unfold an origami death mask

We're all masters of our own demise, we self destruct in the end, unless another being takes care of that for us.

A

The answer is in our words. Technology keeps improving so that we can share our words faster, easier, and more organized. It's user friendly. Now you and I can be the next famous writer, the coolest blogger, the fastest texter, and the best Tweeter. My computer tells me that "texter" isn't a word. But I guarantee it will be added to the dictionary at some point. This generation is all about sharing. Posting, tagging, downloading... it's all we want to do. I'm excited to see where it will lead us and what amazing new ways to "update our status" in a restricted amount of characters there will be. My point being, that if you have something to say. Say it. But don't forget that once your words leave you, they are open for criticism, copying, quoting, and they are able to be saved and repeated. Hell, they can even be screen shotted!

Q

We sit in parked cars, contemplating the journey from who we are now and who we will become. They are separate beings. Influenced by those around us, before us, and above us. We look up to the sky that for centuries has looked the same, minus or plus a few stars. We are ever-growing, ever-changing creatures, and our life is not permanent. Sure we make a mark but the generations following us will knock down our buildings, cut down the trees we planted, re-pave the roads and bridges we spent millions constructing. What gets set in stone? What legacy can we leave behind?

something I've been workin at.

Never compromise or fantasize for the "all-seeing eyes" that paralyze and canonize the people we are and who pass us by / I just fly when problems arise and questions pry at my life /I won't comply and "take a ride" with the inside common spies / Take my advice and criticize every word he speaks for lies

give me a break.

I feel so cold. Like I've been hooked up to an IV that's pumping pure ice water through my veins, cleansing me of all of the hot, raging, passionate anger and disappointment that's been circulating through my body for three weeks. My father has hurt my mother, and he's hurt me (emotionally) more times than I can count on two hands twice. However, every time I see that intoxicated fueled frustration pierce through his eyes at me and spit words of hatred and disgust about her, I want to punch him in the face. I want to hurt him. I want to break his jaw so that I don't have to see that thin and disapproving frown. I want to scream and curse and spit. I want to unleash all of the Hell that has built up inside of me. And I want to shake my mother to her bones and tell her that I understand that her childhood was fucking brutal and terrible, but because she can't get over it, she's fucked up mine. And she's fucked up my brother's. And we're all just kicking and screaming under the same fucking roof because 'money' and DEPENDENCY are the only fucking words we all understand. I hate depending on people. I won't. I can't. I've been let down so many times because of my parents. My parents who have struggled to stay together for me and my brother. They're not happy. My mother has never been happy. And she still doesn't know that I KNOW she was married before. No family secret is kept anymore. I'm letting everything out. I'm unlocking my mouth and my heart and I am going to fucking say and feel whatever I want because I deserve that much.

"Cops at the front door, robbers at the back."

in heavenly peace.

Good Morning;

I'm resurfacing from the novocaine, it's quite apparent to see the daydream I was previously encased in was wasted on yesterday's last hurrah. My good friends, we've got to soak up the fountain spills to get to the change, and there's two sides to that phrase. I don't know what to do or where we'll go from here but as long as my glass is half full we should have no fear. Keep believing in what you can't see because as soon as "He" appears it's over, it's finished.

Goodnight.

Self discovery

I don't pay much attention to the people who crave it most. I understand how humans work and I can work my way into anyone's life I choose. I have the ability to be manipulative and vindictive, but I also have the strength and morale to refrain from using such "gifts". I see beauty in the things most would turn up their noses to. I pay attention to every single detail present. I am a huge procrastinator. I have a song to match every possible weather outcome. I don't ever want to be anything else but the person I am developing into. It took a while for me to actually appreciate myself, and I plan on focusing on me for the next few years.

From Webster.

Wrote this today along with four others:

We are dangerous foreign creatures coexisting with mother nature, and father time never brings home the wages we need to buy our way into heaven, you know the angels take bribes and reside in the depths of our innermost conflict, I need a a prescription to alleviate and meditate with my demons, once upon a dime I was thumbs out on the road to redemption waiting for someone like you to pick me up and keep me starstruck. I may not be the best mate but I'm still great and there's something to be said about the state of mind I've been loitering in for weeks. Give me a hand and I'll give you my defeat. Make a wish before the meteor shower runs out of water pressure. This is the last curtain call, and my encore is a short fall.

Be your own hero, save the day.

Dear Boy.

I've been habitually dreaming of the stars in space that push and pull and radiate to fix the underestimated gravity routine, i don't know why they call street art a crime but your work makes my heart hurt in the way that only a weeks worth of chain smoking could do, I know you can see right through me. Well we should make or break the fake walls between friendship and forget me. Do you see the importance of classifying our tracks? I produce mix and craft the beats with the lyrics you find so addicting.

i wrote this on my coffee cup.

