New beginning. I'm done with 99.9% of the memories in this journal.

Find me here: http://ohsurrender.livejournal.com

Comment if you want to be added.

Moving on, kthx :)

x_crushthestars

Another crowded dance floor, another empty glass - another failed hello. It’s the alibi, another splendid lie. It’s the bruises that you can’t show. It’s another lonely sunset, another starless sky - the nervousness inside. It’s the final kiss from a lover’s fist. It’s the reason why you can’t cry.

It’s a violent reaction, the mix tape in your heart. The answer you should know - how we complicate a simple mistake. ((It’s the face you make when I go.))

We tried to change, the city noise made us strange - so we plugged our ears and learned to fight. We set the stage, but we could not engage. So we cut all ties by candlelight; change, change, change.

Another deep depression, the calm before the storm - the shaking in your head. How you sacrificed, how you paid the price. All the words you wish you had said. It’s the loss of emotion, it’s drinking to forget names written in the snow. It’s the anxious fear - purging your last meal. It’s the secret that you can’t know.

We tried to change, the city noise made us strange - so we plugged our ears and learned to fight. We set the stage, but we could not engage. So we cut all ties by candlelight; change, change, change.

-------

Last night was a pivotal moment in my own personal existence. Nothing will be the same again. Sometimes change is too hard to deal with. Sometimes change is the only way. I’m not even sure anymore. Something big is coming in the next few weeks, and I’m not the only one who feels it. I just hope I can roll with the punches on this one.

This place is hell to me and I can never get no sleep. There’s a devil in my bed with me who's talk is cheap. You feel like heaven to me all I want to do is sleep. You’re like an angel lying next to me you look so sweet. Close your eyes, and let’s pretend - remember why we’re just friends.

My tangled hair will weave a web of lies within my sheets, and in the morning I’ll be nailed where he crucified me. Your darkened hair will leave a stain within my mind so deep, and when tomorrow comes I’ll wish that you would worship me. Close your eyes, and let’s pretend - remember why we’re just friends.

There must be a storm in London tonight because it’s cold and raining hard. My body aches, my love awakes - I pick the scabs from my arms.

There must be a storm in London tonight because it’s cold and raining hard.

I miss your face.
I miss your kiss.
I miss the scars on your arms.

This is rain that lasts for days. This is being too tired to move from my seat to go to the bathroom. This is existing on a diet of cereal, pyjama pants, nihilistic fiction and all the daytime TV I can physically take. This is staying out all night long. This is living backwards. This is fucked up sleep patterns and not really remembering if it was a shooting star I saw over your left shoulder, or the result of the drugs we inhaled earlier on in the night.

This is my body telling me to slow the fuck down. This is stars that hide behind clouds because global warming has damned us all to hell. This is dreaming that a little space can make everything better and re-establish connections. This is catching myself thinking of the corner of Chalk Farm Road and Castlehaven when I shouldn’t.

This is complicated intersections.

This is not knowing whether the future is bright, or if someone just left the lights on too long. This is keeping a low profile. This is wondering if your bark is really as bad as your bite, and kind of hoping that it is. This is begging other people for their memories, because I can’t deal with my own. This is late night documentaries about washed up groupies, second hand smoke and all the fucked up individuals that inhabit every generation.

This is an attempt at happiness because I’m tired of indecision and your lows and my own lack of…lack of everything.

This is dreaming that a little space will go a long way, in relation to all areas of my life.

On his twenty fifth birthday
He crashed through heaven like a madman
Bursting open the sky
And obscuring the sun.

He took a deep breath
And jumped
Because experiencing near to death
Always held such intrigue.
He was misunderstood.
So when he asked me to jump with him
I didn’t question.

“What will it sound like,
When we hit the ground?”

At terminal velocity
Words seem to stretch and
Drag and echo:

“Hit the ground.
Hit the ground.
Hit the ground.”

I told him I’d hit it first
And be a romantic.

“I won’t open my parachute,
And when I hit, you can
Tell me in the next life
If it sounded more like a squish
Or a thud.”

The romantic in me screamed
That we’d leave matching imprints
Six feet deep
In the soil
Of the landing pitch.

