Salvation

       "I started when I was seven,"  she tells me. Tears slide down her flushed cheeks and glisten softly on her jaw.   "I didn t begin with harder stuff for a couple more years. My mom hated my father, or so it appeared, and escaped to nightly bingo games down at the hall. I used to lay in bed at night and wait for the headlights to know she made it home safe. But I never wanted to be saved."  
         I envy her.
        She looks serene with the trails of silver that fall softly onto her shirt. Even crumpled against the wall, in the corner of the bathroom, she looks so calm and composed. The cracked tile that lays beneath her was probably once an off-white or fair color, but the years of ill usage and water damage have turned it a disgusting shade of yellow.
         She cries silently as her voice trembles and cracks. She takes a deep breath and sits up.  
         "I couldn t take it any longer. I would have broken. I would have ended it. But I never wanted to be saved. I never wanted to be rescued. "
        She picks up the gun beside her and turns it over and over again in her hand. A smile creeping upon her lips as she runs her fingers along the handle.  
        "The first gun I ever fired was my grandfather s. I was rummaging through his closet and it fell out of the holster. It could have gone off. It was loaded. I could have been killed. All the same it was exhilarating. I had to feel it s power   her smile is almost hideous."
       She puts down the gun and takes another deep breath.
       She disgusts me.
       The short, sandy brown locks frame her face. Stray hairs fall down around her eyes and she pushes them back effortlessly. The white of her socks peek out from beneath her olive green pants and she shifts her body.  She twists the ring around her finger and clucks her tongue.  
       "He was supposed to be different,"  she pushes the hair back from her face again,   "and he was. He really was."  
      Her arms slide down her thighs and the bracelets around her wrists make a soft sound against the fabric of her pants.  
       "He was probably the one thing that kept me going. But it made me hate every waking day. It made me hate everyone." the tears are gone and her face is only a little damp now. She folds her legs beneath her and crawls over next to me.
        " I never wanted to be saved. I never wanted to be rescued."  
       She s cold and her body is rigid. Her skin feels like cool glass against my own.  
       My white socks peek out from beneath my olive green pants and my bracelets slide gently against my thighs. I ball up my fists and scream, shattering the mirror before me. As I twist the ring around my finger, I push the short, sandy brown locks behind my ears and cluck my tongue. I lie down against the cracked yellow tiles and cry softly...    
       "I never wanted to be saved, I never wanted to be rescued."    



(Edited by Fallen at 10:20 pm on Jan. 15, 2002)

I'll definately wait more texts from you.

       "I'm running out of room, don t make me say it- and I want the life you think I have"    
       I can feel the hard floor beneath me. The room is dark and cast with tints of blue from the television. I can hear the static coming from the snowy screen, but I can t bring myself to turn it off.
       I stare blankly at the floor and notice the glitter in the bracelets around my wrists. They sparkle and glisten in the blue hues of the dark room. I look up at the snowy screen again and it fades to a dull grey as I feel a lone, warm tear slide down my face.
       The ceiling fan above pushes my hair in front of my face, getting caught amidst the tears. They quickly dry and I take a deep breath, pushing myself up onto the bed.
       Please don t make me hurt you. Just please don t push it anymore. I don t want to hurt you, but I don t want to hurt myself either. Don t make me do this- but it s already done. You just don t know yet.
        I'm seeing someone, and you don t know it yet. But I'm not crying about that.
        I wouldn t cry about that.
        I lost feeling for this, a long time ago. Too long ago. I'm crying because, I don t know what I'm going to do now BJ. I don t know what s going to happen next. This uncertainty scares me. But I'm not supposed to be afraid. I'm supposed to be strong remember? But what if I can't be strong anymore? What if I don t want to be?
        I'm still just a child. I don t want to play grown up anymore. I want to be the person you think I am. I want to know the things you think I do. I want to be as strong as you think I am. I want that life you think I have...  


(Edited by Fallen at 10:18 pm on Jan. 15, 2002)

That was fast I like it, like I did the previous.

      "Every time I close my eyes, I'm reminded of the darkness in your life..."
       I lied. I bit my tongue, and pushed back the hair in my face. The hair caught amidst my tears. The tears that mingled with my clumpy mascara and ran pointlessly down my face.
       Do you know what I look like with tears streaming down my face? Have you ever felt my body shudder in complete misery? Have you ever seen me push back the truth, and wash away the lies with tears?
      My clumpy mascara ran senselessly down my face. But they didn t know it. They weren t looking at my face when they asked me. They barely heard my voice.
       I lied.
       I lied and told them that I was happy with where I was in life. I was happy with who I d become. I was happy with the things I d accomplished and the things I've done. I was content with the person I am now, and how I've triumphed over the person I was- but I'm not.
       I lied.
       Don t you see? I don t know where I'm going. I only know where I've been. I don t want to look behind me, I don t want to look ahead. And now I don t know where I'm going. I don t know what is happening. I don t know where I am in life- who I am in life.
       I lied.
       I pushed back the hair that was tangled amidst the tears and I lied through my fake smiles and clumpy mascara. And now I'm just as lost as I ever was. As I've ever been...


