Paths

"But I like the path of least resistance,"
she replied at his insistance
that she take the high road. She said
"that's a long way to fall."

He told her "I'll catch you" and held out
his hands, but her face showed doubt
epitomised; so he rolled his eyes and
followed down that oh so beaten path.

"It's paved for a reason," she explained,
and he said nothing, beliefs maintained,
hands interlocked they walked on some
time before he spoke again.

"These steps taken are done with ease,
but if you would just appease--"
Arguing perspective points they put one
foot in front of each other all through life.

She still laughed and he still smiled,
Oh he thought she was wild;
And her eyes and feet still tripping
over his, they moved forward.

Her face grew tired and his annoyed
Conversation something to avoid.
And although they stood together
They were seperate; equal, but apart.

Until she had enough and informed
him of her decision, a deformed
"Some streets are best travelled on
alone," and they parted ways.

With tears in their eyes,
they whispered their goodbyes,
but it was the right choice; they were
each others path of most resistance.

She couldn't have that.

..

My mother's unhappiness is my fault. And she knows it. She hates me with every fiber of her being and she makes certain I know it every day. As much as she misses my brothers, I know that she wouldn't miss me. Hurricane Rebecca. The Burden. Destroyer of All Things Good and Holy.

She probably would have stayed with my father if I'd've kept my mouth shut about what he was doing. But I was stupid and I blabbed. So stupid. It's not like I didn't deserve it. He knew that I was worthless trash even then. If I had kept our little secret then maybe my mother would have learned to love me, even if it never came naturally.

She told me once that she hadn't even wanted another kid, but he kept pushing her until she gave in.

I bought her that stupid GPS because she said she wanted one and I just... I wanted to make her happy with me, I wanted to make her smile at me, even just for a minute. But she hated it. She didn't even pretend interest.

I can't even buy her affection. I can't even buy a simple thank you.

I just want... her to love me, no matter what, and make sure that I know that, even when I make her mad. I want her to care that I cry instead of mocking me. I want her to not tell me she wishes I were dead every time I do something bad, even though I deserve it. I want to feel like she would choose me if she had to, not out of obligation, but because she wants to.

i'm just here

I haven't truly lived in a very, very long time. I exist, and life goes on around me, but I stay the same. Stagnant. Stubborn. Refusing to so much as blink.

In my short time on this earth, I have been given so many opportunities, things that a lot of people would kill for. And I just bat my lashes and keep walking. I barely even notice. But I do. Notice.

I have charisma. I make people laugh. I'm personable. But I'm so afraid of everything that I might be that I fail to be anything. I stand in my own way on purpose. I invent obstacles when there aren't any. I won't let myself be happy.


I've always been the kind of girl that's satisfied just know that she could be great. Just knowing the potential has always been enough. Actually growing it has never been that kind of girl's strongsuit. It's never been mine either.

I've applied that philosophy my entire life to academia. I could make straight As. It has always been enough for me to know that I could excell if I wanted, that I wasn't truly inept. But I never did homework or projects or anything of the sort because I simply didn't care. Excelling, or even succeeding at all, never mattered in the moment.

But now? I'm eighteen years old and I'm two years behind. Two years. I say it's one, but fuck it, that's a lie, it's two, I fucked around and I'm still fucking ar0und and I just don't want to admit it.

I was supposed to graduate in May.

I guess I've never really been able to grasp the concept of trying to succeed today meaning that eventually, tomorrow will come and you'll have succeeded.

I'm an expert at failure. It's what I know. I also know that I don't have to fail. If I don't want to.


But a part of me thinks I do want to. At least with failure I know what I'm getting into.

boo!

Happy All Saints Day, mothertruckers!


;-)


Glitter is the SHIT.

Heather's sending me glittery BATS.

Yay for glittery!

test

And the scars... Fuck, I love my scars.

When I saw that letter in the mailbox today... My heart stopped. She didn't need this, not on her birthday. With trepidation in my heart, I trudged slowly inside, clutching the envelop. She's on the phone with her sister, recieving birthday cheer, when a single eyecatching glance at the mail on the table wipes that from her face. Douglas County Jail is the second line on the return address. The first, of course, is his name. The name that still strikes fear and foreboding into my veins. But we luck out, this time; he's merely sending a hand drawn birthday note to our mother. My brother; so easy, so, so easy, to hate him when he's here... So easy to understand from a distance.