But this isn’t a love poem.

Three days from now
He’ll rise up to angels playground
Translate his body into clouds
And tumble from heaven
Because he wants to taste the sky
On an average day
And feel immortal.

But this isn’t a love poem.

Three days from now
He’ll resound amidst memories
Of precipitation and
Maybe the promise of snow.

But this isn’t a love poem.

Three days from now
The imprints of our bodies
Will write history in
Cracked soil and
The paramedics will
Find my car keys
Forced deep in the space
Where my pocket should
Have been -
Mourning the death of a romantic
And wondering if the noise
Was more like a squish or a
Thud.

But I swear to fucking god,
this isn’t a love poem.

I'm bored & sick & feeling oddly open in relation to my life. So, if you guys ever wanted to ask me anything at all now's your chance. I'll answer honestly. & hey, let's make this more fun: ask anonymously, so I can't connect the questions back to you...

go forth, ask!

Write down some random statements about yourself. Make sure some of them are true and others are false. The more outrageous every statement is, the better! Then post it in your LJ and see how well people really know you.

[[001.]] When I was younger, I inhaled a peanut and had to be sent to hospital for an x-ray due to a loud rattling noise every time I inhaled. The peanut was, apparently, stuck in my ribcage.

[[002.]] I’m double jointed in several places.

[[003.]] I’m a well respected and widely published online eroticism writer.

[[004.]] I’m slightly psychic.

[[005.]] When I was little, I ate a snail.

[[006.]] I’m descended from a vague form of French royalty.

[[007.]] I have an irrational fear of puppets.

[[008.]] I’ve been on TV numerous times.

[[009.]] I have had three close calls with death.

[[010.]] I used to do ballet.

For the moments when I detached syllables just to draw out conversation longer.
For the moments when my heart was heavier than all the thoughts in my head.
For the moments of weakness, when words swelled and spilled out all over your worn old shoes.
For the moments when I shook and you stared.
For the moments spent drinking coffee and pretending I was someone else.
For the moments when you clasped my hands together and eased the riot.
For the moments when I danced under smothering skies and the burn of something deeper.
For the moments when the music was the only thing keeping souls alive and breathing.
For the moments when it took everything inside me to not turn and run away.
For the moments when you told me to be strong, to borderline on breaking - to understand that suffering causes change.

For the times when I ran out of optimisim because I was too busy giving it to other people.
For the times when tears at five in the morning seemed like pure perfection.
For the times when my supposed duende made you s t u t t e r and sigh.
For the times when I sacrificed just to make open sores happier in their skin.
For the times when your convinctions outshone the lack of chords.

For the seconds when it took delicate wings to make me see the beauty inside the horror.
For the seconds when I realised that this was where I was supposed to be all along.
For the seconds when it took two blinks and three gasps to catch and cling to passing stars.
For the seconds when actions spoke louder than all the words in the world combined.
For the seconds when teenage angst was the driving factor behind all art.

For the blood, sweat and waterfalls of (( your eyes )).
For the projections and resenments.
For the burying of regrets and the life.

Dear soul,
I saw you mirrored in the most obscure place.
Beneath everything and all I stand for.
On the graffiti in the streets and the
dirty words
in his
mouth.

[[ six. ]]

“This will be the last time that I’ll ever see you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Alive. Breathing. Existing…”

The gentle beep from the nearby machine caused your gaze to flicker around the room, taking note of your surroundings. White walls that matched the paleness of your features, and the sparse emptiness of your eyes that were once filled with so much laughter and other things. White walls that matched the vastness of my despondent state of mind and proved a much nicer distraction for me than having to look at your chest heaving with so much effort. This was painful, in every sense of the word. The lilies bleached your bedside.

---------

( Transgression. )

Post anything that you want, and post it anonymously. Anything. A story, a secret, a confession, a fear, a love, an opinion of me -- anything. Be sure to post anonymously and honestly. Post twice if you'd like. Then, put this in your LJ to see what your friends (and perhaps others who you don't even realise read your LJ) have to say.

Make sure it's anonymous.


