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flowmorphiaslow
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Name: Bernardine
Birthday: 3/29/1930
Gender: Female
Interests: Music, art, performing arts, photography, gigs, Post Secret, Marilyn Manson, Oliver Sykes, getting stoned and whole loads of other shit I like to do.
Expertise: Want a joint?
Message: message me
MSN: bernardine.sorely.addicted
Member Since:
9/27/2007
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| Home is not the best sanctuary. At least not to me. Home may be a place for me to shelter late at night, to hide away from all the howling wolves that come out so that they can be fed with our blood and flesh, but it's also a place that chokes me, and sometimes it gets hard to breathe, and I can't think straight, and these fears in the form of spiders crawl on my spine and my head spins, and the clouds watch while they descend, and the air thins, there's no kindness nor love here, just breaths of madness. | | |
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I feel like I'm not drowning fast enough.
This hurts. | | |
| I am standing alone at a crossroad, I do not see any form of a human nor flashing cars, just me and this empty space that's surrounding me, a hard shield of cold. The sky is painted a perfect glow of midnight, a turbulent rain has already started but I do not care, I do not want to move, my mind racing on all the things you have done to me and all the inflicting pain you have caused.
They all slowly shatter down in great demise and my hurt grow stronger, I watch the raindrops fall down hopelessly, aimlessly, they remind me of my feeble strength and hopes that have crashed not long ago. And as soon as the raindrops silently touch the ground and the trees, they gracefully melt away with them in significance and flow down the pavements and cracks. | | |
| In my world, the sun no longer shines the way it used to anymore, my happiness has faded into a heavy dark shade of midnight, and everything has lost its beauty, its importance, its sole purpose of existance.
And the words you speak are the ocean's waves that pull me deep down under, far away from the glaring sky, beneath all the unspoken truths and unkept promises, I drown until my limbs start to fail and my heart goes obsolete. | | |
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"In the midst of the morning pull up a blanket of a cloud, and await for the warning of another come down, because the water is healthy for the roses in your cheeks. My well holds plenty for penny wishing in your deep end, and when the lights go out, no doubt, with you I'll be." | | |
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