Jacob Andrew Bergeron was the third of four sons. He carried his mother's fair, pale skin and blue-green eyes. Nothing like his father in appearance, and so, that was his doom. Their father was a bastard. Cruel, cold, calculating. The kind of man that would tell his son that because he doesn't favor him in looks, he must be his whore mother's bastard child and not his. The kind of man that would regulate food for his sons when they lived with him. They had to ask his permission to get anything to eat from the kitchen. He sent his third son to bootcamp at thirteen because of a single infraction. A mistake probably propelled by the false accusation his father informed him of that same year. In bootcamp, they tried to rape him. They didn't succeed, but that kind of horror cannot be undone. After that, he didn't go back to his dad's, but inserted himself in my life in between jail stays.

No amount of therapy could fix his psychosis. Jake had always been a little batshit, a little temperamental (when I was seven, he chased Jamie around the house with a butcher knife threatening to kill him, but he probably was just mad), and his experiences living with his father, going to bootcamp, and having our mother (where do you think Jake got his crazy from?) as well, our mother, going in and out of jails, it only made it worse.

By the time he was seventeen he was holding a gun to Jamie's head cracked out on cocaine threatening to murder him. If Jamie hadn't of gotten out, he would probably be dead.

Jake is basically Schizoid Personality with a side order of bipolar manic type I. Try living with someone like that. It's hell. I walked on eggshells for thirteen years. I had a goddamn ULCER because of the stress of it. I don't know how Jamie shared a room with him. Last time... I couldn't handle living in the same HOUSE.

So... As much as I understand Jake, feel for his history... He is the bastard that destroyed my childhood.

So as she looks at his little note with a smile on her face, the chill never quite leaves my bones because I know it's just another manipulation.

A liar knows a liar and a con knows a con.

The only difference is that I'm not crazy, and I'm not evil. But I learned to manipulate and I learned how to lie because I had to survive, and you can't unlearn something that innate. Mostly, I use my gifts for good. Or at least render them harmless.

I don't torture people for sport. Jake did. Animals too.

Alice Imprisoned

Alice in wonderland lies with
odds and ends collected in
your madhatter heart; im-
prisoned by the cheshire
cat's grin-- a too happy,

teeth gleaming smile that
yearns for the yellow-brick
road. But that's the wrong
story at the right time and
so it must not be;

chase away time with the
white rabbit, and maybe
his notice of passing re-
grets will be of little note,
moments that do not concern.

Pacify the Queen of Hearts,
she will not be bothered with
your pleas or memories; like
you, she feels not, knows not--
didn't you make her that way?

Follow out the caterpillar, a
secret adviser amongst the
condemned. If only you could
catch him, he might set you
on the trial's side of good;

Perhaps you will get Alice back.

Cause And Effect

I admit that I love you but
I'd rather choke than show it;
Trust is not something I do,
especially not with someone
someone that's like you.

Who I could fall for, so very
easily, and who already has
my guard down. Yet still I am
on edge. Eyes and empty boxes,
empty boxes mark my escape.

Empty boxes made of cardboard
walls, the walls you trampled on
and tore down before I could blink
or run away; and now I am exposed
and open but you don't know it yet.

You don't know it yet because you
stopped watching; stopped seeing,
you aren't there or here or anywhere
Just everywhere you can't find me, you
couldn't find me so you stopped looking.

Stopped and looked and passed me by,
like a pastlife you can't quite remember,
I am nothing to you without this mask on,
and it's gone and you don't know who I am,
I don't know who I am anymore.

The roadblocks are lifted and I can see the
road out, but I have no one to lead the way,
do I really want to go alone? You made me
laugh my way out of this, and I think I have
to walk away from you on my own.

omg WANT

I want these prints like Amy Winehouse wants crack. And I would kill for the talent these guys possess in their pinky finger.


"White Rabbit"



"plastic.is.a.sin"




"If Your Kisses Can't Hold.."



"old friend.."