Never love a vampire.

My mind is broken. I am torn. All I want is to be left. Don’t try to fix me because I’m not okay. I never will be. Just leave me alone. How can you love me if I hate you? I hate everyone. Just let me go. Oh, fuck off. Don’t be a martyr. Don’t suffer me. I’m not your responsibility. Someone once promised me that God would carry my soul. But, you see, I don’t have a soul. I’m pale and empty and that is beauty. My hate is self inflicted. I am completely selfish. Don’t- please just don’t make me feel bad. Don’t make me feel. Let me jump. I want to get lost in the incandescence of this breaking dawn. I will be immortal because I sold my dead soul. I will be ancient. Just don’t come with me. Leave. Just leave.

I am fractured; the flaws in me stand out like the tiny imperfections in cracked porcelain. If you look close enough you will see that my smile is a grimace, that the shine in my gaze is just a reflection of a glassy stare. My teeth are as white as a virgin’s wedding dressing, but the sharpness of them was made to penetrate you. There’s little difference between me and the night. The speckled light of the stars is just the remaining shards of my soul; scattered and distant. Their gleam is tarnished by the dark. 

Redrum

So I created a new blog: http://iamafraidofpeople.blogspot.com/. I am going to post all of my short stories on there. It's going to be pretty bleak at times, I must say!
Just a short up date:
I'm currently sitting in my university library doing what I am good at: procrastinating! I purchased a new book from Waterstones the other day: A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin. It's pure heaven at the moment- dark and wildly sexy (when I say sexy I mean the plot is very exciting, of course). I am also rereading The Shining by Stephen King. The Shining is one of my all-time favourites. 

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

Just a general update:
The last week and a half I have been attempting to catch up on all of my work. I had to return home from university for over a month because my father was unwell. Now he's back on the mend I can now take on the full load of work. I got a mark back for my dissertation literature review that I had completed whilst at home. I was certain I had done terribly because I completed it in around 10 hours but, I have to say, I'm very pleased with the mark I received! 

At the moment I am trying to grow nails because I want to wear beautiful nail varnish. However, as you can see, it doesn't look good at the moment. I would wear fake nails but considering I hand write most of my work before typing it up... well, it's just not going to work out, is it?
I have around six weeks to clear my room out as the contract on my house is nearly over! I'm quite looking forward to returning to the comforts of home, but I am especially looking forward to being able to see Shaun, my boyfriend every week! The thing is I have far too much stuff and my room back in County Durham looks very clean and nice at the moment. I won't throw any of my books away as that plainly feels like a crime but I have a lot of prints and posters that I may have to sell. It's going to be difficult... Does anyone want a big poster of Marlon Brando?...
What a babe, right? 

Clown in the Moon- Dylan Thomas

Clown in the Moon My tears are like the quiet drift Of petals from some magic rose; And all my grief flows from the rift Of unremembered skies and snows. I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble; It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream. Dylan Thomas

Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven- William Butler Yeats

AEDH WISHES FOR THE CLOTHS OF HEAVEN


Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

-William Butler Yeats

The Catorialist.

I never find anything marvelous or get anything done half the time because I am really very lazy. So, I must give credit to Fen Frances from Subject of Style - she posted this on her facebook and I almost died of happiness. The Catorialist. Now as you all may know, in a previous post I told you how much I love cats. So The Catorialist blog is PURE heaven for me! Here are some of my favourite pictures...

Bones of Woe- Stan Rice

THE BONES OF WOE

Golden are the bones of woe.
Their brilliance has no place to go.
It plunges inward,
Spikes through snow.

Of weeping fathers whom we drink
And mother’s milk and final stink
We can dream but cannot think.
Golden bones encrust the brink.

Golden silver copper silk.
Woe is water shocked by milk.
Heart attack, assassin, cancer.
Who would think these bones such dancers.

Golden are the bones of woe.
Skeleton holds skeleton.
Words of ghosts are not to know.
Ignorance is what we learn.


-Stan Rice


To see more of Stan Rice's poetry click here.

It was a Sunday.

Don’t trust anyone. There’s very little in this world I care about, with the exception of myself. I would sit with my peers, gazing on. What they never understood was that my silence was plotted, picked out for pristine moments when I became invisible only to observe them, only to smirk at their stupidity and always know that I am better than any of them. They would call me an outsider and look at me sympathetically because they thought that having a shy friend like me would make them look so much sweeter. School politics. Playground etiquette. The Plastics have an odd friend, oh how sweet they are for accepting her into their group, how sweet! No one suspected me of anything.

The world would glance at me and I would glare back with all my fierce hatred and if the world were to ever notice it would recoil in terror and disgust. I have seen the deserts, the blank landscape, the abyss that falls into nothingness. I never looked for a God because God never looked for me. I never searched for my reason because I knew there was no reason. I glare back at the world with all my fierce hatred because I know there is nothing beyond what I see. God is a copy of all the empty hope that fills our empty hearts. I now know that nothing is real and I feel cheated for it.

This realisation, this horrifying revelation came to me like a dream. Whatever I do, I know it doesn’t mean anything. It was a Sunday when my peers came to my house. It was a Sunday when I pushed one of them down the stairs. It was a Sunday when, with calm serenity, I stooped over her limp body and placed the heel of my foot on her nape, applied pressure until I felt the crack and crunch of her bones. It was a Sunday when I killed her just because I could.