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KS Julianne May 2014
One, two, three, four, one, two three-
One, two, three, four, we all start.
Now let your feet slam on misery
and your being vibrate from the cheers.

Now go, love, succumb to the animal
begging to move and shake of the inertia
seeping through your head until the
momentum makes you drop dead.

And let yourself be swayed by the wind
and the thunder coming from worn, thinned
skin produced by a pair of calloused hands
that each time beat harder so their palms go raw.

And close your eyes and nod along to
any pointless noise you could find until all
traces of hyperthymesiac sorrows flow away
from your fingertips for the ground to hold onto for you.

And during this time you're allowed to be pretentious,
allowed to believe that you are more than this,
allowed to believe that you have the control to let go,
allowed to believe that you are anything more than this beat.

Oh, and love, before the brief minutes of silence end,
remember to spin around until you lose it all and drop
as the last moments seep through, just to make sure
your life doesn't end up doing the same.

One, two, three, four, one, two, three-
One, two, three, four, we all stop.
And the song ends, and we all become nothing
as we pick ourselves up for the floor.
KS Julianne May 2014
My wrists become raw without
Any consent of mine,
Red and blistered from the chains
And rusted metal they  are trapped in.

And I can't leave the past, but I'd
be ****** if I'd be forced to come back
To such a wretched place. So I
sit in the floor and dream of anywhere else.

Oh, and they start creeping.

But my wrists have been red for far too long
So I sit still in white tile, staring at my new blade
One that bleeds out ink and words instead
Of one that destroys me further.

"Oh, but you deserved it, darling.
You brought this onto yourself. It was you,
after all, that dragged yourself down-"

Silence silence, I cry in the shower.

Words are escaping me,
Just barely leaving my
Feeble hands, grasping
At the edges of this feeble world.

"Feeble? Such an ironic thing
for such a weak creature to say.
If there's anything feeble it's you-"

I crank the volume up.

And such a thing as coherence
Is making as much sense as my own thoughts
"Wait, is it because they're not
coherent? Maybe you're just wrong-"


Silence silence silence
And I scream into my fist
"Maybe you're just wrong,
like you always are!"


And I ready the words inside of
my dry throat, only if they just become
an utter for no one to hear it.
"No one ever does anyway!"

Yet they zoom around my mind
When I make myself alone again
Go away go away go away go away
"Leave leave before you crash"

"And he told her the tale of a girl
who loved others yet never learned
how to love herse-"
silence silence silence
I cover my ears and drown myself again.

And I give up on trying to make sense of the lyrics
Or of the hellish sound from within, as I
convince myself that it never made sense.
"Oh, but it all does. You're just too blind to see it."

Shut up shut up shut up shut up
"You're blind you're blind you're blind"
I clench my eyes shut
And drop to the ground.
This poem focuses on the rampage of feelings I experience during a breakdown, where memories take hold of me until my whole body is shaking and I pretty much lose control, to a point where it's hard to distinguish what's real and what's not.
KS Julianne Sep 2014
a n d  
         i  
        w o n d e r . . .
         why
    is it  
          that
     i'm
          never
          **e n o u g h ?
this is a pretty recurrent thought... just thought i'd throw it out there and hope it'll do me some good.
KS Julianne Jul 2014
they've told me multiple times
that you're nothing more than
side effects of my speculations,
but even if so, i'll lie.

though my hours are counted
ticking until I count again
you know better than anyone
that it's nothing more than true.

and if said not, I dare you to watch,
not see, to observe, not look,
at a starry sky with starry eyes
then look into mine and say it's finite.

or maybe it comes down to the fact
that everything's become far too cold,
and who are you to argue as I watch
as it chills me to the core?

now, finity has become my worst nightmare,
even outside my own boundaries,
for there's so much I can live
until I have to be alive.

and maybe, just maybe,
i'll be fine for now.
just make sure to fade away soon enough,
after all, I am nothing but finite.
KS Julianne May 2014
I am known for my sharp tongue
For biting insults I never mean
For snide remarks I always regret
For lies and actions I can never forget.

I have a sharp, observing eye and ears
For beauty and for defects all the same
The problem with me is, I spit out flaws
Perfections always stay hidden with shame

Some people like to wear flaws on their sleeve
I like to wear them on display with a shimmer of denial
I hide them then show them without thinking twice
Making me seem half as messed up as I am.

