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Hold my hand;
Help me understand.

Kick me in the face;
Tell me I'm a waste.

Get down on your knees
With tears and pleas.

Kill me again
After I forgive you, and then

Don't be surprised when next blood is yours.


Random Entry of Randomness

'Sup bitchess?

This is born of boredom. Complete and utter boredom.

Whenever I write utter, it reminds me of udder and I automatically think "moo."

So... I have a headache from my allergies. My ears sometimes hurt from my allergies. And my eye has been twitching for about two months.... from my allergies. In case any of you need me to clear that up for you, I'm having a bad allergy season. Which is funny because up until now, I only thought I had eye allergies. Damn.
I'm getting sick of the Axe undie run challenge ads. Meh.

I'm kind of irritible today mostly because I'm really tired and I haven't been sleeping all that well. Plus, there's this headache.

I'm so excited for my college orientation! It's a week from tomorrow and I seriously can't wait. At all. I just want to go to college now already.

I finished my Burton/Selick/Children's Gothica cube and there'll be pictures... eventually. Once I'm not too lazy to put them up which could be a while.

I'm writing a bunch of fandom ficlets for fic bingo and regular ficlets just for the hell of it because fuck chapter stories. They're too difficult for me.

And... that's about everything. Hoorah.




My first fic for fic bingo =] The prompt was scars. Enjoy.

Billie Joe can't remember being so angry and scared at the same time. Considering his history of paranoia and an anxiety disorder that liked to force him to his knees and rape him up the ass with various panic attacks, being unable to compare his current state to anything else is really saying something. But unlike all those times with panic twisting his guts so that it felt like his intestines would explode from wrapping around each other, this is colder. There is a desire to scream, but it is countered by a desire to reassure and never say a hurtful word again. There is a need to punch and kick and hurt something, but there is also a desire to brush away tears and hold.

So perhaps Billie Joe has been this angry once before, but he's never been so hurt, so... there's no word for it really. In love, he supposes. Only it's the darker side of love he's feeling now, like the dark side of the force only instead of light sabers, the flashes of light are agonized neurons forced to dance too quickly and too restlessly until they bleed unseen behind bits of skull, muscle, and skin.

It isn't like all those other times-- the worst times-- when he'd been younger and he'd felt like ripping his flesh off layer by layer or stabbing his stomach right through to kill the butterflies. It feels like those times, but there's one agonizing difference. It isn't just his mind anymore-- his obscene ability to consistently over-react, chemicals drowning his mentality in a frenzy of over-fired signals. This time, it's something completely different. It's someone else causing this, someone to let his anger lash out at. But he can't. He won't. Never.

Billie Joe hears a knock on the door and the hand that isn't already clenched in his hair convulses into a fist on the surface of his desk. "Yeah?" He asks after a moment, his voice determinedly stiff in his failed attempt at casualness. From the corner of his eye, he sees a head pop in just through the door.

"Dad?" Billie doesn't answer and a pause stretches almost awkwardly. "I'm really sorry..." The door clicks shut softly again and footsteps shuffle creak back down the hallway.

Billie is silent for a long moment. The only sound in the room is the dull buzz and clatter of the air conditioning kicking in again as the temperature in the house rises. He gets up from his desk, the legs of his chair making a soft schick sound as it brushes back the clumpy strands of the carpet. He seems almost calm, but freezes in his tracks as if suddenly realizing he can't possibly go downstairs even though he can tell from the murmuring of his family's voices that they are gathered in the kitchen for dinner. He can't possibly join them and look them all in the eye and be strong. Because he isn't. Because he's seen his weaknesses written all over another's face.

With a yell, Billie Joe takes up the desk lamp, ripping it from its socket before throwing it at the wall. He is seething and panting for a moment before he falls back on the bed with a sharp but almost relieved sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. In the dark, he only has to be himself. He doesn't have to see. He can even pretend he doesn't have to hear.

But memories can't be escaped from and Billie cringes as images of the all-too-near past ghost through his mind's eye. His fists clench again, pulling deep wrinkles into the fabric of the cold blue sheets. His teeth grit and his breath can only just be heard rushing past them. In and out. In and out. His blood surges and red pools in his vision despite the fact that his eyes are closed. Once again, he just wants to scream. But he doesn't. And he doesn't hurt anyone. Not even himself. After all, he's never really wanted to. No.

Because Billie Joe never once wanted to hit his children. Until he'd seen the scars on Joey's arm peeking out under a tattered and over-worn hoodie.


Fic Bingo!

Yeah... kinda wishing I had told them no werewolves and no space. Everyone else got cards full of fun psychological things ;-; Oh well. The time to branch out is now! Here is my card. It can be multiple fandoms, btw. Looks like fun!

eating disorders
sensory deprivation
fear of clowns
earth blowing up, escaping to space
werewolves: accidental mating for life w/ inappropriate person
werewolves: separated from the pack
loss of voice
love spell / potion gone wrong
isolation / accidentally locked in
cuddling for warmth / snowed in
loss of job / income
werewolves: silver poisoning
septicemia/infected wounds
social phobia


One of those weeks... or two

Those weeks where nothing's actually going wrong, so you can't complain even though your heart is about to burst out of your chest and into a bloody puddle on the floor.

Those weeks where all you wish for is to be small enough to sleep in everybody's arms one at a time.

Those weeks where you realize that children see the world in their parents and parents see the world in their children, but you're  stuck somewhere in between and have no such anchor.

Those weeks where you can't decide whether to scream with passion and blood or to curl up into peace and slowly tempt sleep closer.

Those weeks where you wish you could sleep forever and when you say it out loud your mother gives you a frightened look like you're a bomb about to explode... or an amused look like she can't see the weary pain written across your face.

Those weeks where, suddenly, right in the middle, you're confident and on top of the world despite all the things going wrong that weren't there when you actually felt fear. Confident besides wondering: "What the hell is wrong with me?" but only half caring through your uncanny high.


Writer's Block: Light reading

Some books are inspirational. Others are intellectually stimulating or emotionally comforting. Then there are those juicy, mindless reads that are only good for a plane ride or the beach. Which books or authors fall under this last category?

Personally, I think Stephanie Meyer falls BELOW the mindless read category. You know that saying? "Put a thousand monkeys and a thousand type-writers in a room and they'll eventually finish a novel." Twilight was that novel.

Heaven's Horizon:


Pray, Baby, Pray

Help me to forget now.
Take me far away.
Just promise me as best you can
That I won't have Hell to pay.

Hold me to this world
Tie me to the ground.
Just please don't try to tell me
That I was lost, but now I'm found.

Please get me out,
Or else tie me here,
Just to help me stay away
From the razor too long held in fear.

This is my afternoon prayer to you.
Whoever you may be.
To run away with all my pain.
And leave with me some sanity.


First Update since my MIA months

The Good:
I decided where to go to college: USP.
My computer's back and working fine.

The Bad:
I found out I probably have an anxiety order that runs in my family and yet still no one noticed until now.
My relationship feels uncertain and rocky to me even since just after her parents found out.
I quit my job in the middle of a freak-out and realized how fucking stupid it was because I only have 450 or so to ride out two months on and a hundred of that has to stay in the bank and 325 of it was supposed to pay for my band trip. What if I don't get the waitress job?
I'm probably failing everything this marking period.
My lack of motivational skills are slowly killing me and I'm not even done with the school year or scholarships and I'm not in college yet.
I feel like a worthless piece of shit.
I want to sleep forever, but can hardly sleep at all.

The Worst:
I did this whole list to myself.