Painless Existence

breaking_vanity @ 2007-06-29T18:30:00

2007-06-30T01:30:18Z

Some stories were never meant to have endings, or be copyrighted and special. Some people were never meant to wander off into bliss unaware, or marry the person that love had intended them to be with. Some sunsets were never just right, but somehow the starry skies afterwards always were, with the winds blowing ashes in his face, it seemed perfect in the “Look at them, they’re better then me and they know it kind of way”. That’s how second best became more sought after and poetry became the new story. Times were changing, and everyone around him knew it except those caught in the fashions and the dreams of the past, the walking dead whose worlds were slower and steps more fearful and trembling. Not a hundred percent at a time anywhere, coming back around was no longer an option because all the roads back were now dead ends. So they wandered, inspired only y the unfamiliar that reminded them of home, and fears that were only a little bit scary and a lot more intriguing. “ I’ve spend eight days awake now, searching for you. But all you are to me is the insanity of insomnia. How do you figure?” and Peter chuckled and said, “I am only a dream to those awake and an ideal to those that understand. But you need to go back, before the insane truly draws you in, in the more non welcoming, non becoming way.” Whoever thought that the wind could ever be ashamed turned out right in the end. It blew quietly and forgave the lovers who’d throw their infidelity and deceit away, to feed upon the love that others gave away as well. The whistling was lonely and the rivers understood, but the moon never could as it ran away slowly from the damned places at night. Whoever knew but Peter, that out light in the night was afraid too.
Fears became noticing which parts stood out the most, and which people meant the most, and the only reasons that some were shunned was because the times weren’t right. No one had ever meant to harm a soul in their wake, except the twisted knives and sharpened rakes. Like Peter was the bad luck that made you fall and cut your knees, that made you call at all the wrong times and leave too many voicemails to count at all, the luck that made teenagers decide whether or not to keep a life. This was all him, and the moon and the drowning, and his counter was the adrenalin rush. The kind that made you scream when the swing went up and down, the kind that put the hearts in a vice grip during falls and breakups, but most of all the rush of driving so fast that the wind couldn’t keep up so it screamed in fear at the windows in it’s own voice and its own way. Their marriage would be this, a kill a poster child of violent and the impacts of dying on the point, in the midst of a bold declaration to each other.

im not sleeping [you're not calling]

2007-03-07T05:31:35Z

not sleeping well
afraid that i'm perhaps bipolar
waiting for a phone call that will save my heart
losing friends like dropping jobs but not getting any new ones
drinking until the alcohol content surpasses the percentage of pain
afraid to sit at home, all she ever wants is money
i can't becasue i quit my fucking job
i don't put a price on insanity, except maybe in xanax and my foundation is crumbling
not typing out a response, but recieving a mistaken one
tomorrow i need to wake up and call
and finish arguing that for which i have no passion
i used to want to change the world so much that it'd feel amazing just to scream
not talking is hard
and hearing the ring that signifies it's you makes me a smile and if you believe in love i can
head is curly and clean, i don't feel completely the same
not a straight-edged, a bitch, a mess, in love, so hot, i hate you, you're just like the girl who betrayed me
failing you, and impressing the phantom media and you accused me of being on drugs
but that would be a logical conclusion
becasue really my bright eyes feel dim and my fire that used to be different
well the kindergarden insane children
they put it out with metal pails watering rasberry bushes
maybe ill wake up and smile becasue i will be sleeping with my sunshine

breaking_vanity @ 2006-08-07T23:41:00

2006-08-08T06:38:01Z

001.	Beginnings	002.	Middles	003.	Ends	004.	First	005.	Last
006.	Hours	007.	Days	008.	Weeks	009.	Months	010.	Years
011.	Red	012.	Grey	013.	White	014.	Black	015.	Blue
016.	Purple	017.	Brown	018.	Green	019.	Pink	020.	Colourless
021.	Friends	022.	Enemies	023.	Lovers	024.	Family	025.	Strangers
026.	Teammates	027.	Parents	028.	Children	029.	Birth	030.	Death
031.	Sunrise	032.	Sunset	033.	Too Much	034.	Not Enough	035.	Sixth Sense
036.	Smell	037.	Sound	038.	Touch	039.	Taste	040.	Sight
041.	Shapes	042.	Triangle	043.	Square	044.	Circle	045.	Moon
046.	King	047.	Heart	048.	Diamond	049.	Queen	050.	Joker
051.	Water	052.	Fire	053.	Earth	054.	Air	055.	Spirit
056.	Breakfast	057.	Lunch	058.	Dinner	059.	Food	060.	Drink
061.	Winter	062.	Spring	063.	Summer	064.	Fall	065.	Passing
066.	Rain	067.	Snow	068.	Lightning	069.	Thunder	070.	Storm
071.	Broken	072.	Fixed	073.	Light	074.	Dark	075.	Shattered
076.	Rebirth	077.	Paralysis	078.	Disease	079.	Agony	080.	Healing
081.	Blind	082.	Deaf	083.	Lost	084.	Found	085.	Missing
086.	Choices	087.	Life	088.	He	089.	She	090.	It
091.	Birthday	092.	Christmas	093.	Thanksgiving	094.	Solstice	095.	New Year
096.	Writer‘s Choice	097.	Writer‘s Choice	098.	Writer‘s Choice	099.	Writer‘s Choice	100.	Writer‘s Choice

breaking_vanity @ 2006-04-16T21:29:00

2006-04-17T04:29:09Z

Class Clown
You are 0% Rational, 71% Extroverted, 71% Brutal, and 71% Arrogant.

You are the Class Clown. This means you walk down the center of the classroom with books on your head, while the teacher stares on in...

Shit, I really need to stop looking at these pictures while I'm typing.

Anyway, I MEANT to say that you are the Class Clown, and this means that you are extroverted, mean, and arrogant. You are not very rational, so you gravitate towards things that produce feelings or emotions over thoughts (like fart jokes or spitballs, for instance). You are also an extrovert and rather full of yourself, so of course you want constant attention for yourself and think you are somehow better than others. (Upon hearing the expression "you are full of yourself", you probably also slyly feel the need to ask women if they would like to be "full of yourself" too. I am assuming you have a penis. I often make that assumption, being fond of the penis.) You can also be a bit mean-spirited, and like a class clown you wouldn't hesitate to make a joke at someone else's expense, no matter how terrible it would make them feel. So your personality defects are that you have to be the center of attention, that you don't care about others, and that you are rather irrational and motivated by intuitions. Now stop walking around with those books on your head and sit down this instant! Or else I'll be forced to stand here, hands on my hips, doing nothing once again!

