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Sombre Poet

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pulsing pain of the soul [01 Jul 2004|12:13am]
[ mood | Dying Painfully ]

However I die I know it will be peculiar. It feels like bloody spikes are being driven through my head. My eyes hurt, my teeth ache.

My mother only makes it worse- she wants to go to her evil crone mothers home on Marthas Vinyard to get away. Too much sun and vapid, porcelain women all on about how well that idiot is doing for herself.

Chains and manacles, leaden weights binding me to my room. Beautiful darkened windows and solitude. I refuse to go. Vacations are for idle people with plastic jobs and fake white smiles. Perfect for her.

Leave me alone.

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Through Shards of Glass [31 Jan 2004|03:03pm]
[ mood | annoyed ]

How easy it is to forget silly things like internet journals. As this format doesn't rouse and inspiriation, other than the vague desire to delete this trash, I had almost decided to shatter this medium. However a poetess really must endure. Suffering is the only way.

Blind eyes every searching...

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show me how you do that trick [02 Apr 2003|12:55am]
[ mood | annoyed ]

How original and new, mother. If you had a though, ever, you would know I don't trust you. Cleaning my room is such a ploy to look through my things. I hate nothing more than the sucking hole that is this house, or at least your prescence.

All the wrong people leave me alone.

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So close. [27 Mar 2003|12:22am]
[ mood | sleepy ]

Failure, now there is something that is always expected. I intended to give up this mindless forum but I have nothing else to do. If it would only rain I could stare out the window and be more productive. Rain... I'd feel wistful if this lethargy would abate.

Noxious cloud.

By the weekend I should be livened once more. Baby Persephone will be coming with us to to find me new boots, precious doll that she is. Her mother is a nasty skank, of coure, but so is almost every soul sucking zombie in this town. Despite all that we're kindred.

Perhaps this thing will get shone on a bit longer. Transcribing my writing might be worthwhile, doubtful. Too shallow is the common reader. Too tired is the wilting poettess.

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Random Inspiration [15 Jan 2003|07:58pm]
[ mood | productive ]

Lunar Knife

The only way to live,
if living is existing and breathing,
is on the razors edge.

So close to cutting,
so close to dying,
so close but so far from expression.

Can you see me,
no one hears me,
scream until your throat goes bloody.

Little girl in such a big world,
cry to the heavens,
but know you are alone.

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How I bleed for you. [02 Jan 2003|12:27am]
[ mood | pissed off ]

Oh, how I've adorned this trash journal. Robert look benevolently on my humble bitching, turn a blind eye to the morons around you.

Nail varnish has been acquired. One ray of sunlight in the storm cloud of my life. It looks lovely on my toes, it'd look even better on my mothers carpet. Rebellion for another day, when it comes to her I'd rather hide behind my newest book. Check Blood and Gold, how sexy is Armand? Tragic, cherubic, all that is missing in this state.


Mormons and ex-friends who wouldn't know real literature it was presented to her by a bolt of silver lightning. Hasn't she read Poe? Poetry my dear is too deep for your little head. Tsk tsk.

Friday will pull the salt from my wounds. My only love from my only hate, Randall. That his friends work in Ambercrombie can be overlooked, since he did work at Hot Topic before and I've seen his leather pants. Fate has dealt her hand.

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Horrid to be sucked into this pit of nasty. [31 Dec 2002|03:29pm]
[ mood | depressed ]

Already this thing doesn't live up to real journal. Pretty black velvet always wins over computers. I can't bring myself to let anyone see me write in it though, those thoughts are for me alone. No one else could possibly understand.

I couldn't find pretty new black nail varnish, like I wanted. Some stupid girls all bought it from Hot Topic, like I'd go into a CVS for makeup. Until I can find it I don't know how I can leave the house. I'll just stay locked in my room and stare at Robert, he knows my pain. Without that poster I'd have nothing to live for.

The colors are satifactory, my user picture is intense. Maybe this livejournal thing isn't the sucking hole of toxic waste I thought it was. No question about deluding myself on that one. Now I have to go and see if anyone will take me back to the mall later, black nail varnish and clove cigarettes make my world turn.

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