[[ stolen from like the entire LJ population. I'm bored. Give me something interesting to read. ]]

Things wouldn't be so difficult if you'd just try. We escape amongst the city streets at five in the morning when the sky is streaked and all I can taste is the kiss of the sunrise air. We should have kept on running, kept on laughing,
turned our backs and fled to the sea. Danced on waves and drowned ourselves in the wake of things that could have been - and I heard you laughing so hard. So hard that night when the rain poured down, across your face and into your heart and I knew that this was not another excuse for another cliched rhyme. So we'll string it all together and pray...

I pray, I pray, I pray...

But no one ever listens and god's too high up on a cloud to pay me any more attention than the indecent flickers in your eyes and the lines on the palm of your hand.

We create when nothing else heals the pain and I swallow my hellos like that extra tab of valium in your brothers basement on a Saturday night just to keep on getting high and watch my pupils dilate in the hazy light of the bathroom upstairs.

You look better when I see you spread out like that, on a bed of metaphors and beckoning. Daring someone to just get a little closer. Unravel you. Take you by surprise and whisper exactly what it means into your ear while you close your eyes, scream and they kiss your hair that's laced with ciggarette smoke.

Your grin keeps echoing, staining the back of my eyelids and licking them in half there visions when I try to sleep.

I can't sleep...

You never promised me the stars and I couldn't hold your hands when they kept shaking with so much revolution. The jitters, you used to say, from giving up coffee at five in the morning and trying to ease yourself back into your old sleeping habits. I hate it. I hate you. I hate everything that stands in my way and pushes and pulls and grasps me till I'm planted back firmly on my feet where I never moved from in the first place. Still standing on the midsts of here and there.

You used to say that sunrises were for two kinds of people; angels and the damned.

I miss clawing at their wings without you.
♥

“I can stand on my head and breach you from a new perspective”.

The words came out in rush, mingling with the cigarette
smoke from your cancer grin and the [ impact ] of the
colours that laced the sky.

A new breed of firework.
August drowning.

And the tides echoed breaths from September in
hazy hushes meant more for distant shores than our own
sense of hearing.

[ Interruptions interrupted every single
one of our conclusions.]

“I’d sell my soul for hopscotch dreams and lipstick kisses on the sidewalk’s topography”.

(If you scratch away your misdemeanours
maybe then I’ll relent and consider
a reconciliation of
insane proportions).

So we breach the divide with static SOS messages
and codes that at this stage could be as simple as the
laces in my shoes.
Your grin was always a new maze of complexities,
especially when I saw it upside down.

“I don’t understand…”.

They’re just words. Words that form and crush
and crumble and see into your soul at
four in the morning when all that keeps you company
is the lone streetlight perched outside.

We don’t hold heaven in our coffee cups
or kisses
or complex theories
of evolution, hope
and despair.

It’s something that starts inside and builds up
until you hold it before you and touch someone
in a way deeper than words or senses will allow you.

[All I wanted was the flowers.]

The lilies dancing on my window sill
tinted a lighter shade of intense blue as
twilight descends and the stars are no longer
Likely fiends or saviours.

We can catch it if we stand on tiptoes.

You put the car in park.
Kissed the dashboard
with your fist twice
in a row.

((Don’t. Leave.))

I held my breath and played with the
beads around my neck like
a modern rosary for reckless indecision.

Outside the waves licked the coast
with knowing smiles and
a singsong crush.

[[ I’m leaving. ]]

“I could waste away on the longest day of the year and not be burdened nor blinded by thoughts of abstract emotion”.

It was a hazy Sunday in the middle of May and we were lying in the grass outside your Mother’s house. The sky was an absent blue and you were lying on your back, legs pointed towards the heavens, laughing as your worn old mary-jane’s traced dreamlike footsteps on the faces of apathetic clouds.

( Read.Me? )

If you can see this, gee wow, you’re special. Don’t you just love friend filters? I know I do. This is something that is horribly, horribly personal to me. Written for a friend, although I'm between two minds over whether I should share it or not. Criticism is greatly appreciated, what with the whole constant want of improvement that I seem to have. Anyway, yeah…

Made public for the masses (really made public because Ben kept bitching to see it in other words).

"Write me something pretty" He said.
"Alright" I said.


( “Boy.on.Fire” )