To put it less negatively:

1. You are more INTUITIVE than rational.

2. You are more EXTROVERTED than introverted.

3. You are more BRUTAL than gentle.

4. You are more ARROGANT than humble.

Compatibility:

Your exact opposite is the Robot.

Other personalities you would probably get along with are the Schoolyard Bully, the Smartass, and the Brute.

If you scored near fifty percent for a certain trait (42%-58%), you could very well go either way. For example, someone with 42% Extroversion is slightly leaning towards being an introvert, but is close enough to being an extrovert to be classified that way as well. Below is a list of the other personality types so that you can determine which other possible categories you may fill if you scored near fifty percent for certain traits.

The other personality types:

The Emo Kid: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Starving Artist: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Bitch-Slap: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Brute: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Hippie: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Televangelist: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Schoolyard Bully: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Class Clown: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Robot: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Haughty Intellectual: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Spiteful Loner: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Sociopath: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Hand-Raiser: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Braggart: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Capitalist Pig: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Smartass: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 0% on Rationality

You scored higher than 73% on Extroversion

You scored higher than 79% on Brutality

You scored higher than 79% on Arrogance

Link: The Personality Defect Test written by saint_gasoline on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

breaking_vanity @ 2006-03-05T03:45:00

2006-03-05T10:46:14Z

- Title: The last lines always make you want to cry
- Author: Breaking_vanity.
-Illustrations: losersawhore <3 she’s my lover.
- Pairing: Ryan/Pete. Ryan/Brendon. William Beckett. Mikey Way
- Rating: NC-17. Hardcore.
- Summary:
A Pretty boy with an ugly agenda.
A lover who kisses the tip of your nose.
- POV: Ryan’s
- Authors Note: this is the longest thing I’ve written and it also got quite emotional. Melissa (loserawhore) provided the beauty that is the drawing.
- Dedications: Losersawhore. <3 see. I love her.
- Disclaimer: no we don’t own the beauties.

Pretty boy with an ugly agenda. It’s a welcome change between drunk bastards and violent junkies, but it’s really not okay anyways. Undress yourself bathed in the gloating moonlight, in front of screaming car horns that give you migraines worse than a punch to the face. The boy’s acting like an attention seeking whore and it’s making you sick like the very sight of yourself in the windows. It wouldn’t incessantly bother you save for the fact that tonight you were fucking his. Bought and paid for. Waiting, watching the way he looks at you with a glint in his viciously addicting eyes and features. Shudder, and you want a drink more than you want to quench the desire to run, and risk everything from your life to Brendon’s.

I’ll Put my head down and feel the shame from the boy’s glare own my body. It seeps into the blood that possesses my veins, and I’ll let it leave it’s ugly mark on everything from these lips to this heart.
Why am I calling him a boy when he’s at least in his middle twenties. Why am I letting him touch the insides of my passionate tears. Why is my back still shyly leaning against the wall that provides enough comfort to make me want to rip my arteries out of these fucking bruised wrists.

Minutes pass like the nonstop movement of glistening bodies on the dance floor, the never ending songs, the time that passes you by with the body count of a train wreck. He takes you by the hand, and as much as you want to lean over the edges of the wall that surrounds and empty your lean stomach onto his shoes, it means a death wish you’re not quite sure you want. You bet that the likes of you look like a pretty couple walking down the street and he’s leaning into your slightly shorter frame like you‘re best friends.

What a fucking asshole..
It’s past midnight and the streets are still as busy as the city’s rich nightlife. But yet somehow, the brightly lit club names, the flickering streetlamps, the shadows of light in apartment windows; nothing ever compensates for the lack of visible stars. A little smirk is in order as it might as well be a metaphorical excuse for your life.

Every time, it’s like an unwritten and torturous rule for yourself. Never talk to them. No matter what, none of them will ever feel the sound of your voice. May it be a scream, or a moan, its not for their prying ears. He pushes you into a shitty motel that looks like it won’t be safe let alone clean.
‘Pete Wentz’. You hear the fuckers name and inwardly cringe at the expense of your well kept composure. He grins grabbing the room key from a crusty man that smells worse than an out of order bathroom.
“Hurry up.”

You want to kick yourself for following his orders, but bruises aren’t the ‘in’ thing anymore. It’s like the walk to death row each and every time, but you want to kick yourself for thinking that too, because this wasn’t killing you. Just wounding. And all wounds heal right? Because that’s what Brendon told you, and that’s what you’ve been living off the past few months. You push your hair back with one last little move of defiance and step into the door that he has so kindly opened for you. Deep eyes turn glazed and he has succeeded with pressing you into the bed in a worthless matter of seconds. Pete’s small and short, but with the body of a porn star, and that little bit was a downer for you because he was strong. Toss aside the situation, throw away your dignity, and enjoy this pretty boy fucking you when your boyfriend was across town writing songs about love. Turn it over to the camera, and smile this big fucking grin because a gorgeous blonde girl has just told you this wasn’t really your life, and the second you open your eyes will be the moment everything is perfect again.

Wishes. Roses. Half naked bodies. Your face is pressed into the pillow and he’s holding your hands above your head in a vice grip. You’re breathing hard and tasting salt where your tears had soaked the sheets. You hadn’t felt them fall. You hadn’t been the one to clench your teeth on the loud scream of pain that would have torn your throat to shreds. It wasn’t you that heard the bed creaking and it wasn’t you that was trying to ignore how rapid and desperate his gasps for air had become. How short his groans were getting,. How your whole lower back had turned numb from the pleasure that did nothing to get you off, and the hurt that did everything but straight out pour the salt into your wounds. One more gasp, one more blind thrust and you feel him collapse on you from the exertion.

Get off me
Right now.
But you refuse to talk. And he refuses to take that as it’s meant. Dish out a few well deserved red marks, a few blood stains that leave rusty spots on your shirts. Two swollen eyes and a limp that cripples the hearts of passerby’s, but yet no one has ever tried to stop you. No one had ever asked why your head was down, why you were shivering on a hot humid night, why there were angry bruises on your limp wrists. No one ever gave a fuck.
You wished you could blame them.

