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Monday, 05 April 2010

  • I'm exhausted and I can't find my way. I'm bitter and shriveled and sunken where most people can depend on some sort of strength. I wish I was different, but it takes so much energy to keep up with how I should be. Smiling, talking, being a person is hard. Harder than it should be.

Saturday, 01 August 2009

  • Remember this.

    DeadpoolHeresy (7:20:46 PM): I just smashed the fuck out of my finger
    DeadpoolHeresy (7:20:49 PM): OWWWWWWWWW
    DeadpoolHeresy (7:20:51 PM): :/
    DeadpoolHeresy (7:23:47 PM): I am in so much pain right now >.<
    burlapmasquerade (7:24:06 PM): well
    burlapmasquerade (7:24:13 PM): you shouldn't have smashed your finger, then.
    DeadpoolHeresy (7:24:48 PM): You're right, I was totally like "this seems like a horrible idea, accidently smashing my finger. I probably shouldn't do it, y'know, accidently"
    DeadpoolHeresy (7:24:55 PM): It all makes sense now! O.o
    burlapmasquerade (7:25:33 PM): I knew it would.
    DeadpoolHeresy (7:25:53 PM): By the way
    DeadpoolHeresy (7:26:01 PM): This is one of the reasons I love you, your sarcastic attitude. :P
    burlapmasquerade (7:26:12 PM): ^.^
    DeadpoolHeresy (7:26:31 PM): <---Has decided to point out all your positive traits as they pop up to help show you that you're not just garbage. :P
    burlapmasquerade (7:26:52 PM): False.
    DeadpoolHeresy (7:27:12 PM): Nope, you'd be surprised how dumb a lot of girls are
    DeadpoolHeresy (7:27:18 PM): Well, not dumb, but they're just not witty

Friday, 31 July 2009

  • Paolo Roversi

     
  • You can touch any of the smooth skin. She looks at me with unsmiling lips. Any of the skin that I didn't ruin. Alright?
    Alright. Alright. I can respect that. But I reach out and slide my fingertip lightly against the soft skin on the inside of her wrist, in between the angry red lines and welts. She pulls it away instantly, like a reflex, and holds it behind her back.
    Don't, don't. In a voice that is dead instead of cautionary. She doesn't look at me, and instead ducks her head down and looks at her shoes. Brown shoes, plain vegan loafers a little scuffed at the toes, with a penny tucked into the front for luck.
    I have to remind myself that she is the same being as the ghost of a muse who sat at the edge of the patch worked bed and laughed, pulled me down and loved me in a tangle of smooth arms and legs and bright red hair.
    Well? She pulls me back with the one stiff word, like she senses that she's being compared to her ghost twin.
    Well.
    She lets go of her wrist and reaches across the gaping space, wrapping her fingers around my hand. It's cool and dry. Like dead leaves. Like her eyes and lips. I picture a light, dry cuff around my wrist dressed in a brown peacoat and loafers.
    She raises her eyes to my face again and smiles. Her starched, crisp smile. I wonder if she would be prettier to me if I wasn't aware of what had ironed her into this. As if she knows my train of thought, she turns her face away.
    We walk up the pathway, to the bright green door, the one she grew up behind, and I half-wonder if she would return to air and light if I placed her back on the shelf, next to her childhood figurines.
    She pauses at the door, her hand is poised to knock. From her stiff lips, Smile. She doesn't look at me, or wait, but she knocks and waits for it to open. Still, poised like her hand had been, into the proper form. Her other hand hasn't moved from my wrist, circles superstitiously around my fingers like her eyes.
    The door opens, a smaller version of her appears on the thresh. She smiles and steps aside. Welcome, welcome. Light streams around her from inside, laughter and warmth and everything that she had shed.
    Thank you. She steps inside, outlined by light. The cuff forces me to trace the steps she's taken, and the door closes behind us again.

Thursday, 30 July 2009

  • I want to be happy. This I realized while I was watching someone pretty smile easily at someone he was with. I want to be happy without the shadow of foreboding, without the monster reminding me that in a few minutes or hours or seconds every positive feeling will vanish. I want to sing in the car and let the wind blow my hair and clothing around without feeling weighted down and tangled. I want to laugh and smile and feel light without the manic, uncontrollable, driven side. I want to be happy without being manic.

    God help me.

burlap_masquerade

  • Visit burlap_masquerade's Xanga Site
    • Name: Ellis
    • Gender: Female
    • Member Since: 6/25/2009

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  • I'm a snakeskin, a paper bird without eyes.

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