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 Apr 2014 Sin
Toni Porter
 Apr 2014 Sin
Toni Porter
I don't know why I let this happen
i don't know why I just watched
I watched as your tore out my heart
I watched as u bit down on my soul
But yet I love you
I hate it
I hate saying it I hate feeling it I hate that I love you
But I love it all
You mean so much to me
You fill me with joy and anger at the same time
I can't even look at your stupid cute face anymore
Not without thinking of how bad you make me feel
But I can even look at your stupid cute face
Without thinking
God she's gorgeous
I cant hide the fact that you hurt me
But I can't hide the fact that I hurt you
It was probably to long ago for you to remember
Break ups are always hard
But do you wanna know something
You wanna know why we I said we needed a break
Wanna know why I left
Its because I was scared I might do something
Something dumb... I don't know what yet
But I was afraid
Its funny how the tables turned
I was afraid of hurting you but yet...
I hope your happy
U made me cry
Fancy that!
Me. Crying.
I'm glad you know the pain you caused
But you cause so much more being away from me
So stay
I know I can't trust you anymore
But I don't care
I just want you to love me like I love you
Faithful, Happy, and Passionate
 Aug 2013 Sin
an artist
i love you deeper
than any ocean
and higher than any sky.
to the moon and back
and around the sun infinitely many times

i love you more
than the miles that distance us,
or the hours that part us
and even more than the times that we hardly have time to speak

because i believe that
one day we will be able to laugh and
talk to one another,
and not into a computer.

that one day i will be able to
reach over for your hand
or turn to you for a hug
and you will be there.

i believe that
one day we will finally be happy
and things will be a little easier
because instead of wishing and wanting
for each other
we will finally have one another

and the best thing
is that you feel the same way

and that makes all the waiting and hoping and difficulties we may face
completely worthwhile.
 Jul 2013 Sin
your fingertips danced across my skin
like children in the snow
you caressed my aching soul
and slowed my rapid heartbeat
the light in your eyes
twirled about as our lips pressed together
your tongue sought solace
inside my mouth
and my teeth grazed your bottom lip
as payment for your loves newfound home

your fingertips stayed firmly inside
our locked hands
you traced my smile with your lips
and promised to write me love letters
describing how your heart soared
when i entered the room
i laughed and you raced
to remember the lines that formed
in the corners of my eyes
when my smile lit up

your fingertips stayed hidden in your pockets
as we walked together
down our favorite path underneath the moonlight
i thought it was quite romantic tonight
and felt love coursing through my veins
as i looked at you
but you kept your head down
and the only time you looked up
was not to look at me
but to look at the brilliance of the moon

your fingertips were holding her hand now
and your teeth grazing her bottom lip
as i had once done to you
you wrote her songs of love
and she wrote you poems
describing the brilliance of your eyes
my soul shrank at the sight of the two of you
my heart was a living flame
that eventually died out to ashes
at the the fact that i would never hold your fingertips in mine again
 Jul 2013 Sin
 Jul 2013 Sin
Isn't it funny how you held my  hand,
told me that our love was like my favourite band.

Living forever and standing the test of time,
but all along you were never mine.

You drew gentle pictures of our future on my flesh,
I was too naive to realise these were not so fresh.

You stole these ideas from your last victims heart,
your bodies were once intertwined, refusing to part.

You see, my friend, I had to let you go,
when I found out I loved you so.

The feelings I had were not mutual, I know,
I knew it from when you ignored our song on the stereo.

The strings you had attached were just too much,
you had me under control from the very first touch.

Our infinite love was not real of course,
just a fragment of my imagination and my actions were forced.
 Jul 2013 Sin
Julia Jaquery
 Jul 2013 Sin
Julia Jaquery
there are drops that tremble
along the edges of my glass--
i stare into them, trying
to see how they cradle blood
in their atoms.
they yield none of their secrets.
they slide
through my veins.
they are crystals that emerge
gracelessly, unheeded
to ponder the airless spaces
that clutter my lungs.
tonight they roam like ghosts
to the unclean surfaces of skin that
stretch grudgingly across my bones.
they tremble
to the lights.
they are silver pepper
that sting my cells alive yet
i can't feel them singing.
they inhabit me
and uninhabit me too quickly
for me to invite them home.
they find no home in me, only
to **** into their loving atoms
blindly, uncaring
that they are contaminated with
my waste, my blood.
they carry these things from me
to pour back into the forge
that melts my mistakes.
they permeate any weakness
to sustain it.
to prevent me from bloating
with toxicity that unconsciously
finds its way inside
especially on colored nights.
they click their tongues at me
while i'm sleeping, they
can see my dirt-encrusted synapses
and the hitches in my skin.
they feed and chastise me
from within.
 Jun 2013 Sin
in the Night
 Jun 2013 Sin
There was something soft about the way she moved.
It was quiet and slow.
She was thinking of something,
deep in her own mind.
She wanted to be left alone to her thoughts.
She didn't want to talk tonight,
her thoughts were too heavy for her voice.
They would break her if
she tried to utter them
and she wasn't quite ready to break,
even though she knew that later in the night
when everything was dead,
her thoughts would become too loud
and she'd break out of fear and pain.
She would pour herself into the night
and it would all be gone by morning.
She smiled to herself, and thought
this is why she loved the night.
Copyright @ Sadie Whitney
 Jun 2013 Sin
 Jun 2013 Sin
I wrote this about a year and a half ago, so mind you, I was but a mere 14 and a half years of age. I've detected problems in the plot and grammatical errors, but I don't want to take away from what it was when I first created it. Thank you.*

