This is gunna sound crazy, I just know it.
But sometimes I get an itch to write and I can't... so I look thorugh my old shit and read over it, see how I would change it.. what I like about it, ask others for their opinions as well... So yeah, the following is a piece I just recently wrote... about three weeks ago. It's the first thing I have put on paper that I've read over afterwards and not wanted to tear up. (At leats in the past two years.) So while I know at least one Hippo that's read it and given me her feed back... I'd like other peoples ideas on the piece as well.
I think that its the begining of a sotry, but I'm not sure yet... just please, no one freak and assume it means I'm contemplating death... far from it... things just pop from my brain to paper... it's the way I write, it dosn't mean it's how I'm feeling.
***
It doesnt hurt half as much as the World lets on, ya know. If the razor is sharp enough you really dont feel a thing. Sure, theres a definite sting after the cuts are made, but by then youre pretty oblivious to everything except the realization that you finally did it Youve taken that impossible leap from speaking it, to doing it.
In a way, its like losing your virginity I suppose just completely on the other end of the spectrum.
Everyone thinks that something like attempted suicide is a thing that stays with a person for their whole life the funny thing is, I dont remember much about it. From the moment I stepped into the bath-tub to the point where I woke up in the hospital bed is a complete haze except for the blood. Everything but the blood seems like a dream, I remember watching it run down the length of my naked arms, like garnet colored tears. I remember vaguely thinking that if I let all the blood run out of my body it would take all the hurt and pain with it that if I drained myself completely there wouldnt be anything for my guilt or sadness to thrive on. The drops fell onto the ceramic arm of the tub, the small plink sound they made echoed in my ears, it was the only sound I could comprehend. The splatters made the most wonderful shapes, they reminded me of clouds in the middle of a sunset that deep red color they sometimes take on. And for that moment I was at peace.
***
Okay there it is... bladdy blah blah can you tell I'm bored?
But sometimes I get an itch to write and I can't... so I look thorugh my old shit and read over it, see how I would change it.. what I like about it, ask others for their opinions as well... So yeah, the following is a piece I just recently wrote... about three weeks ago. It's the first thing I have put on paper that I've read over afterwards and not wanted to tear up. (At leats in the past two years.) So while I know at least one Hippo that's read it and given me her feed back... I'd like other peoples ideas on the piece as well.
I think that its the begining of a sotry, but I'm not sure yet... just please, no one freak and assume it means I'm contemplating death... far from it... things just pop from my brain to paper... it's the way I write, it dosn't mean it's how I'm feeling.
***
It doesnt hurt half as much as the World lets on, ya know. If the razor is sharp enough you really dont feel a thing. Sure, theres a definite sting after the cuts are made, but by then youre pretty oblivious to everything except the realization that you finally did it Youve taken that impossible leap from speaking it, to doing it.
In a way, its like losing your virginity I suppose just completely on the other end of the spectrum.
Everyone thinks that something like attempted suicide is a thing that stays with a person for their whole life the funny thing is, I dont remember much about it. From the moment I stepped into the bath-tub to the point where I woke up in the hospital bed is a complete haze except for the blood. Everything but the blood seems like a dream, I remember watching it run down the length of my naked arms, like garnet colored tears. I remember vaguely thinking that if I let all the blood run out of my body it would take all the hurt and pain with it that if I drained myself completely there wouldnt be anything for my guilt or sadness to thrive on. The drops fell onto the ceramic arm of the tub, the small plink sound they made echoed in my ears, it was the only sound I could comprehend. The splatters made the most wonderful shapes, they reminded me of clouds in the middle of a sunset that deep red color they sometimes take on. And for that moment I was at peace.
***
Okay there it is... bladdy blah blah can you tell I'm bored?
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Our favorite CEO has begun unleashing her nazibitch directorship on my book,