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Lucy Marie Apr 2014
and while your presence may be enchanting, I find that it hinders my breathing.

but the way that you know exactly what to say to make the pain go away and the serotonin want to come out to play

well I'd be a liar if I told you that it wasn't my favorite part of every single day

and when it hits you

it'll feel like waves of anxiety

dragging you into a sea of euphoria

and drowning you in peace

But what I’ve learned now is that our bastardized love cannot be written in a silly journal

nor can it be sliced into my flesh as my previous loves could have been.

What I have learned is that our love is old and, though previously unspoken

it often leaves us both dumb and craving more.

Before I loved you, I wrote disorganized thoughts on my skin with blades and needles.
Before I loved you, every inch of my body was sore from the nightmare induced thrashing

Now, because I love you, I write disorganized thoughts on a piece of paper with a red pen
and now, because I love you, every inch of my body is sore from the pleasure induced thrashing.
The transitions are really ******, I know. If you have any advice it'd be so greatly appreciated. Thanks!
Lucy Marie Apr 2014
I spend a lot of my time trying to arrange pretty words into pretty sentences to explain how I feel about you.
But only because my feelings are not very pretty and need to be disguised
Because you cannot simply tell someone  that you would be dead without them.
It makes people uncomfortable.
So instead I'll tell you about how you make my tipsy, intoxicated-till-numb soul feel a little but more safe and at home.
And that my scarred body, made in the image of my scarred heart, may be a bit too cut up to bare any resemblance anymore.
And that I no longer think of time as "moments until I die", but rather "moments until I see you again" or "moments until 'I do.'"
And while I still have my days where not a single thing could ever even hope to "fix" me
Every other day, you do without any resistance.

Days like these, I don’t even know what’s real and what isn’t.
Days like these, I don’t know if it’s all in my head or if life is really like this.
Days like these, I drive myself insane trying to figure out the truth to questions that haven’t even been answered.
Days like these, I scratch myself raw and ****** until things feel safe.
Days like these, I don’t want to be spoken to, or even looked at.
Days like these, I forget how to do normal human things like writing and eating.
Days like these, all I’m really capable of is loving you.

Days like these, I need you.
Days like these, you’re always there.
Fah Apr 2014
Emptiness is full
frothing at the edges
come bowls of sea foamed , rich tone
of wave
vibrations

undulating shores
of invisible islands , that form in the space around the music.

Materializing are the friendships of harmony -

close knit fantasies
ring out in each layer
a mystical magical movement - vibration

emanating for all to share

dive deep

into the domains  of the  wordless , formless
Yummers in Dreamspace !! A combination piece with singing bowls being played by  a dear friend !
Winter Silk Mar 2014
People are janitors.
We try to keep our lives clean,
but it always goes back to ruins.
We try to clean up the lives of others,
Only to find that we can't do anything.
And that we probably hurt them.
And that we probably messed their lives and ours.
We try to clean our hearts.
It's broken. It's shattered.
It's muddy after a day outside, playing in a storm of tears.
Yet, we always fail, don't we?
Thinking that maybe tomorrow is the day it washes itself.
We try to clean the world.
This organization promises cleanliness in Africa.
That organization promises cleanliness in Asia.
But is any cleaning really done?
For every ten fundraisers started, I hear one semi-succeed in its job.
Yet, we believe that we can clean the world.
It's true, we could.
But we're too busy cleaning our own hearts, aren't we?
I talked to a janitor today. He said that he isn't different from anyone else.
I thought about it for a while, and he was right literally and figuratively.

— The End —