5 a.m. One tortured beauty. One more wound. One kiss from Brendon that would make everything a little better.
You love him for being up as long as it takes you to get home. A soft knock and he’s opening the door with a hug that makes you sob into his arms. Quietly you hear the door close, and you hear him sigh at the fact that this is what happens nearly every night. You cry, and he rubs your back, and strokes your hair, but it doesn’t take away the used and dirty feeling that showers your body. You wish you were kist coming back drunk from a night of partying, you wish that this was a temporary feeling that would wear off like drugs did. You even wish that he had caught you kissing an intoxicated girl.
But it’s not like that. It’s the tragic story that one ever falls for.
Straight edge is like a death wish.

His hair falls into your face and you try to blow it off, but end up with a loud snort/sob and he cracks a little smile that makes you giggle.

“I promise Ryan, it won’t always be like this…”.

You fall onto his bed together in the form of a small lump, and the concern that washes over his face, and the soft way he kisses you on the tip of your nose is the sun that fights it’s way through the polluted sky. Every day, it battles through the darkness even if it's not to shine as bright as it did a year ago.
Dreams are the only way to live sometimes.

“GET THE FUCK UP.”
You sit up straight alarmed at how angry William sounds and now are even more scared of the fact that he is standing right in front of your bed with an infuriated look painting his stunning facade.
What a fucking way to wake up and feel the coldness that comes with fear laying down stones in the pit of your stomach. You shake a curtain of sweaty and messy hair in front of your face in the attempts to disappear. It never seemed to quite work out that way.
He’s waiting, and you search you mind as fast as possible for an answer to his growing impatience and fury.
“what…William.” Your sound as small as you feel right now with hands that are shaking like you’ve lost all control.

I have

“Did I not Fucking tell you that I wanted to see you today exactly at 2pm. Did I not tell you that you were going to be on time or something bad would happen to someone you happened to care about very, very much?”

He’s smirking now, but his eyes are still the fire that you wouldn’t come within the distance of 20 ft. You feel the force of gravity combined with the shock that invades your heart with the last words that decorate his sentence. Faded. Terrified. You fight the urge to faint, fight the urge to attack him with all the insults, with all the strength you can muster.

“Where is he?” you pull away as soon as the brave words leave your quivering lips.
A wish to regret, William’s fingers curl around your chin in a way that makes you cry out from the sudden surge of pain. One more subconscious attempt to pull away and you’re on the floor trying to stop the blood that your nose is gushing, trying to escape the promise of another broken bone. Because for the stick thin beauty that he is, you’re smaller, weaker, and not worth a damn.
“Stay down there.”

He leaves the room with a small flair, and you crawl until your head finds a comfortable place to rest.
I wont close my eyes

Never give up. Yesterday hurts your memories, but today couldn’t have been worse if you’d tried. You still don’t remember ever promising William that, you still haven’t looked at the clock, or Brendon’s cellphone, or the dimming sun outside. Floating away, and you’re tattooed with a return address.

You hear struggling and feebly lift your head as William struts in giving you a dirty glance that reads absolutely no mercy. A small crack that begins at the edges of your heart and ends with a nuclear explosion overcomes the pain, the embarrassment, the fear as soon as you see Brendon being dragged in by one of William's lackeys who you’ve seen before, and never wanted to see again if that matter could be helped.
His face is streaked with blood, tears, everything that yours has been. All the damage that he was used to kissing away now marked him. You didn’t want to look, but didn’t want to look away. His bruises, his pathetic attempts to push Mikey off him, his damaged confidence. It was all waning, it was all on the verge of something that you didn’t want to take anymore. He’s shouting something at you, but you’re no longer listening for legible words let alone trying to comprehend hysterical screaming

“Look Ryan. This is what happens when you don’t do exactly what I fucking tell you to do."

I hate myself so much. I can’t help him when he’s saved me from myself. When he’s held me through all the nights that hurt so much, through all the days that were nothing but a faux lie. Plants, notebooks, guitars, keyboards, notes. None of it ever fixed anything.
Get up.
Pick your wretched ass up off the floor.
Show him you can be strong even if it’s the last thing you are.

It’s a blur in your teary eyes, it’s shooting pains through your head and your body, but you stand up with a stumbling affection for death. There’s one thing about William that you love tonight, and it’s glinting at you like the stars never could.
You fall, you pretend that you didn’t. Brendon still hasn’t shut up, but your mind has stopped processing anything but the echoing slaps.
Fuck You.
I think you deserve everything you get.

You don’t know what the hell you’re doing, but the second that the barrel is pointed to the back of William’s head, the moment you cock it, in slow motion Mikey lets go of Brendon and backs into the anticipating wall. Brendon nearly crawls into your arms, and you know that the only way this will be over, is if blood spills.
It won’t be your own ever again.

In a flash, in a second you become the martyr and Brendon becomes the suicide.

breaking_vanity @ 2005-11-16T22:32:00

2005-11-17T05:31:00Z

- Title: Statements of Vanity
- Author: breaking_vanity
- Pairing: Frank..centric. But implications of another prescence, and that would be Pete
- Rating: R, at most I would believe
- Summary: Bustling, running, trying, and for what but an empty purpose. Nothing, no time, no future. A paper cut across your wrist, bleeding, but it was everything in shapes of a temporary accident with permanent release.

- POV: Frankie
- Authors Note: in segmens that sort of piece themselves together. Not quite a vignette, but damn close.

- Disclaimer: Im a self-destruction peainting of a liar. So what does that manek you again?

Statements of Vanity

Whore. Loser. Wannabe. Afraid because no one understands the complications of the cracks upon a broken reflection. Mocking, and he laughs it off until the hurt is numb. Your blood, my morphine, your gun, my salvation. Conflict, and it’s so dirty, as moans of a pained pulse inside lethargic weakness. Shivers, between two bodies, alone begging on your knees for touch, the only satisfaction of never ending lust They never sleep, these feelings. Rid of the tearing hurt between my two soul’s nightmares. One here, in the flesh and universe, the rest alone in a world of pure darkness. It binds no peace to bracelets of scars made by humiliation.
He stood tall.
As I feel.
And he yelled
As I whispered no goodbye
And he takes his own life.
I am but a weakness of spirited flesh.

