Teenage writing

Lost and forgotten
Or tried.
Pulling like water lapping at the sand.
And trying to pull me under.
Struggling for air,
And to stay above its glistening surface
So like glass
Shattered, and pulling me and pulling.
But oh how it tempts
How beautiful
Beauty of light reflecting its broken glass surface.
But still I struggle for the hardships of air.

Did you know?
Oh did you hear?
Did you hear how she cried?
And how she pleaded?
With her calloused palms?
And over inked finger tips?
With her glass eyes?
And china skin?
I often can’t think of anything else
Nothing but that drowning girl,
So much like me.
Can I even remember how I used to be?
Before everything?
Oh so glorified and refined.
With glassy finger tips,
And red lips.

No I didn’t hear.
Not this time,
Of the girl,
Or of the glass that was broken.
Or the word that was known.
To everyone.
Maybe she said no
One to many times?
And finally said yes
With regret
In those glass like eyes?
I never really understood that.
But maybe the thought of going alone
without her.
Was to much?
But I am not her
Not yet.
Maybe silence will be better
Than going with a bang.


Broken Bottles&Lilies (Part 1.)

Teenage writing

Broken bottles and lilies
Littering my kitchen
Me of everything.
Of everything I’ve endured.
Skin turned to stone,
But still easily broken.
Slat fingertips stained
In ink, and the sound
Of my pencil scratching
On ripped paper and tapping keys.
I tread carefully over the broken bottles.
Afraid of getting cut
Again, but the lilies
Somehow protect me
From their wrath.
But my stone hide is
Shattered by their
Softness and sickly
Sweet smell.
I can’t stand the smell
Of the beautiful flower
So I throw
And break more bottles.
Only start at the beginning again.

flash fiction: three sentence story

Teenage writing

Two girls sit in their apartment, ready for the fight, packed with their rune covered blades and holy water, there is a sudden crash and a large black daemon emerges through the dust. The smaller of the two girls screams as the daemon rushes them attacking her sister, she watches as the body slumps to the floor with a sick dull crack. Her father comes out of nowhere and grabs her arm, pulling in vain to get her out of the apartment and the bloodcurdling sound of her scream can be heard over 100 more, her beloved sister is dead.

In The Wind

Teenage writing

It’s been a while, away in happy places, gone on the next train out of town.
But maybe I needed it, maybe It was good for me. Good to leave behind thoughts of her, and cloud them out with distractions. A month or two without over thinking things. A month or two out of my own toxic mind.
It was good for me. And I think of these things no more, feel things no more. They’re just memories now, fleeting and flying and dashing, gone so fast I could barley see them, gone before I could catch them in jars like glowing fireflies and kiss them goodbye with cracking lips and wash them away with cheap brandy.
But of course it did leave behind some things, some things. Feelings. Betrayal&hatred but I must rid of them. Let them fly on the wind, birds that are the cages for those feelings. Those feelings that fill the cavities in my chest with black smoke and rotting bone. Gone they are in the wind.