|Trying out Photography|
Those Melancholy DaysTo have someone see you as you truly are and give you up, throw you out, and leave is the worst sensation man could endure.Those Melancholy Days by CHiC-con-STiCKS
And people wonder why I’m stuck inside myself.
More like lost.
Helplessly wandering through an abyss consisting solely of memories of us
As if there was nothing else left to torture my being… I can still smell you…
Daisies on my pillow and bed sheets leaving a small trail of your rosemary regret.
You told me all your regrets, even mentioned us. Snuck us in behind being true to yourself.
I was aghast. Shocked. Stunned. But then again I was relieved.
You still kissed me that day. Even in broad daylight. You were afraid someone would see
But then again you were beyond caring.
It was as if you knew you’d be out of this town within a month.
And you were gone.
And I missed you.
But you replaced me with what you so desperately wanted us to be.
And I’m left here alone reminiscing in what memories I so desperately wish to forget
Sitting on a
I'm a Zombie.I'm a Zombie. by CHiC-con-STiCKS
These lies stick to your teeth.
Scratch and tear at your heart.
Drown your soul in darkness.
And make you question your will to live.
When you look back on these lies:
your stomach sinks.
The voices cackle at your stupidity.
Your blood boils.
An invisible knife penetrates your gut,
and so your heart burns.
Fire licks at innards and consumes your soul,
You've been tainted with the poison of the regret.
And everyone can see the scars you've been left with.
So people point, stare, mock,
joke, uncover, and add to:
Your pain, scars, and damage.
All you can do is cry,
because you don't want to give them the satisfaction of being dead.
Or maybe, you do.
Now you're a Zombie,
Because the truth is, they've also taken away your ability to care.
And I know you are.
Because I'm one too.
if she were any more tomato she'd be blueberryxvii.if she were any more tomato she'd be blueberry by MindlessThinker
i want to write about how this world of
absolute truth, knowledge, and solid food
that which we hold high between two fingers is always
full of watery applesauce and little white half-truths.
and about how utterly strange
it is that all the simple things that people
write about on pages are, in reality,
very few and far between.
and i want to write about how there is
peace and war and
poverty and treasure and
cruelty and sometimes,
i want to write a poem about why the hell i'm wasting
my time writing poems when i could maybe
actually be doing something productive
or contributing to society or
and i want to write about why there aren't
nearly enough apple trees that grow
in dark moldy closets or underwater
or on the sun or inside craters of the moon
or in the desert or in the deep winter.
because god knows those places
need them now mor
This is a trip. Most of this stuff is old, like, really old. Currently a student at American University, where I am pursuing a major in Film & Media Arts with a concentration in Screen Writing. On top of that, I'm looking into getting a minor in Philosophy because i'm low-key pretentious and need it for my résumé. Not many people will "get" my sense of humor, but if you do, congrats, "you've made it." Contemplating adding some newer things just to get back into sharing what i've written and been working on.
Current Residence: Washington DC
Favourite genre of music: Alternative Rock/ Indie/ Electronic Rock
Favourite Writers: Bukowski, Sartre, Plath, Camus, D. Thomas, T.S. Eliot