A Series of Seven

Humans are so easily swayed.
Lured by gilded promises of hollow
trinkets, in exchange for
a continued existence vainglory.

Lust is the physical
manifestation of vulnerability
in the feminine divide. Worshiped
crudely he turns her vulgar and ashamed.

Pride is the self-entitlement
of the neighbors home. Tailored
fit, aloof dispositions. Stay
calm while we spit on your culture.

Wrath knows what knife will
cut deepest. What another's blood under
our fingernails, teeth grind to the
gum feels like

Sloth gives too little, to help the soul.
Glutton takes too much, to feed others.

Humans covet
the things we see around us. Envy
is the colonialism that has grown
too powerful because my pockets will
never be empty.

Why I secretly hate mirrors

I really feel strange every time I look into a mirror. I forget that I have a form, and I get used to thinking of myself as the "thinker", and not the objectively viewed person. It's hard to get a definite view of yourself when you know everything, and know just how complex you are.

The mirror shows 'you', plain and simple, you might think of it as viewing your purest form (although that couldn't be more wrong). I am shocked at the sight of 'me' I don't recognize myself, even if I have only looked away for a second. I am staring at a stranger. I know that it is not a good representation of me, but mirrors remain a way to force your physical reality upon you.

10:19 a.m

The fever in her chest peaked to dangerous levels last night. Between the mold of her breast. Pain clenches and release with each breath. She is no long curious because if it. That spark has been promptly put out and the smoke is just drawing lazy circles in her head.

So tired of being the fighter and not the lover she is made to be. Rest. Stop. and Fuck it. Irritated, no cigarettes to calm her down. Every breath that brings the delusion of happiness closer now hangs off her arm. She knows they are just scars but she can still feel them.

Its hard for people to understand her, and its even harder for her to get others to comprehend so she says rest. stop. and fuck it. fuck it. fuck it. fuck it.

The father of Gods child

His words are FILTHY and UNCLEAN! With no way out, she pushes hard against the restraints, the complaints and the shot glass. Remembering him taking her down to where the sinners drown. In dirty holy water and dared to wash my feet.

self hatred

Closing eyes to stare at her insides. Searching for the happiness life decides not to bring. Too sober to look in the mirror and see herself as pretty. Definitely not drunk enough to believe that lie. Not yet at least.

3 bottles later.

She wrote sins all across her face until it was unrecognizable. Easier to disguise gazes of pity for envy. Such a fucking mess. And yet so very beautiful.

Blackness crowds around the edges of her sight and she is anxious by the display. A few more sips and slurs and staying conscience getting harder to fight.

Maybe tomorrow will be different than today....
Always were her last thoughts before she passed out into the night.

Druggie

Smooth lies cut from her mouth, its like creamy extacy butter.
Severed tongue lay with poison still linger on the buds.
Weak minds always fall for the simplest of the seductive purr.
Dancing past the witches hour, beauty has the world once again.
Such is all illusions of life when high. She is a pro at this sick pill game.

Only once the drugs come does her world feel less like crying.
With vicodin running strong her body was melting into the bed.
Skin sticking to the mattress wishing she wasnt on her own.
Loving herself too much when drunk caused hatred when sober.
Only herself to blame, using such methods to banish her pain

A bad moment

How can something so right go so wrong?

She threw up her writings all over the kitchen floor. Love never dies but it can still kill you whispered the butcher knife. With a Throat sore and torn drips juices from the mouth tells no lies.

Screaming,
more screaming,
so much screaming
the nose can smell it.

Falling from the high branches of her mind, she collapsed a lung on the way down. Into the blackness of the bathtub's drain. Seeping from her pours on to the tiled floor

Painting of disgust written on her face the mirror reflect

Hate, more hate, so much hate. At who? She didn't know
She feel like dying
But all she can do is...
Wait, until she stops vomiting.

Bless you Father and Mother

Forgive them Father above
It is in your house that he sin
In pleasurable throes of immoral act
Not once, neither be twice but three times again
and again

Love taken away by hate
Spite runs, long and fast through the soft beating heart
No amount of distance apart
Can dull affections of fury and amorous twins

Blood stains and sweet champagne
Mother cry for Father
No sorrow for sweet innocent corrupted daughter
Bitter whore is she for knowledge of the act
Runs deeper than the sin

Spit on the grave of both
Curses of disdain on double rotten heads
Forgiveness she said to the holy man
Will only be brought when her body is dead
When blood and disgust no longer haunts under the skin