There are times that I decide that I must stop, so I pause in my placid, scheduled routine, and wonder about life, and how I came to be such a disheveled human being. I stare at the repetitive pattern of white squares on the ceiling, count the squares a couple of times (it's always 54), and just think. My thoughts bounce around my head persistently, I can feel them hitting against my head, back and forth, back and forth, never stopping. They slither like evil, determined serpents, throughout my veins, around my face, between my fingers. My thoughts fuse together with my dreams, intermingling with my memories, desires, the lies I was fed every day as a child, and the constant anger so close to the surface, but for what reason it is truly there, I was never able to figure out.
Each time I feel the need to think, I start with the same beginning, that same beginning which my mother repeated to me so many times, every morning, every hour on the hour, every night. “You are Todd Stevens. You have beautiful green eyes, the color of emeralds. You are as quick as a fox, and as sharp as a needle. Your mama loves you very much. You've got a great future ahead of you. You killed your sister, Holly, but mama still loves you.” After that, which was so deeply penetrated into my skull, it would be impossible for me to forget it, my thoughts would wander and dwindle down the stream of consciousness.
On this particular day, my thoughts were focused on my current position in life. If I had such a great future ahead of me, why is it that I'd been locked away in an asylum for the past ten years? My mama never lied, she was the best thing that ever happened to me, except maybe Holly. She was my twin sister; we looked so much alike, we could get away with trading places and mama would never even know. We both had the same cropped tawny, brown hair, piercing green eyes, and olive colored skin. I looked down at my flesh, and saw my sister's hands before me. I tried to remember the last memory I had of her, tried to remember how I killed her.
“Todd,” she had called out from behind a door, the door my mama always told us never to go into, 'cause it was our daddy's workshop. “Todd, please help me.” she had whimpered.
“Holly, I'll help you.” I yelled, clawing at the door and grasping for the doorknob. It wouldn't budge. My mama was standing at her doorway, looking at me with the most pitiful eyes I had ever seen. She was sniffling a whole lot, and had one hand behind her back. I became entranced in her stare, and I immediately ignored the small cries of Holly from behind the door. Mama starts approaching me, and I saw something silver in her hand. And then it ends, just like that. I never saw or heard about Holly again. A lot of my memories ended that way, seeing mama come at me with a silver thing. But I always woke up, very happy, if not a little bit ache-y. She'd sit there and run her hands through my hair, and murmur her repetition to me, over and over. My name was still Todd Stevens, I still had green eyes, I was still quick and sharp, mama still loved me, I still had aspirations, and I still killed my sister.
Mama was always the best thing in my life. She loved me a lot, really cared about me. She never truly appreciated Holly as much, but that was fine by me. Sometimes, when Holly had been jealous, she'd yell at me, so loud that it pulsated throughout my head like the ocean waves on the shore. I'd never been to the shore, but mama showed my videos of it all the time. She never let us out of the house, she said she didn't want the other kids laughing at us. I would ask why anyone would laugh at us, and she would just smile and shake her head, and say, “Oh, you're special Toddy.”
I look up at the ceiling again, because I'm feeling too emotional, and count the 54 squares again. Thinking of mama always makes me feel funny, especially when I think of the day she sent me to the place I've lived in ever since, this asylum I call home.
It was all of a sudden, one day out of the blue. She looked at me with ferocious, hating eyes for the first time in my life. Without words, just her intense glare, she forced me to go to my daddy's workshop door. She was breathing real heavily, like she did when she chased me around the house and scooped me up into her arms, and kissed my forehead. This was not one of those times, though. She pointed at the door.
“Go.” She commanded. I never said no to my mama, but I was scared and stuck in her trance again, like I was when Holly was calling out to me. Mama began to walk closer to me, her hand still pointed towards the door, shaking. “Please,” she begged, her face instantly softening, “I can't do this anymore, I'm sorry. They'll take care of you, Holly. They're much better than me. I'm not a good mama. I ruined you.” She then began to cry, and I had never seen her cry before. It was all too much for me, so I twisted the handle and left that house once and for all.
I ran and closed my eyes, because I didn't know what I was going to find in daddy's workshop, and I didn't want to see Holly after all that time being so far apart. I didn't think as to why mama called me Holly, or why she abandoned me after so long. I left mama behind me, and sometimes, if I think hard enough, I can still hear her cries.
What I found behind that door was absolute nothingness, like a dream of black fog, thick and enveloping, not letting me go. Pictures appeared before me, quick and not ceasing. The pictures showed me and mama when I was born in a hospital a long time ago in a place I didn't remember ever seeing. One was of me and her, right when I was born. She looked so happy and at ease. Then, another picture showed mama with another baby, it must have been Holly. What confused me was that she was real blue, and wasn't crying, and mama's face was all contorted in this strange look of horror. I shied away from that picture, it made the anger come up again, the worst it had ever been. I screamed in this strange state of delusion, and that picture was replaced by ones I didn't recognize in the least. Mama was in one of them. She sat in a small cell enclosed with metal bars, and looked completely lost and alone. She looked much older; her once black hair was a shade of silver and her porcelain skin was cracked with age. I wanted to comfort her, to reach out, but that snapshot was then replaced with another picture, of me, with long brown hair, green eyes, and a door behind me. I smiled a goofy grin, and pointed at the name plate by the door. It read, “Holly Stevens.” Then, like a movie clip, it showed me opening that door, looking around a small white room with 54 white squares on the ceiling, sitting on the bed and smiling, then the door slowly closing behind me.
I look up at the ceiling once more. I count. 1, 2, 3, 4... Subconsciously, I knew I had just stumbled upon the truth, but I would never let myself admit it. After all, my name is Todd Stevens. I have beautiful green eyes, the color of emeralds. I'm as quick as a fox and as sharp as a needle. My mama loves me very much. I have a great future ahead of me. I killed my sister, Holly, but mama still loves me. ...51, 52, 53, 54...
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