I have secrets, secrets and a sick, sick stomach

1

I have secrets, secrets and a sick, sick stomach
That twists and turns and wraps around your words

I have heartache, heartbreak and wasted time
With other that never saw me like you do

I have scabs and scars, inside and out
Wounds picked at, opened again and again

But I have hope
And love

And maybe you can save my soul, though no one’s ever tried.

_____

2

A faint trace
Of stale cigarettes mingling with
Chocolate and mint
Dance across your tongue, tease my senses
Make me beg for more

Grey eyes
Gone in an instant
Like second hand smoke
I’m addicted to your love

_____

3

Author’s Word:

Perhaps it’s a little strange to write the author’s word first. I don’t really know, I’ve never attempted to write a book before, so try to understand.. It’s only my first try. If you’re even reading this, it means I’m finally succeeded in sticking with something long enough to finish it, and that it was actually good enough to get published. Hopefully, pigs aren’t flying. Actually, scratch that. Flying pigs would be kind of cool, if a bit messy. If this book has been written, published, and is getting good reviews, well, maybe I’ll even get a boyfriend. And I suppose that’s the first sign of the Apocalypse, so I suggest you hold onto your hats, grab a can of soup and your electric toothbrush, and run for the hills, a storms a’brewin’.

Anyways, I suppose this is really unconventional in that I don’t have an idea yet. No beginning, middle, or end. No characters, plot, summary, nothing. I’m just going to type, and see where it leads me. Hopefully, to the Apocalypse. Whether it’s a drama, or a mystery, a romance or sci-fi, once thing is for certain;

Like all great stories, it’ll start with ‘Once upon a time..’

_____





I haven't updated in a while, mostly because there was no reason for it. I've been to depressed and too busy to even write, 1 is the first thing I've written in a long time. 2 was written at least a year ago. 3 was..somewhere in between. It was just an authors not for the story I was going to write (Who is Maggie Moon?) but that never panned out. Oh, and I've found something else;

a frantic disaster,

a great calamity of human excrement dropped from a ten story building in midjuly.


I don't remember when, or why, I wrote this, but there it is. And another thing;

4

I am the static on a television screen.-m

I am the white noise of a radio broadcast failure.-a

I am the stack of newspapers piled in the garage- wrinkled, waterlogged, and browned.-m

I am the lonely library books of yesteryear, forgotten fiction musty and aged.-a

I am the love letters of soul mates dead and gone, bound by shoelaces and fine ribbon, lost in the unfinished basement of a great grand child.-m

I am the record on repeat, scratching and flickering like a candle in the wind, fighting extinction in sterilized stereo compact disc mp3 generations.-a

I am the woman on horseback surrounded by the comforting musk of earth rather than stifling exhaust stink, moving with her mount’s smooth three beat candace rather than the jarring leap of neglected potholes.-m

I am the shaking girl in her half-lit bedroom, sopping hair cut short for fear of bugs, paranoia writhing in skin like worms hours of shower-scrubbing cannot remove. Every freckle is a new disease. -a

I am the drug induced euphoria, a perception skewed by chemical- the only road to normalcy.-m

I am societies underbelly, a scavenger of truth and the unconventional filthy pleasures.-a

I am the haunted eyes of a middle aged woman- studying herself in a mirrored reflection, memorizing worry lines, crows feet, laugh lines- the time line of an inconsequential life.-m

I am the sinking realization of the meaningless existence we live, the cubicle mind and 9-to-5 brain cells dreary and hopeless and dissatisfied.-a

I am the doe, wide eyed and bright, unaware that the soft tread of cleft hooves has caught me in cross hairs.-m

I am the quivering hand clutching a cigarette in the cold, tips pink and veins blue- splashed of colour and bruised nails.-a

I am the skin of an infant, lumpy and puckered and pink where it ought to be smooth and perfect and white- flesh forever marred because of a mother leaving her unsteady offspring to fend for himself in a suburban kitchenette complete with the splattering oil of frying chicken.-m

I am the wild night, the drunken glory and camaraderie or secrets yelled out van windows to the world, warmth creating gasoline blood to set the heart on fire. -a

I am the bird in the still of the night, full moon’s sun light reflection casting the misshapen patchwork of tree branches onto frosty spring grass. I shriek into midnight. Over and over again, shattering the peace of the dead of night. It is to no avail. I am alone.-m

I am the tourniquet, strangling tendons the syringe with ignore- the veins with fill, inducing pleasure the world can no longer give, fear it will end too soon, shame you have plunged so deep, horror at the track marks and lost hours. -a

I am a decaying leaf, tumbling down a concrete path of ecstasy and comfort, dragged by whirlwinds of woe and malice, and stopped by the heel of your selfishly engineered shoe. -k

M is Marissa, A is myself, and K is Kaitlyn. This was titled Text Message SOS and when my laptop was wiped, I'd thought I'd lost it. It was recently uncovered on an expedition through my hard drive. They occurred over the span of one night, the text messages between Marissa and myself. The last one, by Kaitlyn, was added after a read through once I'd typed them all out.

About 6 weeks ago I was in a car accident. This is what was posted on my tumblr that day;

Today I was in a car accident. I was in the passenger side and the car got t-boned, smashing the whole side of the car that I was sitting in. The car is now totaled, and I just got back from the hospital. Thank got nothing is broken, but I am very very bruised and very shaken up/scared.

I cannot express how terrifying that was for me. Feeling the other car smashing into me, and then not being able to breathe, being so confused, pushing the airbag away from my face, still not being able to breathe. Just..sitting there for 10 minutes before I could crawl out the drivers side and pick the glass out of my hair and off my clothes.

It was horrible.

My brand new phone got destroyed, too. Thankfully, I still have my old one to use for now.

I went to the hospital a few hours later because I couldn’t breathe well still and my chest/lower rib area and right arm were hurting really bad. After sitting for a few hours and getting some tests done, it turns out I’m just really badly bruised.

So yeah.

Cars are nasty.

I am scared of them.

I am never going to drive.

Now, six weeks later, I am no longer having flashbacks. I am still very anxious when in cars, and that probably will never change. However, my arm, neck, and back still have a lot of pain. If I use my right arm too much, my hand goes still and becomes very painful, and the rest of my arm starts to burn and ache. My mother says it's nerve damage. Oh, well.

In other, startling news;

I..am in love. And that sounds remarkably silly and stupid, and I know it, but there's no other word for the way I feel about her. Or the way she feels about me. I am still so terrified of it all, because as of now..,she's the only one who has never hurt me, even accidentally, and that..is something that scares me. I keep waiting for her to turn and run away. So far, so good, though. Hopefully I won't fuck this up.

There's so much I'd like to say about this matter but I simply do not have the words for it.

All I want is to go back to her bed and sleep in her arms like I did that weekend.

I've never been happier than I was in those moments.