the hollow kind.

skin pricks, there's a storm coming in
hear it rumbling in the distance
i'm rubbed raw,
spread out on the kitchen floor
braced for impact
and i haven't even fucked you yet

it takes a hollow kind of man to chill the insides of my bones,
i'm a whore for the unknown
you make me feel my soul

how can i deny myself
any fix that punches through doors
so long swollen shut?
i finger phantom bruises,
can't find a rig,
no need for it
the way you make my veins ache,
hungry for a hit

scrap #3

never knew the beauty to be found
in the absence of pain
always thought i was prettiest
when i was at my most dangerous

hold still,
it's all rushing in
my heart stops
i'm feeling again

i want to open myself up to the ground
let the rain fill every hollow of my bones,
i'm so full up
words can only diminish this

hold still,
let it breathe
i'm finding everything i forgot that i could be

the globe lamp (scrap)

i was born a witch, baby
too strange to last
when you reach to touch my face,
i'm already skating away

sometimes i wish i could sleep under the mud forever
because i feel so ugly
won't let you close enough to love me

all this snarly hair,
the silver rings i wear,
they mask the fact that i'm not there
i'm not all there

you're so beautiful
and light
i'll never glow that way
i guess that i'm just wired differently,
so i'll kneel in a room wallpapered with tragedy,
weep for humanity;
i don't belong
(what time am i upon?)
where do i belong?

i do it to myself.

my feet are numb and blue
from hanging on your hook
i'd like to walk around again,
but i'm not quite done dangling
i do it to myself

running would be preferable,
but i'm scared i couldn't bear the weight
too weak to let myself collapse,
powerless and denying it

so revolting seeing myself reflected
in someone else's eyes
i'd rather be blind
i do it to myself

never ending, i'm not changing
just exchanging names and faces
this revolving door is clogged with bodies now
i do it to myself

i do it to myself
and i'm the orchestrator of my my pain
at least i'm not picking up again,
tell yourself, that's what i tell myself
i do it to myself

scrap #2

i make you nervous cause you cannot see my eyeteeth
something makes me think you'd like to keep them in a box
or strung around your neck
you covet my beauty,
ignore the mess
here's a secret:
it only rots worse when you smother it

i'm such a charming jumble of contradictions
thought you had them all lined up,
thinking two dimensionally
neglecting the rest of the square
turn it over,
colors clash violently
you'll never figure it out

what's worse is when you praise me,
i itch to prove myself unworthy
it's so fucking easy

scrap #1

the other part doesn't want to show itself
please don't look at me when i'm so ugly now
i feel,
i feel,
i feel and i dont know what to do with it
it makes me sick
she tells me i can't fold back into myself
those things i put up on the shelf,
wanna take them all back now

how can you start back up when you're not sure where you left yourself,
the end is obvious, i'm still scared of it
never even had the guts to destroy myself
i gave it over,
let them do it for me

a place i go.

dead inside, she says.
and clings to her decay like a worn out toy
dead inside, she smiles
twisting the knife, licking the blade clean
so much rust in her mouth
and yet she will not swallow the truth

she is alive, but sleeping
the pain is written on her face
with makeup and pursed lips
crow's feet on a child's eyes,
milky white and blind

she would like to fly but the air won't take her
rooted as she is in the humanity she's grown to despise
she chokes it out, she hides
in glossy vines but still
she is alive

everyone can see,
they are waiting, patient for her shells to unfold

but she digs, gasping, until her fingers bleed
she buries herself
where it is quiet and it can eat at her alone

foolish girl, caked in dirt
you've made yourself so ugly

recovery writing.

i debated deleting this blog, erasing it's presence from the internet like i did with everything else.

but i want to remember. i need to remember where i've been so i can remember where i never want to go again.

from here on in, this blog will contain writings i've done in recovery from addiction. mostly songs & scraps, poems and the usual.

i am forever a work in progress.

girl;

so i'm drunk again, and thinking of you
tell me, what's new?
looks like you're just another face to replace the last one
but things aren't always as they seem
no, not at all.

junkyard dog
you ragged thing
you gnaw my bones, you lick em clean
i'm bleeding at the mouth for you
i'm spitting out my teeth for you

push me, fuck me
just don't love me
take anything but your sympathy
i'll take it all
i'll take it all

an update on how i'm doing.

i'm scared. i'm so, so scared. i feel like a tiny, fragile thing cracking under the pressure of god even knows what. i can't sleep. i see things. i'm going crazy, i think. more and more, i feel like i'm not meant for this world. that i can't handle it, or something. i just see too fucking much. and the more i see, the uglier i become. the more i hate the cruelty we're all capable of. i see you still though, malenky lights. i was never one of you. i feel like maybe i'd be worth something if i helped keep you from snuffing out. we all need you. but it's so fucking hard. and i can't do it alone, i just can't. i've parcelled out little bits of myself, i don't think i have much more to give. i forgot to keep some for myself, i did. i don't know what to do. if getting out of here would help, or make it worse. whatever i'm going i can't keep doing it for much longer though, i know that. something has to give.

it'll probably be me.

& just so you know, in case i ever take this off of private, all this talk is very unlike me. that's why i'm so scared.

has anyone ever told you you're a cunt?

i am medusa.
this world has made me ugly.

stupid.

i see a cedarwood reindeer when i walk in and it startles me.
stupid, that.
the unexpected in an oh so familiar setting.
drunk natalie finds something not to her liking.
my best friend's ex hit on me all night because he missed her.
it was painful, watching myself from someone else's eyes.
i miss him too.
but what can i fucking do?
so i get wasted, and wake up with no pants on in an unfamiliar home
or, alternatively, pray to the television and eat homemade italian recipes
until i can convince myself i don't exist
sometimes it's easy
i wake up, on those rare mornings my head doesn't pound, and i savour it
my cloying room;
so dark, so full of things i used to be,
the bedcovers smother me
i'd like to stay here forever.
my stringy hair, my ever growing hips,
forever without a swollen lipped boy to please
a bottle to drain, a line to suck up
the phone will go unanswered.
paradise, alone like death.
i'll burn myself out or merge into the walls
before i find it