I'd prefer to bury my imperfections
If I don't, I'll bury myself alive.
I've always hidden my odd ends and flaws.
Only to show them again in words.
KS Julianne Sep 2014
"It's not that I didn't love her-- I think I never stopped, to be quite honest. We just grew. Circumstances develop, grow differently and change; and so do people. The problem was when the two started growing in different directions. My emotions were set, my heart, my mind, even my body was set, she was set, the stage in my life was set, but the circumstances weren't. There's really nothing else to it. I love her, but there's no use trying to redirect the path of a tree that has already grown. There's nothing for us to go back to. All that's left is for me to keep growing away and forget about her.

               But you know I won't, don't you?"
random dialogue that popped up in my head. didn't fit with any of my stories, so here you go. ****** poetry in a poorly written paragraph.
KS Julianne Aug 2014
Crooked paintings of sobbing angels pointed hellward, towards the earth
and the heat and all we deserve. And none of the mortals noticed them
weeping, noticed them writhing, noticed them falling, towards the
depths of a ***** soul, and they fell and never stopped doing so.
Yet as they let a wicked gravity pull their calloused feet, they
still believed they were on their way to wrong, leaving their
home. Of course, this makes sense, since the cruelest fae
and most twisted demons were always the one to
believe themselves holy. And so is told the tale;

Seven sins split hellward, going where they belonged: among humans.
KS Julianne May 2014
One of my closest friends
Has a nasty habit
Of visiting by night
And leaving in the morning.

She's never told me her name,
And I've got no photos nor descriptions
Nor people to prove that is really her.
But still, I call her Insomnia.

When the night goes still
And the others go to sleep
She arises in all her glory
Captivating my attention.

She whispers stories all night
Forming pictures behind my eyelids
"Give me a minute, let me write it down"
But she stays silent when I grab a pen

She's a bumbling bundle of life
In a night full of slumber
"Be quiet I need to sleep"
Yet she talks, and I keep listening.

"Shut up, I want to rest"
I tell her again with a yawn
But not even music can drown out her words
Alarmingly loud in still nights.

Ignoring my closing eyes,
I commit her words to memory
In the morning, she won't be there
To let me live another life.

She's the reason I have
Dark bags under my eyes.
But still, I don't mind.
I need the company.

She's my closest friend,
Dead dreamer coming alive
In the dead of the night
Shimmering with the shadows.

Unlikely company
Not the best, I'm sure
Still, I let her speak
And hold me close.

After all, darling
Misery loves company
Even if it means
Another sleepless night.
KS Julianne May 2014
Chipped answers
With a clipped smile
Cheap excuses
With a **** composure.

Oh, anger isn’t what everyone makes it out to be.

Gagged words
With a glad hiss,
Drab hair with
Dragging eyelids.

Oh, uncertainty isn’t what everyone e makes it out to be.

Falling bodies
With failing ankles,
Fading purpose with
Flailing hands.

Oh, giving up isn’t what everyone makes it out to be.

Gripping papers
With grasping fingers,
Fastening the edges of a
Long-lasting chamber.

Oh, anxiety isn’t what everyone makes it out to be.

Breathing hearts with
Beating lungs,
Being human with a
Bleeding tongue.

Oh, life isn't what everyone makes it out to be.
KS Julianne Jul 2014
All along, I was pretentious,

since my first tear to the last,

but never one to live behind false pretenses.

Even so, does that make me a liar?

And they've told me again and again

that you can never miss what you never had,

but the truth's never stopped me from missing

all that would've been.

And by telling false stories that were never my own,

and rewriting my own past to barely get by,

would all of this make me  a liar?

Because if so, I deserve no more than fire,

yet it feels as if I've been burning for far too long.



But some things never change, now do they?
KS Julianne Sep 2014
"If you were drunk, locked in a room with everyone you ever loved, whose arms would you fall into?"*

I'd reply that I'm too weak to lie so I'd merely fall to the floor,
whether room hollow or crowded
mocking me from how
I let myself care
so much
or so
little.

But
think again;
if I were ever locked in a room
with everyone I ever cared about,
I haven't got the slightest idea about who'd reside.
And for some reason, I can't help but do what I do most,
Wonder and overanalyze and ask myself: *Would you be there?
based off a hipster quote i saw in tumblr. credit to whoever came up with it.
KS Julianne Aug 2014
He mistakes my name, and then, "Well, you'll come around..."
Strange as it seems, I'm bursting at the seams
With a suitcase full of nothing to be seen
Airports, shutters and a shoulder to no longer lean
And he says, "Oh, I've got a woman now..."

My wallet photos no longer sum me up
And I've already come around
And tiny star-studded jeans hold every broken dream
And through the failed wishes in between, a sung
"Oh, I've got a woman now..."