(Edited by Fallen at 10:23 pm on Jan. 15, 2002)

I dont know what to say, other than there are now tears, actual tears, running down my face....

if you ever stop writing, the world has made a sad loss, i tell you that.... you get better everyday, and you are one of the most beautiful people i have ever had the pleasure to know... you are a beautiful person.... everyone needs to be told that once in a while.... sincerly.... and i do mean it.... i was told it the other day, and nothing compares to the feeling of knowing that someone out there cares for you, and sees all that makes you, and loves you for it, so now I am returning the favour, in hopes that it will make you feel even part of what i felt..... YOU ARE A BEAUTIFUL PERSON

      "So you think you can tell? Heaven from hell ."
       This feeling...this feeling is so cold. Its raining in on me from all sides. The feeling of worthlessness. The feeling of all my hopes being abandoned once again. the feeling of my trusts being betrayed.
      And you think you re making things interesting?
      I laugh and smile like it s a game.
      And it s raining in on me from the outside- barging in upon me from the outside, and taking me for all I'm worth.
      I can close my eyes now and feel the screams. I can open them up and see your voice.
      Why have you become this way? So rigid, so cold. I look around and no one else sees it. no one else hears it- but I do.
      I do.
      Do you think you could tell? One of my plastered on smiles from a genuine one? Do you think you could tell the difference between my tears and my laughter?
      I look around the cold metal table, and once again I'm all alone. And the feeling descends down upon me once more.  And I look up at you but all I can feel are your screams...


I love you Mags.


(Edited by Fallen at 10:25 pm on Jan. 15, 2002)

"There's nothing wortht the wear of wining
But laughter, and the love of friends"

I love you too Kris

      It's been a while since I've done this. A while since I could finally sit myself down once more and write. To be able tp type the fragile words as the screen becomes blurry time and time again.
      I close my eyes and remember the way the air smelled. The way the wind bit at my face and burnt my skin.
      I can always remember. Whether I want to or not.
      The bitter memories that possess my everyday life sometimes consume me. I look up and can see the light filtering in through the blinds. The room is painted in shadows, cloaked in grey and white tones as my eyes adjust to the faint glimmer of light. Sounds fade through the air, and the words come through clearly.
      I bite my lip hard as I realize that once again I've woken up, and it'll be just another day.
      I remember...everything. But don't I always?
      He's so cold. This feeling. This feeling is so cold, it burns from within and possesses everything I once had. Taking it all for it's own.
      But don't you know? I always did.  
      And it's just another day. Just another run of the mill day. And when this day finally ends, another will come up to follow. As they always do.
      But didn't you know? I always thought I did.
     What have I become? What did they see? Was it something I never had before? Or something from beneath? Have I been covering it up all along? Or it seeping out from within?
      But didn't you always know? God knows I never did.
      Can you give me all the answers? Will you take it all away? if I knew a way how...I would've done it a thousand times over already. Don't you know that?
       Sometimes I just wish that I did.




(Edited by Fallen at 10:29 pm on Jan. 15, 2002)

*sad smile* That sounds so familiar. I hope you won't go so far down as I did. In the end, I lost all my emotions, and then there was nothing left. I have almost no memory of that time. Then I read Khalil Gibran's "Prophet", and it helped me to start over again. To start... to get the courage to feel again.

Since I was 7, I thought that emotions were a hindrance and should be removed. I figured that if I overload my mind with pain, they'll vanish, as they did. But to see that you've tortured yourself for 11 years for nothing, only to fight to repair the damage you've done to yourself... Hmh.

What am I left with from that time? Understanding and acceptance. Perhaps too lots of them. And my love for melancholy. There is no emotion sweeter to me, than a certain longing melancholy, which has some compassion and love for the whole world. Sadly, I'm too uncaring to feel it often anymore. I'm content of just being able to feel again.

God , I hate this...I am too tired to read all this...:angry:

       Pain is more beautiful than anything I've ever known. Does that sound so terrible?

       As I lay awake in bed, I watch the ceiling. I see things other people don t see.
       Does that make me odd?
       I hear things that others cannot hear.
       Does that make me unsound?
       I feel things that others don t feel.
       Does that make me humane?
       I know things that others couldn t possibly know.
       Does that make me wise?
       Are you going to turn away from me now? Like you always do.
       Are you going to shut me out now? Like you ve always done?
       And I lay here in bed. Wondering. Waiting. Like I always do. Like I've always done.
       Things seem to go by in a blur, everything streaming together like watercolors.
       I rarely see light any longer. I rarely see color anymore.
       The life of me has bled dry. I never wanted to be saved before, and now it doesn t seem like the worst thing in the world.
        You know, I sense things other people don t.
        What does that make me?




(Edited by Fallen at 10:31 pm on Jan. 15, 2002)

One of us...
I loved this.

It makes you you. If you weren't as you are, you wouldn't be you. Being so, the current you, is also the perfect you. As every moment is a perfect one, and no life lacks anything, so we all are perfect, if we learn that there really isn't anything more we need.

We sing the song of life with many different voices and different ways, and they all are right and beautiful. The odd cacophony is just relative to the perspective of observation. In the end, there is nothing more than the song.

If the first line you wrote is true, then I can rest easier, for there is someone else, who finds beauty and 'good' in things generally thought 'bad'.

i'm never any good with compliments, but someone once told me to share my words with the world because even though a few words won't change their opinion, and a person they don't know won't make them rethink everything they've ever thought... it might, and this might, and i might. and so i thank you.





(Edited by Fallen at 11:33 pm on July 11, 2001)