1.31.2005
poem

Let Me

Let me slip inside you
and undo you from within
A seemingly innocuous parasite
in the den of iniquity

I don't want to love you

Let me crawl out of you
and slide across
your insatiable skin
like melting ice; burning wax

I don't want to love you

Let me make love to you
without love
Please, please
Let me in

But don't let me love you


2005

Posted at 4:39:38 pm by TheKaren
 

1.29.2005
diary of a dead girl

Diary of a Dead Girl


Entry 2

His skin was like sand paper and he smelled of sweat and the earth. He smoked cigarettes and I didn't mind. We would go walking with no destination and not say a word for hours. Our relationship wasn't about words. It wasn't about sex, either. Though there was sex. With me, there was always sex.

People never got how me and Jimmy could just sit in the same space for hours and not say a word or look each other's way. Silence scares a lot of people. But for us, silence was a way of telling each other things. But people would still ask about it and I got tired of trying to explain so I just stopped answering and started shrugging.

A shrug is a reply people only accept when they don't really care about the answer in the first place. And most people, to tell you the truth, don't give a damn about what you have to say. They can sit there and stare straight into your eyes for an hour, nodding their head and saying, "Yeah," like they're really listening. But they aren't. No, they're making grocery lists or thinking about how they can turn the conversation around to themselves. We're all pretty self-centered.

I'm not saying there aren't people who genuinely listen to you. I'm just saying they're hard to find. It's kinda funny, really, that the only person who ever really listened to me was a person I barely spoke to at all. My Jimmy, who smelled like dirt and sweat, never shrugged.

Posted at 11:46:58 pm by TheKaren
(2)said something  

1.26.2005
poem

Still

distorted
my reflection in the
broken glass
the floor
a shimmering spectacle
your face
savage
the shouts echoing
delicate illusions
shattered by
harsh reality
a cut bleeds like
forgetting


2005

Posted at 10:36:26 pm by TheKaren
 

1.25.2005
poem

skin of my skin
strip me off
excite me, ignite me
with your flame

consume me

flesh of my flesh
tear me out
rip me to shreds
with your teeth

ravage me

bone of my bone
wrench me apart
crush me with your
still beating heart

annihilate me

Posted at 4:10:51 pm by TheKaren
 

1.20.2005
diary of a dead girl (1)

Diary of a Dead Girl


Entry 1

Jon always said he loved my hair. He would brush it off my face to kiss me and push it back in my eyes immediately afterwards. 'Sex hair,' he said. 'You have Fuck-Me-Hair,' he'd say and then he'd fuck me. It didn't matter where. We'd be outside my apartment, at the door with the porch light off and he'd fuck me against the wall.

After Jon left me, I cut it all off. Every strand mutilated. Destroyed. My mother cried. I swear to god, she liked my hair more than she liked me. She used to spend hours brushing it and telling me how beautiful it was and that I should treat it better. It was hair, for god's sake. Hair.

Fuck-Me-Against-A-Wall-And-Leave-Me-Hair.

I swear to god, man, people only want one thing from you. Maybe it's love, maybe it's affection, maybe it's sex. Whatever it is, they want it. And if you give it to them they usually quit wanting it and you're left with an emptiness. You. Not them. They already had their own emptiness. They just passed it on to you like a sexually transmitted disease.

So you go out and you find what you want and you fill that void. You pass that disease onto someone else. And you don't feel bad, because if you didn't do it, someone else would.


*** Note: This is a work of fiction. It does not necessarily represent the opinions of the author (me).

Posted at 10:30:16 pm by TheKaren
(6)said something  

1.14.2005
james dean


Posted at 10:44:47 pm by TheKaren
(3)said something  

john lennon


Posted at 10:35:25 pm by TheKaren
(6)said something  

9.6.2004
ian


Posted at 8:45:28 pm by TheKaren
(4)said something  

8.18.2004
poem

Midnight blue
in your eyes:
I find my demise
drowning slowly
Still:
my hair floats to
the light
my feet point down
to the dark
Torn:
in two
I forget about myself
lost inside of you

Posted at 11:30:08 pm by TheKaren
 

8.10.2004
poem

Rhythm

An innocent meeting of eyes
turns sinful as fingertips
touch fingertips;
lips part and pulses
race

Nothing but the sound of our breathing

A hand reaches for a
misbehaving wisp of hair
It lingers on the cheek like
an old lover lingers at the door
before entering

to keep us company

Lips join a neglected cheek
eyelashes kiss longing skin
finally, finally remembered
fingertips trace the outline
of a quivering mouth

on a cold night

A kiss speads from cheek
to hair, to ear, to neck
little tortures of love
until at last the lips meet
like old lovers, reunited

warmed only by your touch




Posted at 1:57:10 am by TheKaren
 

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