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playing with fire.
i unleashed lethal truth upon my parents last night. i want to drown my despairs in alcohol, i want to swallow a final handful of my precious pills, i want to run the razorblade to soul-ripping pressures. they think “productive parenting” includes shackling me down, turning off the lights, and tiptoeing off to dreamland where they can conjure up a creation of a perfect daughter that is the polar opposite of me.
they underestimate me, just like everyone else. if they want to put me in a straightjacket instead of surrounding me in a much-needed hug, then let the games begin.
sitting up straight-backed on night-watch, i wonder if they think they are doing some heroic heartfelt act by treating me like a mental monster. scrutinizing eye sockets, studying and surveying my every destructive move, they failed to catch a glimpse of the shining savior that i kept safely hidden against my delicate wrists. the knight in shining armor that sliced open skin as a sacrifice to prove that they can take away my mental freedom, but i will always have my escape. silent showcases of sadness to others, powerful portrayals of passion to myself.
they are all bark and no bite, and thankfully, i’m an untamable tornado ready to rip them to tears. bring on the blood, bruises, and betrayal. fuckers.
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i may crash and burn, but at least i’m flying.
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blindness.
me: you only desire me so hard because i'm unobtainable.
him: i desire you because you are the pure form of sexuality.
you're brilliant.
you're beautiful.
you're broken, yet strong.
you're an equal.
you're rare.
it's your essence, not your unobtainability
i have no desire to conquer you
i desire to enjoy you.
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i hate when people don't let me isolate myself.
nameless nobody: what else do you enjoy?
me: shooting meth and practicing the occult.
nameless nobody: wow, you really are perfect.
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hints are not taken nowadays.
me: you're an imbecile. fuck off.
random person with penis: i think i love you.
me: i keep thinking you cannot possibly be any more stupid, but you continue to prove me wrong.
penis: let me take you on a date.
me: you have got to be joking. seriously, go eat a dick. you blew your first impression with me.
penis: i don't care about my first impression because i think you're a bitch.
me: good, let me be a bitch away from you.
penis: then why are you still talking to me?
me: because i know you'll think about me when you masturbate tonight and it's boosting my ego.
penis: i would fuck you and you would enjoy it.
me: i don't enjoy rubbing vaginas with little girls, thanks though.
penis: (laughs) you're cute, i'd fuck you better than you've ever been fucked.
me: the chances of that ever happening are even smaller than your penis.
penis: (walks away).
-
tonight’s cocktail is certainly promising. i’m a goddamn bartender.
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pupils and passion.
the smoldering sapphires staring through me from under his brow tell stories. the emeralds set in my own eye sockets only craft fiction. boy, do i know how to spin lies.
his eyes swear forever, flatter with vows of only me. i want to believe the brutal honesty burning black holes in his face, but i can only see my reflection in those crystal blue mirrors. are his promises as permeable as mine?
i stare into infinite ocean layers as i try to find forever, only finding memories of yesterday, a sketchbook of today, a blueprint of a shared tomorrow.
his eyes whisper secrets. either the truth or torn fragments, i want to share his silence.
who knew so much could be said in a stolen second. crashing blue waves colliding with crushing green galaxies, to merge into one wonderful world.
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winning quotes from the afternoon.
me: “i’m busy carving a pentagram into my boyfriend’s chest and sacrificing our unborn child to satan.” him: “i doubt even satan would have the balls to babysit your kid…”
him: “here’s something you should find amusing, i’m doing a course so i can qualify to teach english as a foreign language.” me: “your students are going to be vulgaric excuses for imbeciles.” him: “hehehe yeah, poor fuckers. luckily it’s not really the academic eglish teaching we’re used to, it’s more about teaching them to speak it.” me: “*english. god help them.”
me: “because being stable is slow and boring. i miss mania and mayhem. shit, my assonance and alliteration are out of control.”
me: “i don’t know which came first, shitty rave music or the drugs. thank god there are more hours of entertainment in the latter.” him: “well i first met you in like january of 11 and with the wisdom of hindsight you seemed pretty deep in both by that time already or am i wrong?” me: “still am. less drugs. louder music.”
him: “yeah the first time i saw you, you were necking wine at like 7:30 in the morning, but back then i thought you were like 19, i never believed you were only 16 then, then i saw something you said on tumblr that removed any doubts i had, and then… you started posting your writing and you blew my fucking head off, i’ve never seen talent like that for someone of that age. nor most ages to be perfectly honest.” me: “my daily goal was to literally get more fucked up than the day i did before. mixing 10 different kinds of pills and smoking it ontop of heroin while injecting ice into my arm at the same time, it was wild. wild and dangerous, that shit i miss. and when i was coming down, i would write. you should see what i can conjure up sober ;D.”
him: “don’t worry honey, of all the people who saw you, all the males would have wanted you and the females to have a body half as good as yours, so look on the bright side haha, fucking hell you’re stunning, (i just said that last bit out loud without thinking) so i thought i may as well type it too.” me: “you say outloud what you type frequently? are you slow?” him: “haha i guess i walked into that one. no but you just are, and i’m extremely not used to being impressed by looks, but with you apparently i’m audibly impressed.” me: “that’s flattering. except today i’m going all out in “african baby belly-esque”. i haven’t eaten in a good minute, so today when i allow myself food, my stomach bloats like sexy starving children infested with disease. didn’t you hear, the third-world look is SO hot right now.”
him: “my point is you’re fucking perfect so stop trying so hard <3. me: “silly boy, i have atelophobia. i can’t kick it for the life of me.” him: “silly girl, the irony of you suffering from that is almost funny if it wasn’t so horrible.” me: “because fear is a flaw?” him: “someone with a fear of being imperfect, who in reality in appearence at least is naturally perfect, and is intellectually fucking miles in the stratosphere above 99% of the human race.” me: “i enjoy your ego boosting. i may not agree, but you don’t have to stop. like rape, or stroking someone’s facail hair when you talk to them. it’s not right, but it feels nice.”
him: “thinking about what you said about you not being significant…i thought, can you imagine if a TV network had the balls to give Cailin her own show, or if you were published on the scale of JK Rowling…the world wouldn’t know what had fucking hit it, with your brutal honesty and your skill with words, you would be fucking epic on a global scale.”
