from my arm today....
the air throbbed and shook with her perfect screams
I'm tearing myself open 'till I'm shreds.
The sound, sickly and rotting, rested in her palm.
Yes, i write on myself when inspirations strike. They strike at odd moments, so be sure to always have a pen. :) I wore one on a necklace once, and i got some strange looks... Also, i was thinking, I love poems, but wouldn't it be cool to test out the 'novel writer' theory again? maybe this summer I'll start a project and do a chapter a week. Sounds like a plan. Hopefully I can keep up.
Now, a poem
Beautiful
She'll do anything they
say, she'll do anything
to escape who she once
was, before they called
her beautiful and ruined
her. They took her,
rumpled and broken,
they took her innocence.
Spiraling down, she'll see
how she once was
but only remember how
they called her beautiful.
She'll cling to that among
the wreckage of her life.
They called her beautiful.
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