A time bomb set to sixteen, a life that burns itself to fallen stars and stares. Flecks of gravestone set in rock and siren. These sirens that mean a wall against my back, iced tears a statement of vanity and style. Spoken scripts, alone, repeated pasts in blackened film, my testament to lies. I’ll shoot you with a gun of nothing but revenge with a purpose. Of seconds ticking away, and I lost all sense of meaning last year when life meant less than what it means right now.

***
It’ s not over yet, not by a long shot. Too many years, too many opportunities left to miss. Im hiding, sleeping, lying away heartbreak of the unforgiving. I’m wearing your mask, to cover up the sparks of once colored destinies. Lovers, sinners, devil’s children. Innocent faces, and the difficulty of compromising who you are and who you once wanted to be. Escaping the labels that are handed to you as a pair of deadly emotions every day of your meaning (less) full life. I don’t know if I like this, or if I hate it, if it will bring no difference to the grave my body will burn in. As a reflection, grown up, in touch with the vilest of human actions. Those who do not see the passion inside every few hearts. Caring for only yourself, and not of those glass figurines that still have everything going for them.
Shut up! Shut Up!
Stop telling me to laugh, smile, matter. Tainted, marked dirty. To what? Another truth among a pool of lies? In purified blood that deserves nothing but pains of making life what it is. The world ends, and no one mentions after, and im scared of what? After the inevitable thunders down in the forms of toxic pills poured into a bottle of vicodin.
***
Fucking incredible. Its true what they say about obsession. I feel like I’ve been drinking for hours on end, but I haven’t even touched a cigarette in days. So cold, and so unemotionally dull. Picking up the damn pen, as the paper opposes my years of living, wrecked inside. What to do, when nothing is right anymore, and life is but the twisted idea of believing in the deceit that surrounds another stereotypical image. Black hair covered, visions, the prayer for escape. This town isn’t for dreams, but idiots with a future that has more possibilities then a suicide. But suicide doesn’t kill people darling, sadness does. This blood. This trigger. These pills. Where has the alcohol disappeared to inside my nightmares? A way of waking up after a chills has passed into the hangovers, and tears.

Next time you call, don’t expect an answer short of Fuck You. Because all I have left is the drunken stupor of things that never were, and fucks that meant more then forgiveness.
***

Certain aspects of knowing your mind, and uncovering those deranged secrets it keeps. Remember the drawings, taking hours at a time, each stroke of insanity’s genius. Conducting to the dancers improvisations among gravestones, and the beat of a mute rhythm only she and you hear. Heads thrown back, as your knife keeps the beat upon pulsating veins. I think of the lights, and my head weighs nothing. Hearts carved into trees, to cover all the possible survival opportunities. My conscience thrives on payback and guilty inhalations of deadly fumes. Poetic suicides, these never change. A cycle of the past repeating itself and imposing proposals to marry me before the flickering of one last chance.

These people, all these lives wasted into a pit of oblivion. Washing away the marks upon your self destruction sketch, but cleansed the memories of love as well. Bustling, running, trying, and for what but an empty purpose. Nothing, no time, no future. A paper cut across your wrist, bleeding, but it was everything in shapes of a temporary accident with permanent release.
PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE
Im not done, im nowhere close to finished with my vengeance, in hopes of seeking perfection, or more accurately, hoping perfection will find me. Who the hell do you think you are? My lips, my smile, my smirk. Killing sadness with a kiss of tragedy and the whistling wind of a bullet to hell. Don’t ask me why, or when, or how…but answer the pleading lipstick stains, irresistible, and a curse on your mirror. Walking past crowds of kids, whose world’s rise and fall and break, and put themselves together. Everyday. Week. Year.
Dilated pupils, sparkling eyelashes of chains. Focus on my grave, and how no one will cry but an ashen ray of a soul in misery.
For dying cliché ways
Among the smoke of your last cigarette
Ash, it sears
Leaving permanent remains of a broken home
And a slit chance of a future worth living for.
1988-2005

breaking_vanity @ 2005-11-02T21:53:00

2005-11-03T05:03:03Z

Im everything you aren't and the cool rush that washes over a sweating body
is just what I need, especially after a night with my thoughts.
Fuckitbabyiwanttoforgeteverythign.
living with a consience like THis. Not wanting to die, not caring to live.
Shaking inside, laughing, smirking, hugging dreams of death
this keyoard is like a curse upon my tainted thoughts, in writing, in pencil
is smeared ink, my veins
are your foiled knives, metaphorical speech, and im a sharped key to wrists
no rationality left, senses, detail, askingyouthefuckout
Songs of depression, my mind is racing a lightyear ahead of my reflexes, and pulse
slowing down, voices, whispers
Falling into stereotypes, and generic tears, when these are real
no point in writing. no point in breathing.

breaking_vanity @ 2005-10-30T00:34:00

2005-10-30T07:48:14Z

Who here is from a small town?
and spends their whole life trying to burn the fucker to the ground?
sophomore slump and comeback of the year

there is someone in this world, that was destined to lie in bed with you at night.

wow, nintendo fusion, and it was everything.
Got there during Motion City, standing in the back, just fucking burning to be in the mosh pit.
Get to fucked in time for Starting Line, and mosh like no other. Fuck yes, motheruckers.
Fall Out Boy takes a lifetime to set up, but oh its a lifetime worth waiting.
Standing, and talk to the most incredible guy. It was a dance and an emotion of completeness.
He was so sweet, pulled me out of the moshpit...and held me...and wow.
im amazed people like that still populate the earth.
'let me be your bodyguard'...awww.
Mosh for a few songs, getting absolutely mauled by love, and electricity, and crowdsurfers ;)
and Pete...^^
he owned me with his words, and patrick with his voice...
its never forever, but the words, and the emotions, and the dreams
keep you going.
There is someone out there for everyone...
Love never wanted me

FUCK YOU TUCSON
your eyes are the lights
your heart is the heat. but no passion.
we fucking DESTROYED
im gonna burn you down to the ground baby.
analogies to my dreams.

breaking_vanity @ 2005-10-25T23:03:00

2005-10-26T06:04:53Z

the Idiot Savant

(42% dark, 69% spontaneous, 63% vulgar)

your humor style:
VULGAR | SPONTANEOUS | LIGHT

You like things silly, immediate, and, above all, outrageous. Ixne on
the subtle word play, more testicles on fire, please. People like you
are the most likely to RECEIVE internet forwards--and also the most
likely to save them in a special folder entitled 'HOLY SHIT'.