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boobies are beautiful.
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i have this condition.
that makes me want to kill and fuck all the time.
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when i get down on my knees, it is not to pray.
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light up. smoke up. shut the fuck up.
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my future.
is meaningless now, flavorless as an icicle melting, drip by
drip
to only puddle and freeze again upon shadowed ground. they say to
drop
the pretense, as if confessing my heart was a game of charades.
tears
such as these could only be born of soul-ripping sorrow. they
fall
in insistent procession, summer rain upon parched playa,
relentless.
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love.
it’s a curious thing, the l-word. sometimes it barrels into you, detonates in an explosive illumination that leaves you breathless. other times, it trickles into your life, a tentative beam of morning sun sneaking through the blinds.
you think such light isn’t possible until you feel its warmth proving its existence.
the shutters are drawn. night should linger on. i don’t feel like waking to darkness amplified by burnt-out bulbs. yet the room comes slowly lit with the small sparks he can light with his hands. sleep slithers away, and at last i can no longer deny the dawning.
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the winning quotes from the night.
in chronological order:
“quit trying to be the male version of cailin, fucker! she does not like you.” - isabelle.
“he’d pass out on the way to the kitchen, but he has no problem getting to your house? cute.” -isabelle.
“then just keep verbally raping him online. who cares.” -isabelle. **oh the irony of this one is almost beautiful.
“haha how evil and wonderful. show me the conversation when you’re done destroying him a little.” -isabelle.
“no. i. am. busy. and you are obviously retarded and incapable of processing basic communication a five year old could easily grasp.” -cailin.
“you’re so insecure and your penis is so small you’re afraid to come out of the closet.” -cailin.
“this is better than a soap opera.” -isabelle.
“cut? fit? try boney and repulsively skinny. no wonder no one will fuck you. girls won’t even pity fuck you in fear you’d shatter into a million pieces of pathetic. so you move on to guys and even they won’t let you get your dick wet.” -cailin.
“i think i would remember fucking something so repulsive. the taste of vomit in my mouth after would be a pretty strong reminder.” -cailin.
isabelle: “because boy do you like to kiss when you’re drinking.” cailin: “do you blame me? it’s the only time anyone looks decent.”
“fuckit. if i don’t remember, it didn’t happen.” -cailin.
“have fun dying an unloved, unvalued, useless virgin.” -cailin.
“dude, i’m a psychopath. what can i say? it may be harsh, but i’m just fucking with him. he’s not a virgin, he got cozy with the inside of a faggot’s butthole, remember?” -cailin.
“you’re not a psychotic, you’re not cailin, you’re a fucking loser.” -isabelle.
“you fucked me, congrats. but now, you. are. the. fucked. one.” -cailin.
“a mindless moron. a god damned pedophile. there are no words to describe just how pathetic he truly is.” -isabelle.
“you ruined me by telling everyone what I did. made me feel like shit. made me freak the fuck out. like on sunday. you had me so upset that day that I broke my phone and all that i did that night was think about you. I FORGIVE YOU.” -theguythatrapedme. **keep in mind that HE raped ME, but don’t worry darlings! he forgives meee.
theguythatrapedme: “why do you hate me so much?” cailin: “you got me drunk and completely took advantage of me. i’m going to ruin you.” theguythatrapedme: “like what the fuck did i fuckin do to deserve this?” cailin: “YOU. RAPED. ME.”
“After what just happened…. I am always a decent person” -theguythatrapedme. **yes ladies and gents! rape is equivalent to high moral standard these days, start forcing yourself on each other to become ‘decent people’.
cailin: “please just tell me, you owe me at least this dude.” theguythatrapedme: “you owe me.” **for what? his mindblowing six inches of rape? think of shoving a marshmallow into a slot machine, i assume it was hardly a picnic.
“he has no idea what i’m capable of. i wiped my own blood on my mother’s face for fuck’s sake!” -cailin.
“you know how to scare him. you know what buttons to push. you know what it takes to break him down. destroy him. he hasn’t a chance.” -isabelle.
cailin: “i would call you an asshole, but at least that serves a purpose to me.” theguythatrapedme: “wow don’t call me that shit. apologize.” cailin: “i’m sorry you have less value than something who’s only purpose is to produce shit.”
“define ‘decent person’… does he mean a mindless asshole with no respect to women or friends or the value of honesty?” -isabelle.
isabelle: “i’m normally an insanely kind person. but he’s a piece of shit…” cailin: “i’m normally kind of an insane person ;D.”
isabelle: “it would probably be some alien spawn that would end up killing you in some cheesy sci-fi movie type way.” cailin: “i will literally coathanger that shit. inject drano into my stomach. kill the devil beast!” isabelle: “i’d punch you in the ovaries and push you down some stairs because nobody deserves to be the mother of his child! people like him need to be neutered.”
“he’s made my night by ruining my day.” -cailin.
moral of the story: sometimes it’s best to find the humor in ugly situations. keep smiling my lovelies, not every cloud is full of tears. xo.