For I'm no longer little Eileen,
and I've grown a lonely need
For I'm no longer anything to see;
All but worthy to be deemed, yet a cry resounds;
"Oh, I've got a woman now..."

And it's all tasted the same,
And I never expected it to change
"Girl, out there when they're selling dreams...
****, this is harder than it seems.
Oh, where did my girl go now?
Oh, I've got a woman now..."
This is based off the song "Woman" by The 1975. Kind of like a prologue-kinda-thing from before everything turned sour for Eileen. It's kind of odd, but nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed.
KS Julianne Sep 2014
the rain pours outside, and i become compelled to
pour my own self into a ****** poem that won't cover half.
pour my own self into a ****** poem that won't cover at all.

the rain pounds outside, and i become compelled to
cower into a corner and pound against my walls that don't budge.
cower into a corner and pound against the wall with my ribs.

the rain thunders outside, and i become compelled to
thunder my way into what i think i deserve that isn't even half,
thunder my way into what i think i deserve that becomes even less.

the rain is lighting outside, and i become compelled to
be lighting and light my way through rotten magnets that easily budge,
be lighting and light my way through rotten cement that won't give.

the rain intensifies outside, and i become compelled to
twist a beating ***** until i can intensify whatever's left to feel,
twist a beating ***** until i can intensity whatever is not.

the rain dies outside, and i become compelled to die.
die into a fine mist that'll leave a mark on everyone,
die in such a fine way that i'll be able to breathe again.

the rain pours outside, and i drown.
this is ****. still, i hope you enjoyed.
KS Julianne May 2014
She lays still at three a.m.,
Her breath matching the
Silent beat of a world
Waiting for her outside.
[Waiting to see her fail.]

And she stares all night
At the painted ceilings
Creating figures and faces
With the cracks in their structure.
[Just like her.]

And she wonders, if she were to paint
The walls with her colours and her
words, would they stop closing in on her
Or would they lock her up any faster?
[She hopes for the former.]

But she knows it's just more wishful
Thinking, so shuts shut her eyes
Tight and ignore the monsters
Looming over her as she sleeps.
[Or rather, tries to.]
KS Julianne Jun 2014
And now, I guess I'm glad that I never felt
The way your ulna and radius would press
against the discs in my spine as your humerus
held me to you, the way I would lean my skull
on your clavicle and rest my phalanges on your
scapula and be able to feel the life inside of your ribs,
the way your costal cartilage was never mine to hold
and the way mine always was too bruised to touch,
because then I'd be certain that the cartilage between
your bones would turn them into nothing but ropes,
tying me down to you as they wrapped around my
neck and choked me in my own illusions.
And I'm done playing hangman.

Because then, I'd be nothing but another skeleton
in my closet full of dreams and hopes.
And darling,
I won't do that to myself again.

**Never again.
KS Julianne Aug 2014
day fell and night was seen, and i found my version of an annabel lee.
and looking back, it was nothing short of a mistake or maybe three,

when i looked at her, sat down and held a lying dream.
but if you found her in the side of the road, sobbing with only gin to hear,

would thee agree with such a cynical mind to leave her to grieve?
because given the chance or just half the shot,

would thee agree with such a cynical decree to torture annabel lee?



for i agree that to a certain degree i was idiotic to believe,
to blind myself from the truth of whom i thought to be my annabel lee.

but still, everything overseas were nothing but another thing to see,
another thing we would not care to leave compared to whom i believed to be annabel lee.

yet i agree that to a pointless degree, i blinded myself completely to not believe
i agreed to let myself to be blinded to a degree where i would not believe,

believe that whom i thought to be my annabel lee had such a wicked creed.



and that's the tale of how began the leave, how my "i's" no longer stood alone
and instead was held hand-in-hand with my *****, annabel lee.

that's the tale of how began the leave, of how i gave everything for annabel lee,
of how i began to love, under the pretense of being free,

the tale of how i began to love the annabel lee that would do nothing but destroy me.
that's the tale of the beginning of the end as i set the guilty free,

the tale of when i let annabel lee destroy the world  beneath my feet.

for yet still the reddest of moons and the brightest rainbows
would pale next to my annabel lee;

for even the blackest of suns and the darkest of exploding stars
would never compare to sinai bea.

really, can you blame me?
KS Julianne Sep 2014
twitch, tap, raddda-dap-tap,
tap any harder and your fingers will snap.
twitch, tap, badda-dap-bam,
i smiled and did the same.

going along to a tune only you could only hear,
a snap and a clack resounded off-time
around the multiple rooms with a clang,
a consistent beating in a room of laughter.