Because it's so easily appreciated, and often wacky and physical, your
sense of humor never ceases to amuse your friends. Most realize that
there's a sly intelligence and a knowing wink to your tastes. Your
sense of humor could be called 'anti-pretentious'--but paradoxically
enough, that indicates you're smarter than most.

PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Johnny Knoxville - Jimmy Kimmel

The 3-Variable Funny Test!

- it rules -

If you're interested, try my latest:
The Terrorism Test

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 29% on darkness
You scored higher than 96% on spontaneity
You scored higher than 90% on vulgarity

Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

haha, and does it bother you that out of the whole test...
i found
'Jew walks into a bar'
the funniest.
fucking amazing.
im still kinda cracking up.

Emo Kid

You are 0% Rational, 42% Extroverted, 42% Brutal, and 42% Arrogant.

You are the Emo Kid, best described as a quiet pussy! You tend to be an
intuitive rather than a logical thinker, meaning you rely more on your
feelings than your thoughts. Not only that, but you are introverted,
gentle, and rather humble. You embody all the traits of the perfect emo
kid. You are a push-over, an emotional thinker, gentle to the extent of
absurdity, and so humble that it even makes Jesus puke. If you write
poetry, you no doubt write angsty, syrupy lines about depression,
sadness, and other such redundant states of emo-being. Your personality
is defective because you are too gentle, rather underconfident in
yourself, decidely lacking in any rational thought, and also a bit too
inhibited.

I probably made you cry, didn't I? Fucking Emo Kid.

To put it less negatively:

1. You are more INTUITIVE than rational.

2. You are more INTROVERTED than extroverted.

3. You are more GENTLE than brutal.

4. You are more HUMBLE than arrogant.

Compatibility:

Your exact opposite is the Smartass.

Other personalities you would probably get along with are the Hippie, the Televangelist, and the Starving Artist.

If you scored near fifty percent for a certain trait (42%-58%), you
could very well go either way. For example, someone with 42%
Extroversion is slightly leaning towards being an introvert, but is
close enough to being an extrovert to be classified that way as well.
Below is a list of the other personality types so that you can
determine which other possible categories you may fill if you scored
near fifty percent for certain traits.

The other personality types:

The Emo Kid: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Starving Artist: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Bitch-Slap: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Brute: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Hippie: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Televangelist: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Schoolyard Bully: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Class Clown: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Robot: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Haughty Intellectual: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Spiteful Loner: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Sociopath: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Hand-Raiser: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Braggart: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Capitalist Pig: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Smartass: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 0% on Rationality
You scored higher than 44% on Extroversion
You scored higher than 50% on Brutality
You scored higher than 42% on Arrogance

Link: The Personality Defect Test written by saint_gasoline on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

hahaha, EMo and damn proud. Y
Yeah, what NOW bitch! what now

breaking_vanity @ 2005-10-23T22:57:00

2005-10-24T05:58:44Z

It's been long since it hurt like this.
FUCK.
i can't take it.
I don't want to.
indecisive...life.
too weak for death.

FUCK IT.
fuck.

my heart is breaking.
and im feeling it rip apart.

breaking_vanity @ 2005-10-19T23:38:00

2005-10-20T06:44:55Z

It never falls into place and im a walking disaster
So clumsy with words...
so incoherent with thoughts
Away, and as i drifted off...only thinking about what all of this meant, and what it would never be.
feeling empty. Numb, but wanting.
if only i couldn't lust, need...love.

Gelled hair, and oh im nothing. I couldn't even speak.
laughter in the back of a truck, and pure emotion.
Things shared, lost, and screaming
who am i now?
who was i then?
Planning out futures...
when i cannot see myself past 18

Missing concerts, and the chance to dance, to feel...
i fucked it up today
in more then one direction.

breaking_vanity @ 2005-10-13T20:49:00

2005-10-14T03:55:30Z

Laughs, and the best day in so long...
Global studies was awsome...Brandy...im so fucking glad you moved here
Do these things happen for a reason?
Ruptured vessel red, and jolly ranchers
I smile, thinking back
I love my friends, in the best ways possible, because they mean everything
My life, my love, my heart

Sneaked into health with Brandy, and Taylor...and Michael
oh so hilarious...minues the sewn up spleen
Cracking up and breaking down
Camera whores and damn proud!

Skipping, giggling, hugging, and talking
and then it kicks in

I hear the silence but it sounds so strange
I've never felt this type of pain

Afraid. no longer freaked.
I caught fire
and you're so sick of that song, because the phone won't quit ringing
Whats going on tomorrow?
Gotta care baby

and if you go, run don't walk. and if you scream, SCREAM, don't talk

2005-10-12T06:12:37Z

Woke up, another fuck in mind
incoherency to the lyrics 'living life like it's going out of style'
running through my foggy morning mind. Meaning what? Nothing ever makes sense.
School, and oh those goddamn flags.
Get through, then drag off to art.
Bullshit. Bull fucking shit. Value, stippling, line....oh so 6th grade. I want more from this.
Depression, and maybe just plain calm. Sleeping throught the day, ignoring stupid funnies.
Asleep in biology, passed out in math. Awaken...to the shuddering feeling of walking off a curb/cliff. and falling...oh falling.
I hope no one had noticed, the sudden jerk.
So emo boys, and is that what he is trying to be? With the hair, and the look, but he will never be.
Football and emo don't mix.
Spanish, im so close to failing. One more year, one more passing grade.

Running away from the repeats,
but
im so close to falling, hiding, dying.
Im not sure, if it's worth it to you...to save me. I know it's not to me.
Poetically depressed
and im just a tragedy

The tears just wouldn't stop
and then the blood, it ran
Im going with my heart
or nowhere
Personified bullets, and smirking guns
'violent frustration
he cries out to God, or maybe No One'

Im alone. In my mind, in my world. So twisted, fucked, and wrong
masochistic, dirty, tainted
with dreams of nothing.

Oh, i've dreamt of death

and it was nothing, and everything. Ashes, angels, kisses, sweet last fucks.
Cracks along the asphalt...

He stood tall
and he yelled
and he takes his own life

It's been a lifetime...

2005-10-11T06:17:08Z

LJ...
Fuck it's been a while.
and everything's such a mess.
I hope he's alright. One of my best friends. One of my only friends that have been there since the start.
Please..let it all work our if not for me, for him.

