Friday, February 21, 2014


I wonder what it's like to wake up in the morning and not wish I was dead.
What's that like, normal people?

It's like an endless time loop, replaying the same thing.
There's no where to run, nowhere to hide.
I'm held hostage by my mind.

Unrelated: when I die I don't want to be buried. All I want is for my ashes to go in one of those seed kits for dead people, so a tree will grow from it. Also don't plant my death tree in the desert, or I will come back and haunt whoever was responsible.

Saturday, February 15, 2014


Whenever I'm like "yay life is so fantastic!" Life is just like "That's cute, wait until tomorrow bitch."

I'm also becoming increasingly suspicious that my sales are directly correlated with the amount of cleavage I show. It's like people aren't even excited about microfiber anymore.     -_-


Wednesday, February 12, 2014

The Dancing Dragonflies

The girl lay in an empty apartment, counting the dragonflies on the ceiling and the stars in her eyes. The room, somber and silent, came to life. The patterns were undulating around her, and the still air became restless.  She ignored it,  her gaze transfixed on the ceiling. The wind whispered and sighed, attempting to capture a moment of notice from the starry-eyed girl. She seemed to grow weary, and at last let her eyelids drop. The black oblivion she longed for did not engulf her yet.  Instead, the familiar kaleidoscope of her mind greeted her warmly. A breeze fluttered through the open window, and the wind delivered an echo of sound from a different time to the helpless form on the ground. She heard a clinking of bottles, the sound of a screen door, and unfamiliar laughter. The colors in her mind rearranged themselves into still frames. She saw the door. The sweat forming on the cups. The dark night. The smoke swirling towards a ceiling, before dissolving into the night. Another echo,  different laughter. She recognized this. More still frames,  this time of all of their faces. Her. Him. A cat. Him. A set of fingernails with chipped black polish. That guy's tattoo. Her necklace. Warmth.
At this point the girl tried to open her eyes, but it was as if they had been glued shut. She tried to scream but the sound caught in her throat. Another echo...the same laughter from earlier, but sharper, more defined. The still frames enveloped her body, this time showing her the dripping wax, the ash on the ground, the cuts behind her knees, the aching in her throat. The sparkling laughter still resonated in her mind. It seemed out of place, a sharp contrast to the images, like someone started playing a movie with the wrong soundtrack. The breeze calmed and the scene dissolved. She was back to her familiar view of dancing colors in the darkness of the room.
That's when the girl finally understood.
She opened her eyes.