Tried

You always looked at me with your
silver disappointment. It bore into
my back in the halls and into my
eyes anytime else.

You always told me it was my fault
that we'd gotten to this point. It was
my "careful words" and "gaurded
eyes."

You always looked away when you
managed to mutter something to
me. You choose to focus on the brittle
walls and discolored paint.

I always tried to mend the broken strings
of our relationship, but you choose to ignore
the attempts in your contempt. I always
told you I'd try.

You always told me you would, too, but the
promised words changed. Now you tell me
that you'll never change this opinion, and
I believe everything you say.
---

How crap is that?

-Mari.

Graveyard Muse

The dead grass crunched under her sneakers as she trekked through the foliage. She skipped lightly over the roses and flowers laying on top of the new dirt. She knew that these places had been recently dug, and she didn’t want to shame them with imprints of her footsteps.

She walked further, to the older tombstones. She ran her fingers lightly over the patterns chipped into the stones. She read the names out loud to herself, using the way they felt slipping off of her tongue to choose.

“Vanessa Wright,” She read. She decided she liked this name the best out of the ones she’d passed.

She folded her legs under her as she sat beside the grave. Her pen slipped out of her hand, landing in the dirt next to her. She picked it up again, using her teeth to remove the cap. With the pen poised over the fresh sheet of paper, she asked, “So, Vanessa, what’s your story?”

It was quite strange - when her stories felt dead she came to this place, where dead people are buried.

She was there, at the graveyard, at least two times a week. She’d pick a stone, choose a name, and then fill in the rest of the blanks.

“Vanessa, let’s say you worked s a model, because I imagine you’re as lovely as your name.” She paused, “But the pressure to be thin was too much, and you were so thin you collapsed.” She smiled to herself, jotting the details down. When she felt the familiar wave of excitement wash over her, she flipped the pages in her notebook to the unfinished short story in the back.

The faint scratches of the pen on the paper made her grin. When she felt like it was finished, she got up, waving at the grave.

“Well, thank you Vanessa. You’ve been a great deal of help. And don’t worry, I’ll finish your story, too. I’ll just need to find more characters…” Her eyes took on a glassy quality as she thought. “I’ll come back to visit, I promise.”

{*}{*}

It's short, yeh.

Opinions?

-Mari.

Winning

I love that feeling
the rush that I get.

When you know you're right
but they keep trying.

Winning, succeeding
that's all I really need.

It Was There

It was there, in the cold touches and hesitant smiles
It was there, with the lingering looks and 'stay a while's.

It was there, in the harsh fingertip brushing
It was there, with the soft, small hushing.

It was there, in the minor but meaningful contact
It was there, with the guarded words and senseless tact.

It was there, in the light teasing and laughs

It was there, in the secret smiles and happy eyes.

It was there, but it got lost.
{*}{*}{*}

I wrote this a while ago...not too happy with it. Opinions?

-mari.

Header&layout

New layout, new header.

If you don't like them, tell me.

xoxo

-{mari}

nothing tastes as good as thin feels

it's a sickness, a health
it's poverty, it's wealth
i binge and i purge,
i purge and i binge
i weigh and i frown
and i weigh and i smile
counting calories all the while
it's an addiction, an affliction
an infection that i love
the looseness of clothes
the momentary happy i steal
because nothing tastes as good
as thin feels.


(i have lost 12 pounds since i began. terrible, only a little, but after my fast today i feel fantastic, even though i slipped up a bit. i'll do ten times better tomorrow!)

Collapsed

She closed her eyes, burrowing herself further down into her bed. Outside, the storm that had terrorized her town for two weeks was still raging, crashing, keeping her awake.

The blanket bunched up in her fist, she started counting backwards from one thousand. The first night of the storm she’d counted from fifty. Each time it didn’t make her feel better, she rose the number. How far would she get until she didn’t have to count anymore?

The window swung back and hit the wall, furthering the dent. Her mother had taped the window down, but the rain had wore it and the window was always swinging with the winds of the storm.

The storm had caused much more damage, though. The wood of the floors was splintering, soaking wet. The paint was peeling, the color having already faded. The electricity had gone out on the second night. No light. No heat.

There was another kind of damage, the internal damage. Her father and youngest brother had left for Europe a day before the storm, and she knew there was no chance of them getting back until the storm was tamed.

The smashes of rain on the house were her lullaby, forcing her into sleep when she got numb enough. The thunder punctuated the sound of her heart beat, matching the tempo. The lightning lit up the sky, and when it was close to her she reveled in the change from the gray that covered both the sky and her room.

The door across the room creaked, noting the presence of her mother. She lifted the blanked so she could peep through a small hole.

“Dear,” Her mother called out, “The radio went out today.”

She nodded to herself, having already guessed this. Her mother only came in here now to bring more news of what the storm had destroyed.

Her mother left the room then, the scent of her watery perfume trailing behind her. She was careful to close the door; too much force and it would break, just like the window, just like her daughter. Always by herself, even before the storm. Always locked away in her room. Staring blankly at walls, muttering to herself… Her mother shook her head, padding lightly into the kitchen to salvage some of the food that wasn‘t bad, crushed or soaked like the rest of the house.

When everything was quiet again, the young girl pulled the blanked around her again. She pulled her knees up to her chest, listening to the rain, waiting for the numbness that would lull her to sleep.

The Modern Times
Friday, January 10th
Three weeks ago, the raging storm had started. Now, it is over, but the wreckage remains. Many houses are either knocked completely to the ground or in shambles.
The number of deaths is truly amazing. Just yesterday, a young girl and her mother were found in the remains of their house, which had collapsed under the strain of the storm…

{*}{*}{*}

This is my entry for the Stormy Weather Contest on deviantART. Please give me advice - I want to enter it soon.

In the meantime, I'm working on the Magical Muse Contest as well.

xoxo

-{mari}