1. On DiagnosisWaiting room seatsfilled with decaying masksand health ebbing away.My stick of battered memoriesof running for the on-time busthat held my Guns 'n' Roses listening memories.I wait for my name to come up in lights.The only time that it ever will.5 minutes seems like an eternitywhen waiting for the LED flash of disaster.Suddenly my name appears and I amwaiting room famous for a mere few seconds.I dawdle to the four walls thatmay uphold or crumble my life.A dawdle is akin to a run for meon a good day.Upon entering, the doctor greets mewith a nod and a nervous look in her eyeI wait for the news-my diagnosis of atrophy.Like
9 MonthsFor 9 months I carried youI watched stretchmarks invade my flawless skinLike aeroplane trails in the skyI watched my stomach ever growLike a beautiful rose emerging from nowhere rootsBreathing normally became ambitiousAnd sleeping became a distant memoryAs you kicked your tiny feet against your temporary homeTo inadvertently let me know Your cravings once again9 months went and came far too quicklyLike day turns to night without a thoughtAnd the highs and lows of pregnancyOnce again surfaced themselvesJust before you screamed your way into the worldA nervous wreck at the thought of being a motherWas I going to be good enoug
The HenA young woman named Aurora loved making art, and practiced Sketching all day long to become the very best in all her town. But one day, she was completely stumped. She looked around her room, full of art pieces featuring mystical Cats, sci-fi landscapes of a futuristic Venice, and a portrait of Helena Bonham-Carter that looked so real, you could start a conversation with it. But nothing inspired her. Had she really created everything there was to create? Depressed, she looked out her window, and made a wish on a nearby Hen for inspiration to return to her. The next morning, she sprung out of bed, and used her skill in Sketching to create the
Road to PerfectionI saw bonesEtching themselves from my backForming two arcsLike a swan in frightful painMy once glowing skinFeigned by the dullnessOf perfectionAnd skeletal beauty entwinedMirrors breaking through timeGlass shattering ever so silentlyRose petals scattered on ashen skinTormenting scars with their delicate frailtyWine-stained tearsTrailing from my effete eyesA path, joined in remorseBy the sorrowful sounds on my lipsA tragedy of consequenceProduced by my integrityOf what causes me to become a wallflowerSeeking undying beauty in everlasting peaceTarnished thoughts echoingThroughout this fragile soulStil
Decaying SkinI want to be dustFloating in the care free airFree to roam on breathless sighsEmpty, yet consumedI want to be skinlessShoulder blades etching like swansFrom my decomposing backSo beautifully createdUnder my delicate decaying maskPainting red skies onto my skinThe pain-staking sky washes over meBrushing through my poresAnd leaving trails of crimson secretsThat my lips daren't ever tellDeliverance, decadence, fragilityA breath taking numbnessCold to the touch, and lifeless to the boneMy frayed mentality, forever wearing awayWith each battered and weathered memoryEtching themselves onto my brainLike an art
Perverted PerfectionI told another lie todayAbout the food, on my plateI said that I had eaten it allAs the tears begin to fallAnd I knowThat you knowYou can see through my liesAnd I knowThat you knowYou can see the tears in my eyesOh, it's perverted perfectionA self destructionMy own inflictionA helpless addictionFear consumingMyself in ruinsCovered in bruisesI fade awayStaring at the marks on my skinBlisters oozing withinAnother excuse for every scarI don't think I can take this anymoreAnd I knowThat you knowThese here wounds are from myselfAnd I know That you knowI wish that I was someone elseOh, it's pe
Sta.sh