Mreh?

I felt brand new in my cross knit boots,
the cigarette smoke curled around the windows and escaped
before we could retain it in our lungs;
I think I may have loved you once.

The difference between making art and making love is
you can legally sell one of them.

I take these words and I condense them into phrases
for you to worship, for you to try and understand,
for you to follow and appreciate,
and why is it that humanity has to hate?

It's episode two like Attack of the Clones,
and I get by with my brittle bones.
This vocabulary melts in my mouth
like the acid sheet you just tucked under your tongue,
I hope you'll still be having fun
when you're tripping on the E train,
kneeling at the feet of insane.

I hope you find your way out of tunnel vision soon.

Thank God for screenshots.

Devon Terrance. Let's be best friends?

"I'd promised this wasn't about you"

I let you collect me,

and my heart danced with your shadow.

Well, it's the "GDT",

you had me.

Eleven-twenty-something, the first cell phone glow of the hour, and it's your name.

You claimed to have a way with words, but all you really possessed was a habitually awkward tendency for courting me.

Out of every blog and indirect profile text I understood your mind was never 'with me'.

You will never sing the harmony.

Stay lost, please.

You erase the bad days...

"My grammar is almost as bad as my posture"

Fake Ray Ban shades, Facebook,

and we mistook double shot espresso lattes for chai tea.

You're so sharp in your hipster scarf

and no matter what you say it's the truth.

They know how we do,

and whenever I wake up

I hope it's always next to you.

Congruent coffee spills align

with Prismacolor markers,

you're underestimating my eloquence.

I love you, I do,

and when your eyes emerge from your

drawing I'll show you how the moon

shines through.

Could you give me a clue?

You erase the bad days from my calendar.

"Fast Friends"

Confiding in each other
at seventy-two miles per hour
you keep changing your story
and switching gears
but i'll pretend it's cool
this is what fear tastes like.
Appreciate your space
before I get up in your face
like when we're kicking it,
putting puzzle pieces together
until we finish it,
this relationship was meant to test
and I'll keep accelerating
as long as you're cooperating.
Drive-through, order up,
extra large 7-Up

I'll take some lies with that.

"Leaks in the Ceiling"

A lingual threat,
life and debt
this thought came to me
as a fever dream
compressed and dressed
with lines, forget the coke
this ain't no joke
the rain don't respect state rates,
and I'm sorry.
Your speedometer keeps climbing
on the highway,
should I offer up my time
to strategize with my enemies?
or is my conservative, competitive
nature racking up your
pace maker?
We're just trying to make end's meet;

are you against me?

Placebo

Concentrating on the undermining contemplation
of the same damn thing;
what was the flavor we shared?
you were impaired
and me with my broken porcelain mug,
down on my luck like Houdini with
the release stuck
and I'm trapped under your emotions
like the Titanic;
sinking, sleeping, underwater creeping
We're all sea urchins attached to the coral
no morals and no identity to
separate and over-rate probability.
These speech bubbles collect
and float up to the surface
with a purpose.

Let's live it right.

2.15

Heartbreak has been dealt in heavy doses this week for us. Love is so painful. It's that kind of pain that 'makes you stronger', that kind of pain that feeds your soul to push forward through the worst times in your life and reach something safe. Vulnerability is terrifying. Feeling open to danger, whether it's by physical force or emotional, is similar to feeling weak and helpless. The heart is a strange little organ. It is the center of our life, of our functioning human bodies. Or our dysfunctional mutant animal bodies. I don't care what you believe; people were not meant to be alone.

When I love someone, it's like a piece of my soul is given to them, like a bead from a bracelet. When that bead is handed over, willingly or taken by surprise, I simply cannot get it back. That unique little fragment of my being forever belongs to its keeper. And when the keeper hurts me, or somehow leaves my pocket of social relationships, that bead slips from their hands and rolls into a corner of their room. And it sits there in the corner, collecting dust - still ever present.

I cannot create new pieces of my soul, and I cannot control who possesses each little bead. But with only so much life to live, I'd like to think that whatever I do give out, it makes an impact in the keeper's life. Because that's all anyone can really hope for. To be held dearly in the palms of someone special.

I broke down.