and you never even noticed how you never stopped,
drumming, twitch, rad-dda-dap-tap.

and because i could not get that
**** song out of my head too,
i tapped along with you,
wishing for something more.

boom, clap, radda-dap-clap,
feel any more and my heart'll snap.
so, i'm trying to be cultured. so i searched up this huge glossary full of poetic terms and different types of works [sub-divisions in the world of poetry]. so, as a personal challenge, i'm going to try to write a poem based on one of those styles, which will be chosen at random. this one is a light verse; a poem about small, whimsical things.  although it took a whole new meaning at the end. oh well. hope you enjoyed!
KS Julianne May 2014
Paint has spilt all over
My worn clothes and clammy hands
Colors becoming an array of
Makeshift beauty as I arch my wrist.

And I sketch and I draw
And I write this to life, repainting
The precious and  capture
Some of it for myself.

And the story of year-old blood and day-old
Paint have all dried under my nails and my hands,
Consequence of a failing try to redefine and
Capture the smallest details of the daunting world I live in.

But this much seems pointless,
Because every time I look at the world
And at the people surrounding the
Enigmatic soul in you,

I realize that such that such beauty
Of mind and matter is too great
For me to recreate a small part of it
Only armed with ink, paint and a pencil.

And maybe, it was a twist of sweet fate,
But as I wash all the paint and ink off
And find you right in front of me, I'm reminded
Of how I've failed to capture all the brilliance.

So instead, as I watch as the last of the paint
Waters into nothing but *******, I commit
You to memory and hope that you don't fade away
The same way graphite and ink does.
I'm  a budding artist, and my biggest challenge for me is to be able to capture the life of all the people around me. This poem is based on a cruel reminder that I've failed at doing so.
KS Julianne May 2014
Illuminated by the soft glow
Of glorified plastic, I sit still
On the duvet, my body feeling
Completely and utterly weightless.

And my back is slumped against
The cement wall, bruised spine aching
As it begs for me to lie. Ah,
Completely and utterly weightless.

Hearing sounds and beats I can't listen,
Inhaling chopped air waiting for dawn to arise,
exhaling words before they clog my mind.
Completely and utterly weightless.

And sleep beckons me and asks me why,
and I start nodding along to it as the moment end
and my bruised spine aches. Ah, but I was
Completely and utterly weightless.

But the buzz won't let me sleep, as always,
so I keep listening to riffs I can't hear
and plead to my mind to rest instead;
Completely and utterly weightless.

At least, I used to be.
But the bags under my eyes
decided that it was time to weigh
down on my skin again.

Completely and utterly weightless;
I slip into a restless slumber
as the lead in my bones makes
itself more evident that before.

So I let my words become weightless instead.
But they refuse to leave, so instead they
seep in my muscles, clanking around skin and bones
And waiting to be bled, **** it, I can't sleep.

Surprise, surprise.
There are these moments   when I drift between consciousness and slumber where I kind of lose feeling in my body, and my thoughts ring the loudest in that moment, which, in turn, wakes me up again. This happens multiple times every night and it's very frustrating,  but I've gotten used to it. All part of being an insomniac.
Yet
KS Julianne Aug 2014
Yet
Because it's not worth it, it never was and it never will be, because life is pointless and it's nothing more than a punishment for all you've been and all you will be if you don't stop this madness now, because you, you, you are--*

Yet I look at a blooming flower twice,
hear the rain pouring outside,
see the wrinkles of our earth,
and wonder if it would be wise to believe for sorrow's end.

Yet I look at a rotten face twice,
hear the last beats of a heart,
see the wrinkles in our very being,
and wonder if we somehow managed to reach the end.

Yet I look at a smiling face twice,
hear the ****** of children's laughter,
see the wrinkles of elder's stories,
and wonder how we've managed to reach both ends.
KS Julianne Sep 2014
jump, just once,
as you once dared me.
i dare you.
have a ****** haiku.
KS Julianne Aug 2014
Sitting semi-sola on the cornerstone,
Next to unknown; destination: another home.
And in a moment of a day not so dreary with cofidence to loan,
I'd ask them to take me with them to not feel so alone.

But I didn't have happiness to borrow or loan,
So I sat still and quiet against the cornerstone.
I watched them ride away, feeling completely alone,
Watching them silently as they made their way home.

And in another moment where I had something to loan
Other than dreadfulness at the self-ignited idea of being alone
I'd ask them to take me to another cornerstone,
***** and dusty, but nevertheless a true home.

— The End —