe. She knows as well as I do the desperation for approval, for being desired, but the difference between us is that she refuses to change for anyone but herself while I need people to give me someone to be.

I have to be more careful with my words
Or rather the wording of said words
I have to take a leaf out of your book this time
Instead of slamming it shut each time you open it before me
Despite how ludicrous and unbelievable your avoiding answers are
There are only so many ways I can rephrase the question
Before insanity beats honesty by numbers from the infinite variations
So I'm not giving in quite yet as I said in frustration
And although from our argumentative conversation I failed to learn
I was in fact enlightened, brightened, given light
For my answers and questions stand strong and unchanged
Strengthening in stillness at every returning question you fire

I may not be the Right, I may not have the Right
Your belief might be silenced
My belief may be misunderstood
And though no result came of words spoken
And methods remain unsuccessful
The conclusion is always the same despite the uncountable alterations
So as I close this file to open one unfamiliar
I sign off with three last words
I am right

When you think you know your footsteps,
Theres another road you have to follow
Another path, decisions to make, and it's a lot of trouble
I know I was stuck in a horrible place,
Where demons and monsters knew me by name and knew my address by heart
Childish fears, I'd crawl under my sheets to hide from nightmares lingering around  
Nothing was worth living for, and Tuesdays were a bitter resort,
It seemed as if blacklights filled my eyes, and I saw the places where others couldn't
The little stains invisible to others
And I wanted to keep to myself.
These are horrible things to feel, when you stare at the wall and think about
"No one would miss me if I took my life."
Turning my flesh inside out, hoping my eyes go behind my head.
Happiness was something I haven't seen in awhile
My favorite moment was when a smile was cut across my face
Looking in the mirror wasn't as hard to do,
But I'm trying to be happy,
not to bring others down as well.
My favors are being returned, and I believe I'll be okay.
Tragedy is still there, but I know I shouldn't worry about it.
Even though I still feel a little weight,
I know it'll be over with soon.

Step One.

When you are taught that human beings are riddled with gaping holes and survival is nothing more than attempting to stay standing against the rough gusts of wind, allow this fact to coat the surface of your skin. Memorize the mesmerizing patterns of movement of other beings as they struggle to remain on their trembling feet despite the vacancies in their chests, and mimic them with precision. This is the dance of survival that your vacant body will learn until the holes grow too large and the remainder of your body caves. This is how time passes, and this is how time continues.

Step Two.

You are born as a vessel, waiting to be infested with the words of those around you. As you absorb the dancing syllables and learn how to breath in the emotion infused in the air, ensure that you fill yourself up to the brim with this knowledge. Hold these precious collections close, for they are the substance that ensures your body remains seen among the bustling bodies of billions. Then betray your body and allow these collected words escape through petty cracks, knowing that each freed syllable is a step towards invisibility. When you allow all turbulent emotion through the cracks of your lips, you will return to an empty vessel. The silence of vacancy is fatal, and time will persist around your deterioration.

Step Three.

As you grow your body, allow your eyes to stray towards other beings growing their own. You will notice that the curves of your body are not unique, and are merely a slight modification to a standard model. Each word that exits your lips has been uttered before, and each declaration has been confessed long before your body has made its debut. As you allow your fingers to wander around the concave of his body, understand that your body is merely an interruption to the air around it. Any body could take your place, for you are a combinations of tireless repetitions and patterns. When you have allowed this realization to poison your lungs, you will pass as all the other beings have and your time will end. Another repetition will take your place as you have done, and time will go on without you.