Pretty eyes.
Slashy stories.
Depressing words, so full of beauty.
and hell, while im asleep in class.
It's lame as fuck, and nothing's ever in it's true place.
Especially my heart, my soul, and my ambitions.
Im failing at oh so much.
and crying...
and writing.
and waiting.

for what I don't know.
because long ago, i realized..that this was it.
and it's not enough.
not for me.

she said i can't take this place, im leaving it behind
she said i can't take this town, im leaving you tonight...

breaking_vanity @ 2005-09-03T23:52:00

2005-09-04T06:54:24Z

[insert title here]

Silvery streak
4 in the night
Clock slowly ticks
And painted nails reflecting the light
Sweat covers every pore
A caffeine addiction to the pen
Running short of purple ink
Convulsions through a tired hand
Minutes pass by
Litter the floor
Screaming of urgency
Anything more
Bleached lives of stains
And tainted past
Decorated in spikes
But highs never last
Hearing ringing
Insanity of sound
Laughter forced forward
And suicide’s around
Closed eyes shut out life
But nightmares fuel the dead
Believing in nothing
It’s what they always said
Creating blurred edges
Straining the mind
Its faintly done
And forever entwined

breaking_vanity @ 2005-08-29T21:09:00

2005-08-30T04:41:51Z

HAVE U EVER.....?
Have you ever had someone from your past suddenly appear? yes
Have you ever seen true beauty? beauty is in the eye of the beholder...
I've seen what i consider truly beautiful...
Have you ever had somebody care? yes
Have you ever tried to make things right; only to realize they work out if you let them be? -shrug-
Have you ever needed to be held? yes...who hasn't
Have you ever needed to cuddle? yes
Have you ever made something you thought was great but no one else liked? sort of
Have you ever been alone? yes. So much...
Have you ever splashed in puddles? yeah...way back
Have you ever made a snowman in your front yard? no
Have you ever known what it was like to love and be loved in return? no..not yet
Have you ever had a crush? yes. -sigh-
Have you ever had a kiss? -shakes head-
Have you ever not know how good it was until it's gone? the irony of like really..
Have you ever tried to write poetry but ended up throwing it away? quite a lot actually in the past...now i keep it.
Have you ever found it later and laughed at yourself? yes. i was so ridiculous...
Have you ever given a love letter? no.
Have you ever tried to make someone feel better, just because you saw they were down? yeah <<3
Have you ever wanted to just do things on impulse? -nods-
Have you ever needed to get away? all the time..but there is no where to gom to escape from yourself.
Have you ever tried? yes...i only wish i was strong enough to stay put
Have you ever lost a love to death? no
Have you ever experienced puppy love? no
Have you ever experienced love at first sight? i don't believe in it. Lust at first sight...
Have you ever tried to tell someone something but the words wouldn't come out? im so bad with words...unless they're written. I stumble upon every syllable...
Have you ever wanted to die? yes. Life really does get sickening...beacause at some point you really..that this is as good as it gets.
Have you ever had a really good time with your best friends?yeah..my best friends..mean the world
Have you ever told them how much they mean to you? ...not in those words
Have you ever shown them that you love them? i try
Have you ever told your parents you love them? .....a long time ago
Have you ever told someone else you love them? no
When were you born? i have no fucking clue. really
What was your first word? -shrug-
What was your favorite television show? i luuvvdd...uh...some stupid ass cartoons

Age: 0-7
What was your favorite movie? dunno
Do you have any siblings? yup
If so, give their names and ages: bobby. 4
Did you have any pets? a cat.
Did you have a best friend? Who? i dont think i had one
Did you have a favorite relative? my mom...or grandma..or something
What is the most memorable moment from these years? I don't know...europe probably.

Age:13
What was the name of your elementary school? Sunrise
Did you get a boyfriend/girlfriend during any of these years? no :(
Who: __________
What was your favorite year of elementary school? 5th i guess
Why? it sucked less then 4th and 3rd
Who was your favorite teacher? no one really...
Who was your least favorite teacher? i had like..1
What was the reason for your first detention? uh...talking too much
Who was your best friend during these years? libby
What was your favorite television show? simpsons.
What was your favorite movie? the new guy.
What was your favorite song? didn't really care about music that much...
What is the most memorable moment from these years? they outright blew okay

Age: 13-17 [Teenager]
What junior-high school did/are you go(ing) to? OGMS/ECMS...now its Catalina Foothills
Who was/are your best friend(s)? Chancey, Cassie, Taylor, and Erik
Who was/is your favorite teacher? don't have one. my 8th grade art teacher didn't bite..neither did my 7th...and now..my writ/lit teach is pretty cool. -cough-Hippie-cough-
Who was/is your least favorite teacher?my fuckign art teach this year is a bitch..
Who was/is your boyfriend/girlfriend during these yrs? don't have one. :(
What was/is your most prized possession? my writing.
Why? because it's all that i have keeping me on this earth.
Were you ever suspended or expelled? no
Were/are you still a virgin during these years? yes
What was/is your favorite television show? The O.C. and Viva La Bam
What was/is your favorite movie? Sin City, Sid and Nancy, SLC Punk, Edward Scissorhands, The New Guy [i heart that movie]
What was/is your favorite song? i have a lot.
What is the most memorable moment from these years. still being alive.

breaking_vanity @ 2005-08-18T22:45:00

2005-08-19T05:50:51Z

Awkward silences and casual glances
shaking hands that just keep slipping on the edges of reality
trapped in maze of sharpened edges and razorblade dead ends
with hearts shoved through spikes and blood decorates the lies, until beauty is in the eye of every soul
Not sleeping and smeared makeup, still laughing through the night
Awakening, the light is dead
rain buries it beneath our hell
No sound, only weeping
Silently over a mirror
reflecting nothing back
as glistening edges show shades of only black
walking over the dead land and kissing wishes to the skies
passing through obscenity
when all fake smiles are lies

breaking_vanity @ 2005-05-13T18:15:00

2005-05-14T01:15:07Z

Title: Unbreakable Fragility
Author: Breaking_Vanity
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be.
Pairing: up to your twisted heart's desire
Rating: NC-17. Its rough.
Summary: I really cannot explain it. Its one of my most favorite stories by...me. Rape, Violence, Drugs, Self Abuse.