About two hours ago, I lost my fucking mind.
But I found my strength

I got into a huge fight with my dad. It was a series of fights, events each building up with intensity, ready to explode into chaos. I was sobbing non-stop. In fact, I didn't stop until about 20 minutes ago. I tried to run away from everything. I grabbed my keys and threw on my boots and started running for the door when my mom and dad caught me, screaming at me to get back to them and to stop running. I turned around with my hair flying everywhere and my tears drenching my face and clothes and I threw my keys to the floor. I ran upstairs, away from their yelling and all of the confusion. I literally could not get away. I flung myself onto my bed and I cried so hard I lost every ounce of strength and sanity in my little body.
My younger brother came up to my room and picked me up, holding me in his arms as I just sprawled out like a rag-doll. Heaving sobs and shrieking unrecognizable phrases. I couldn't see, I couldn't move. I just felt so much pain.
My brother then carried me down the stairs and put me on the couch in front of my father. I curled up in a ball and held my knees, rocking back and forth. I didn't want to hear what he had to say to me. He'd already done too much damage.
He opened his mouth to say something, and I absolutely went fucking berzerk.

I screamed every single word that I wanted to tell him for four years. All of that anger and hatred and fear just poured out of my mouth like word vomit. I couldn't stop myself, I just kept going. I cried and yelled and cursed and fought my way through every single thing I had felt over four years of not saying anything to my father.
And he took everything I said and didn't fight it back. He just looked at me and took it all in. And I just dove into his arms and cried some more until I my dehydration took over. I ran to the bathroom and threw up, and then I passed out cold on the floor.
My brother came in and got me up, stuck a straw in my mouth and made me sip on orange juice until I stopped shaking so violently.

I talked to my dad once I was 'stable' and we sort of reconciled. Everything isn't fixed, but it's better.

get up.

It's Act 5.
And you are the only character left.
Everything you used to know was wrong.
And everyone you used to trust was an enemy.
And the person you loved is gone.

But, the play isn't over until you fulfill your destiny.
So, go on.
Pull yourself together.
There's still some pages to go.
And we're not done reading about you

Extracted Chapter

So, I've been writing this story in Creative Writing, and people seem to like it. I figured you might enjoy looking at some of it. Nothing is finished, this is very raw, and some things may not be composed well yet. WHATEVER. ( also, this is KIND OF inspired by Fight Club, but in a strange way)

"Get up, Flick."

I rolled over, clutching my stomach, woozy from the raging pain. That was a good hit - a sucker punch, but a good hit.

"Come on, girl. Don't quit on me."

I glared at him. He was definitely going to get it.

"Brennan, you stupid shit!" I lifted myself up, arms quivering, and threw my dead weight full-force at my smirking boyfriend. He laughed as we both collapsed to the floor. The grimy, dank basement floor that had become familiar territory to my bruised and overworked body.

I managed to throw a couple punches at his chest, as he blocked his face with his hands. Not like he had to, anyway. That was one of our rules.

"I'm gonna kill you, Flick!" Brennan shouted through broken puffs of respiration. But the truth was we'd both been dead for some time now. Dead, in the sense of our imagination

"Keep talking, you're making this easier for me." I retorted.

Brennan shoved me away, and then offered a hand, almost as if he was mocking me.

"Fuck you." I said smiling, taking the offer.

This was our routine. Neither of us could recall the exact origin in time when it began. In fact, we didn't understand most of it. Just that it felt good. Sure, anyone could have called it abuse and sent both of our selfish asses to therapy or jail. We'd just sit in our cells, grinning with broken teeth.

I brushed the debris off of my soiled, blood-stained clothing. Both of us were panting and clutching a damaged limb.

"You're gettin' better, babe. I should start taking you seriously" Brennan said.

I shook my hair out of my ponytail. "Hah! Take me seriously. You're starting to sound like my useless father." I spit, noticing a red tinge to my saliva. I must've bit my lip or something.

"You're so sore on that. Stop wasting your time on people who just don't care about you, Flick. He abandoned you. He doesn't want you anymore. Just accept it and move on" he said, wiping his face on his shirt.

I laced up my Chucks angrily. "Eat your words, Bren. If you weren't still hung up on your mom bailing we wouldn't need to do this shit."

He looked at me, those fierce amber eyes flaming with angst. I wasn't scared, he only hit me when my fists were up. Fair and square.

"Look, Flick," he said while lighting his cigarette, "you're just as stubborn and fucked up as me, quit pretending your situation is so much worse. We're both abandoned, neglected souls with lame service jobs and bad social skills. It's not like I made this happen to you. You are just a lost puppy I picked up in the alley." He paused an took a drag.

"I know, that's why we're such a perfect match" I said cooly.

He came over to me and kissed me, blowing his toxic cigarette smoke between my lips. I inhaled. To Brennan, these Newport flavored kisses were his way of showing compassion. I accepted, despite my distaste for menthol.

We walked up the cellar stairs and he held my hand. This was our Saturday night, and despite the slight addiction to painkillers and ice packs, it was special.