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29th April '09Every time the needle touches my skin
A sad memory awakens within
Touching my mothers dead hand
As ink goes in and blood comes out then.
The pain is what I wanted, it hides true
Things unwanted. Give me the clue
I seek about a time past due
Empty thoughts not near, though
My skin is dead, I'm not afraid to taint it's flow
With burning memories, throw
Through closed doors I once locked so tight.
After the sting of lotion seeps in
and blood dries bitterly on my skin,
After pain rejected from within,
Beauty marks wounds I would open again
My back curves, twists, bleeds,
With repent, I fear sinful deeds
I have no regrets for. Needs
Are much more intense under tortured flesh
I breathe new, I feel new, Every Time
My fingers run over engraved signs
O beauty I am in awe, I am at peace
I feel myself reborn, my flesh not my own
Who can truly understand how good it
is to feel a steady hand
Carving art that moves, breathes, feels. Bend
The rules to myself until I end.
EmbraceCrushed in Dreams by this weak Body
Celestial in Nightmares of pain
My thoughts Explode alone in space...
Light; a millenia away from my own true Wish.
Where, o where that Nebula Lies
That Heaven I've been searching for.
Only in the place between Time and Movement,
Do I see some of my Improvement.
As grains of Sand go by, in the Time glass
My Mountain turns into an ant Hill
My Fiord into a prairie, but no matter.
The goal, challenge, I will always
Touched, but never Embraced.
FilthI got rid of a lot of things,
Small stuff, big stuff, things that keep memories.
I trashed old photos I burned old stories.
I even deleted past history.
This one time I broke that vase,
Then I lost a bracelet,
I'm a disgrace.
I threw out laughter; I threw out tears;
I shedded clothes; I burned fears;
I forgot gifts most dear.
But I haven't been able to get away,
In my mind all that stuff stays.
All these things gone,
But the images of them will forever be strong.
I can wash away the filth any day,
But the dirt will still stay.
the cavethere is nothing in this place.
so empty smoothness surrounds me always,
I'd rather try and catch my breath
silently by myself.
some days I wish for this place
others hatred turns my anger to grace.
I crave the freedom no one knows
but then the loneliness overthrows,
all my common sense is gone
but then it's replaced by someone.
my hands always cold
thin blood runs old.
I wonder when this cycle will stop
will they ever change the clock.
please try to understand
I'm at odds with my own brain.
I just want to hide
like a child
in my mind.
Pure SinI hold back shivers when I am so close
Your fingers roaming like my mind
My skin sends warmth in a small dose
Your fingers my body they bind.
It is silly, like two kids playing
That you hide such small touches from others.
I sigh because later I know I will be the one crying,
Trying to hide feelings and smother everything that bothers.
Yet we meet at the same place,
Touches feel even better
Kisses I can only await.
I sigh after and leave full of regret
I will never tell you
Any of these things, because I know then
I will relinquish my heart
And have it crushed.
I cannot recover from you.
Defeat already near.
I push these thoughts away in fear.
The Panic Room (A Supernatural One-Shot)“Dean…? Dean?”
The name felt like lead on Sam’s tongue, so thick and heavy that he wasn’t sure if the syllable had actually made it past his lips.
The only reason he was aware of something cutting into his neck was the trail of red that was marking a small pathway against the stark fabric of his shirt. The dark suit and tie that usually accompanied the white-collared look were missing, but he couldn’t remember why.
His brother’s name seemed to drop soundlessly into the dark space before him. Everything felt heavy. Dull. Maybe he was dreaming.
But dreams shouldn’t smell of dust and abandonment. They shouldn’t be framed by cobwebs and wallpaper so aged that their floral design has faded into funeral bouquets. They shouldn’t have flickering candlelight and robed figures looking down on you.
No, dreams shouldn’t be like that.
But Winchesters don’t have dreams. They have nightmares. Sam smile
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