Standalone

Unbreakable Fragility

I can’t stand looking at him hurt himself like this, night after night, always alone. Always in tears. He thinks nobody knows his little secret, but it kills me as I watch. Little trickles of blood running down already scarred wrists, covered by various wristbands and bracelets. Crystalline tears split too many times before, running from bloodshot eyes onto the perfect face. I know I should tell someone, I know I should help him but the sight before me is so beautiful I can’t bear to let it slip away. So since the first night , im waiting, waiting and watching in the darkest corner as he slowly kills himself.

His eyes were never that bright, but they always lit up when a rare laugh would escape those pretty lips. His expression always so serious, so intense, it was hard to get any emotion out, but when we did, it was the greatest gift of all. Yet, it lasted only seconds before the solemn face would return and his eyes would fill up with pain once more.

I want to get my broken angel help, but I am frozen in place watching him burn flesh with a lighter and not showing a hint of the agony it must cause him. Its so magic, a dark painting of despair and unbearable suffering, that I am unable to draw away each and every time. Until the salty drops start falling onto the marred flesh. The moment he begins crying, sobbing to himself, is the moment I leave. To let him cleanse the hurt, that I pray someday will completely wash away. I leave him the peace and quiet once im sure he is done, once I know he doesn’t want to give his life up. So before the day he breaks comes upon us, I will stand in solitude doing nothing to stop his torture. Nothing but watching over, nothing but hoping that someday he will realize how much love we have for him. Maybe its better off this way, maybe this is what keeps him alive, and still among us.

His past is something we all know about, but don’t dare to speak of. Too much hurt within the never-ending story of torture and disgust. One night he confided it all, and I was shocked at how numbly he told it, how hard his eyes were. I long to have been there, to have saved him from becoming a self abusing empty shell, a blank book with nothing but darkness inside. But I wasn’t in time, for when I arrived he was no longer gasping for air but letting himself sink to the bottom with no attempts to survive anymore.

We all hear about this kind of shit going on, and sadly pay no mind. But when I heard his tale, my heart was ripping apart in my chest and it took my whole will to not gather him up in my arms and tell him that it would all be okay now. That he was free. Yet I didn’t, because I knew that it was a lie, for his past will always bind him emotionally, not allowing escape, not allowing a new life.

***

He spoke, and I listened to his icy voice, wanting to learn more of his past. Wanting to uncover him, wanting to protect him from the demons inside. But what he revealed, I knew he would remember it all the rest of his life, and nothing could make it disappear. And with that, all my hopes of us being together someday with nothing between, left my soul. I could not fix this, but maybe someday I could show him what love is. Maybe someday, he can learn trust once more. Maybe someday, the scars upon his heart will fade into nothing.

‘The man I was supposed to call my father was a drug addict, along with my fucking shit of a mother. It was everything they could get their hands on, weed, crack, cocaine, heroin, anything at all. I was old enough to understand by then, raised around constant substance abuse and violence. I knew nothing of how fucked up the faggots were, and frightened, accepted them as my parents. If I could take the time back now, I would have shot them both.’

His voice sparks with anger, as the twisted and repressed memories begin to pour out, and I sit there waiting. Hurting for him.

‘As anyone could have once predicted, after selling every possession that held any value, anything that could bring money in, they ran broke. Yet, instead of stopping, quitting, starting over, daddy had a bright idea. Why not let random strangers fuck his little boy for cash? Well, mom apparently thought it was a wonderful thought, and I don’t fucking blame her now. I wasn’t ever good enough for more. I deserved it all. Every painful, bloody night ringing with screams of a young boy. Every single glee filled laugh that escaped my tormentors as they made me cry harder and harder until I thought my body would shatter from the pain. Until I thought my head would burst with the pressure. I could no longer sleep, but no one gave a fuck. I became lifeless every time someone new took my body. They didn’t notice. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared. And so that’s how it went for years after, until I finally learned what I thought they had been trying to teach me. Im worthless. Im nothing. I don’t belong as anything but a fuck toy, and sometimes…not even that.’

I wish I could’ve told him what I thought. What I felt. Id give the world to be a part of him, to make him feel like he was everything. I want to cry, but im am frozen inside. A twisted feeling forming in the depths of me, a longing to make him warm again. Make him understand that there is more. The now once again monotone voice is back and I long for more.

‘Years later I finally found a way to make it all blend into space and nothing. The drugs. I was prettier then, according to all who regularly fucked me and I had to make it go away somehow. Twist and contort the reality until I no longer knew who I was, or why this was happening. So at last I lit up a joint of my mothers, and shot up with a needle of my fathers. The first time was horrible, I retched into the toiled for the next hour and passed out onto the filthy floor afraid I was going to die. It didn’t make the pain stop, but intensified it as I was unable to move without nausea and dizziness when night and the next customer came.

I tried the heroin alone and the sickness disappeared quicker and left me calm and blissful. Like I didn’t have a care in the world. Like I wasn’t living in hell. Like I wasn’t getting fucked for money I never saw. And that was what decided it all. I kept it going, upping the dose each time, in hopes of my parents not noticing the missing chunks of stashes. I was confident they were too stoned to realize, but soon learned I needed my own way to get money.’

My poor sweet, damaged angel. I’d kill every single one of the fags that dared to hurt him. I’d hurt them back as much as they hurt him. God, I wish just one of them could see what he turned into. How wrecked he was.

‘I went to a bar and realized that I could get fucked, but this time for money, for money I got to keep. I was so desensitized by then, it didn’t matter. I had everything there was done to me, and it was hard to find a surprise in anyone. They’d fuck me, they’d hit me, they’d pay me. And I got drugs. Fucking fairytale ain’t it?

Not being able to control myself anymore, I made a move toward him but a gentle pull in the back of my mind made me sit back down. He, so lost in the tragic story never even noticed. If he had, he’d be gone by now. I remember a night when he had a look, a crazy upset look. Not like usual, not the beautiful, shattered soul. Something different, something darker. I hugged him in attempts to somehow make it better. Instead, he tensed and ripped himself out of my arms bolting toward the door, a quick as fire punch delivered to my nose seconds before he disappeared. Fuck the kid was strong, stronger then he looked. But then again, why didn’t I expect that? After years and years of surviving hell, he wasn’t dead yet. He’s so strong. But not so physically. It wasn’t the muscle power that made him so quick, it was the need. The need to escape, the undeniable ambition to live. An instinct. Fear.

