smudgedxmascara

we are all merely cottonbuds doused in sin. now salt and vinegar taints every taste of you. pray tell, who do you think i am? who do you want me to be? i am not and can not. hearts beat somewhere near by, thumping to the rhythm of the national anthem. but not mine, mine stops. patriotism is lost on the wretched. restart this scene with strawberry tinted glasses framing the new world. overhaul. maybe this time i'll survive.

Trembling, your earlobes long for her shoulder and your lips ache for her palm, but she's gone. You never thought you'd lose her. But change is like a tornado. Unpredictable. It whirlwinds into your life destroying everything that matters to you. Trembling, you begin to countdown, backwards from ten. Thats a trick they taught you in anger management. It never really worked though. The numbers serve as a distraction for those ten seconds and then you recall exactly what you were feeling in the first place, and become nothing short of panicked again. Trembling, you remember the mirror this morning, showing a man drowning in a self-prescribed

Cock your shotgun baby, stare your blues down the barrel. I promise to pull this trigger. I promise to take your life like you took mine. This is screaming Kodak moment. While the flash blinds you, this bullet will burrow through you. Murder is just another act of love. I lost my heart, and damn it feels good losing my mind. Don't I look pretty cutting up my sanity and throwing it back in your fucking cowardly face? I could burn you to ashes with my heated stare, but i just want to gouge out your eyes. Your words were like arrows, shooting straight through my heart, shattering it into a million pieces. Now I'm cold and heartless, just like yo

so many words lost that can never be found, and we need them now. the reflection of my face in your eyes is blurred by the tears welling in mine, and i can't bring myself to look away. where did we go wrong? when did you become a stranger? we can't go back in time, the clock keeps ticking to the beat of your heart, but mine is beating faster than ever before, faster than the speed of light. when i said i wanted to feel, something, anything, i swear i meant it, but this, this is torture. you may aswell have pinned me down and scolded me with the tips of your burning cigarettes, or taken a rusted blade and dragged the cool metal edge along my s

what difference does it make whether my heart is in my chest or on my sleeve, its broken just the same. and all i know for certain is i'm going insane. bruised broken and bleeding, staring at the ceiling. i'm dying to believe that you'll come back to me. but until then i'm shattered, a shell of what once was. and for now i'll go on crying, losing sleep just because. with every single glance my way i fall down to my knees. with my heart in your ice cold hands, do with me as you please.

Trembling. You've never felt this lost before. Countdown, backwards from ten. Thats a trick they taught you in anger management. It never really worked though. The numbers serve as a distraction for those ten seconds and then you remember what you were feeling in the first place, and become nothing short of furious again. Trembling. Don't shake. Tell him it's over. Tell him it's over and walk away, out that door. Don't shake. Don't let him see that it's all a charade. A deception. A fantasy you've built up for his benefit and his alone. Trembling. Walk out that door. Try not to think about sleeping tonight without his warm body next to you,

She's cheap. Too much pink lipstick smeared across her overworked lips. A broken heel on one foot, her skirt hiked up so far she may aswell just take it off, and she will, if you ask. She's broken. Barely scraping up enough self esteem to hold herself up and walk out in public, but she fakes it, parading around head held high for everyone to see. For everyone to judge. And that's exactly what they do. Because she's earnt herself a reputation even the devil would envy. Bad. Bad. Bad. Trash. Trash. Trash. She spends her nights getting smashed. Her makeup on their pillowcases is all that's left come morning, the only hint her bruised bulimic bod

Smashed Dismal was the word she often used to describe her past, although personally she didn't believe it to be potent enough. Her wrists told the story of the hell she called life, each line a tale too horrific to repeat. Memories, relived each day with the sight of each fading scar. She only wanted to forget. After all, who would want to remember a life as hideous as hers? So instead she made it uglier by drinking away her days, and long into the nights. She was once a pretty girl, but now she was so damaged that her beauty was masked by a reputation even Satan would envy. With every sip she sank lower, degrading herself drink by drink.