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raðljóst Nov 2013
These days I pull out my hair just to feel some relaxation.
It’s weird, and I know that, and I don’t want you to lecture me or tell me something I already know about tics and trictillomania.
I’m off, and I know it.
Let me breathe, okay?
I could just end it all, I guess, but that’s what I’m afraid of.
The end.
And naturally, on average,
I’m nowhere near the last chapter of my story,
but that doesn’t do much to calm me.
Must keep on living.
Must live.  
Must do more things.
Learn more.
Be more.
raðljóst Nov 2013
I cut my hair and wove it into your skull with my fingertips.
And painted my blood on your mouth to give you red, red lips.
Smoothed the lines on your face with my hand,
And shaped your legs and your feet so you may stand.
With my breath I gave you life,
And with my death I leave no strife.
raðljóst Oct 2013
i guess you were sick of shooting the moon
because all you did was miss, and you never cared about the stars.
you said you needed solid ground to hold onto.
and now i know i'll only be your earthquake;
no solid footing here.
raðljóst Oct 2013
take and take and take
but give me one last shot
my arms are open
wider than the globe


breathe and breathe and breathe
then exhale all your doubt
for it was always
the second-guesses
that pushed you away

lie and lie and lie
but tell me your honest truths
*and i will never
forsake you
raðljóst Oct 2013
Green apples at lunchtime,
You were the only friend of mine.
We played in sand and built castles from our growing imaginations while we hoped our bodies would grow just like our minds so our hands could reach the monkey bars and… maybe one day the stars.
Back then I’d wish on those and hope you’d pinky-swear right back to always have an ear out in case I called for help.
Those were the days I’d spend making cards to send to you just because you might need to know that you were worth every glued-on sequin.
We stayed outside catching fireflies until the sun escaped and those jars were the only lights to guide our way.
Those summer breaks spent chasing salamanders, our fingers, our toes, warm river mud pressed between every one of them like an unofficial glue promising to keep us together.
All our thoughts concentrated on an everlasting summer,
No more school because we felt educated enough if we could be together all day.
I guess the river washed it all away, like the current wiping the mud out from between our toes, off our fingertips, off our minds your words turned cold,
Conversations dwindled and the best thing I could hope to come out of your mouth was hello.

And now you walk the way you used to walk when you made fun of girls on pageant shows.
Your lips are stained a perfect color of rose,
But you grow thorns when you speak.
Some say you flourished.
A blossom under fluorescence but I always liked things to be under incandescence. A phenomenon of light produced from our warm bodies under a shared blanket watching the stars, sharing our hopes our fears and our scars.
But now when the temperature rises it’s because you’re not looking at me anymore.
I’m a just another flower budding on your wall,
But, please watch me blossom before I fall.
I don't especially like the beginning, but I am pretty happy with this one. I wrote it all in one go, only took out one line and that's the most editing I've done. I think I am going to keep it that way for when I present it in class. I'd rather hear constructive criticism before I criticise myself.
Also, I don't know how to title it.
raðljóst Sep 2013
It is incredibly fragile.
More like a web of hair winding through the city
Than a spider’s web that bounces back.
Electric current run through my veins; support me.
More moved to soak in the sun than taste the flow of a water-dam or take in the scent of a coal-burner.
Knock it down,
Down and out with the lights they go black.
They cannot see, cannot search.
Their voices throw complaints at this power-gone-out,
But I laugh.
Reading with the light of the still-rising sun I smile behind the safety of my book.
I do not need to be recharged,
I’ve got the power of the sun to bring me to stand.
They’ve got themselves depending on breakable things,
Leaning on a dry branch as if it would hold them up as long as they need,
Don’t know that a dry thing will snap if you push it too much.
How easy it would be to bring down a place like this,
All strung together, their failing crutch.
Must be in sync.
Must be connected.
But don’t they know?
Connection disconnects when a sacrificial tree topples and their circuit ceases to exist.
Their power cannot reach their devices and their shoulders fall.
Does anyone have a generator to bring them back to life?
And why won’t they regenerate when the lines are cut?
Come back to life,
Find your power in the sun.
not sure how to end it yet, kind of lost focus because the "bell rang", as in, school was over and I had to pack up and go, but I'll be getting back to this pretty soon once I do a bunch of Italian because I really don't want to get behind in that.
raðljóst Sep 2013
make me

                  break me

       shake me

                       take me
shape me  
                             scrape me
**** me
                 escape me
pluck me
                          **** me
       chuck me
                                    **** me
hit me
                   quit me
       split me        
                       or    commit me


  please,

see me
             and
                     free me.
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