Its what kept him alive all those years.

'When I turned about 15, at last, through the haze I told myself I couldn’t live like this anymore. I was hooked on junk and unable to stop. I narrowly escaped being killed by a particularly violent fucker one night and still. I couldn’t bring it to an end. They’d always hunt me down, or find me one way or another. There was no rest, and no escape. I got raped in alleys, in broad daylight while no one walking by gave a shit. Just another junkie less for the earth. It went on and on and on, a never ending cycle. I was a slut, a whore, an addict. And no one out there cared.

I care. Damn it, I care!

It got worse and worse each time, and at last when I refused someone pulled a gun on me. So I gave in. Gave up. I hated myself so much at that point I wanted to die. I wanted one of them to slit my throat. I wanted one of them to shoot me. I wanted to die of an O.D. in true spirits of Sid Vicious. Yet something, something kept me alive. Something made me put the blade down every time I brought it to my wrists. Something kept me from struggling each time a gun or a knife were threatening my life. Something made me put the needle down before there was too much. I still don’t know what it was.

You wanted to survive. You knew you wanted to live. You’re strong. Unbreakable.

It never did end with my parents though. It continued, constantly, with no break. I wasn’t caring anymore though. It didn’t matter. For me, it was everyday life.

His voice trailed off at the last sentence, and something inside me flashed over with unbearable emotion for him. If I could turn time back, I would take it all for him. So maybe he could’ve stayed innocent. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to be so strong, it froze him over. Maybe his heart would not bear wounds that could never be healed.

Maybe he could still learn love someday. Or maybe im clouding over what I know will never happen.

At last I found myself able to say Never Again. I ran away. I left my stash behind, I left my life behind as I ran. I never did turn back. Not then. Not now. Things became clearer, but the pain came back stronger. I would spend the coldest nights hugging myself close and just trying to focus on how I made it. On how I escaped. The heroin. The rapes. The never ending ‘customers’ who gradually stopped paying. And at last the people who I despised most. The people who turned me into this. My parents. I had the will to leave, to change things. But I was alone, I was always alone. No one ever noticed the pathetic kid in the corner, trying to be invisible and always succeeding. I didn’t want to blend in with walls and shadows, but something prevented me from stepping out into the light. For the fight time I realized I was afraid. I couldn’t believe it at first. After everything, I was afraid of being noticed. Of maybe someday being held close and loved for the first time.

Please, let me inside your heart. Let me close the wounds and warm your eyes. Let me show you that someday thing will change. They have already, but still you’re trapped within your aura of destruction and death. Leave it. Let me pull you out of the salty sea of bloody tears. Let me show you there is more. Please. I can no longer stand watching you die inside. Even now growing colder and more distant each second it seems. Why? Oh God, please. Please. I love you with all my heart.

Soon enough, I got over the emotions and did what I could to live. An addict though, is never truly cured, so it was one of my biggest hardships to stay clean. To change. And so, I still cannot comprehend how, but I did it. I remembered my life. What I could turn into if I kept going. And that was enough to save me. I stopped letting strangers fuck me and abuse me for their own sick pleasures. I got offers. Good offers, but I didn’t need to run again. I already had nowhere to go and nothing else to turn to.

I stayed clean, I stayed alone. Until someone from the past came back.

‘Where ya been slut?’ Cautiously I turned around and found one of the guys I had once had a deal with. Anytime, anywhere, and any price. He kept his end up, but I figured it was done for. Still, I shrank back suddenly remembering a particular night with him. I couldn’t walk or even budge without hurting like hell for the next week. I thought I was done for when he left. Bleeding, and covered in dirt, broken glass embedded in my flesh. He thought a deserted side street, behind a dumpster was a great place. Apparently, he had a rough week and needed someone to take it out on. Guess who choice number one was.

‘Fuck off’. Im done with that shit’. I mumble, sounding more frightened then I had counted on.

He threw me back against the nearest hard surface. grabbing onto my neck. ‘Now until im through with you’re not, you fucking bitch.’ He was drunk. Yet speaking in perfectly clear words. Was I really so fucking worthless, that this had to happen all over again?

I didn’t speak anymore. I let him take me again, trying not to scream as the unbearable pain rushed through me once more. I let myself cry, not being able to control my senses any longer. I wanted so badly for this to go away. I deserved this. I had to. There was no other reason. I wasn’t good for anything else, I never would be. A new life was not worth a person like me.

At last to finish off his night of fun, I got beat up by the guy more then twice my size. I couldn’t move when he was done. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. I still remember wishing I died, as the world around turned red, and then at last black.

I was cold. So fucking cold now. He was out of reach. I couldn’t make that time disappear. I had nothing to give him, nothing that he would take.

I woke up alone and drenched in blood, a few days later. Testing my limbs, I was thankful that nothing was broken. Nothing except my soul. Carefully pulling my knees up to my chest, I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes praying to find my life had just been a bad dream. A nightmare I could wake from any second now. Any second. Yet inside I still knew. The nightmare was my life.

He finished then, lowering his voice to a cool whisper. Void of anything. I knew the rest. We found him out there, nearly dead. Some days, I wonder if he would be happier if I had ignored him, if I had walked away enjoying my life, like countless others have done. Avoiding the horror beneath the blanket of ignorance.

I couldn’t. I saw him and didn’t want to look away. He was beautiful. Covered in black, blue, and red. Soaked with rain and tears. A crystal angel, broken into tiny shards, too beautiful to leave there. Too fragile to try and fix.

***

So now, this is what it came to. Spending nights wishing he was wrapped in my arms, safe and shielded from his memories as I watched him self mutilate. Numb the emotional pain with physical. I didn’t have the right to stop this, too much of a coward to tell him how I felt. Too afraid he would run and never come back. The last time, after hours of searching, not bothering with my bloodied nose, I found him curled into a corner on some unknown street. He tried to run again after seeing me, but something, that urge in him, kept his body in place. Without a word, he walked behind me as I struggled to not cry. I wanted this to be okay. It never could be.

So now I watch my angel. The one I can never have. The one I can never reach. I watch over him each and every time he does this. I watch over making sure he’s safe. A safe as he could ever be.

sadness

2005-03-19T03:55:26Z

working on a definite few stories, right now. Just can't finish any of em.