Living

There is something dying inside me. I can feel it withering like a tulip in autumn, losing its petals one by one and finally falling into a dry, shriveled stick.
What am I becoming?
I don’t know where I’m going in the dark. It’s all faded and cold and I’m groping for a light switch that doesn’t exist.
I gotta find a light, or I'll be stuck here forever.

Something not depressing: model pictures!

So for those of you who know me well, I'm going to try out for America's Next Top Model this next summer. I know I probably won't get in, but I do want to try. It's kind of an initiation thing--being able to accept who I am after an ultimate rejection of it.
But these are my modeling pictures! I'm obviously getting more of them, since you need a portfolio, but these are the best ones I have so far:

Killing the Light.


Rooftops and Invitations.

Triplets.


Sushi flower.

American Cola. Hypnotik.


Marie Antoinette.

All my photographs were taken by myself except for the "Rooftops and Invitations" which was taken by my roommate A.
I know it's a far cry from a portfolio but I love these pictures to death, so.

God, all I've been doing lately is poetry

There's a reason.
I can't forget you--
you are my black hole;
you suck it all in
and leave nothing inside me.
I wish you could know what
you've done
to me.
From strung-out
to someone.

I want to forget.
Let me leave.
You force me to stay,
your memory makes me
question everything.
You make me ignorant.
No reason--
no reason for me to care
but I do.
And I can't forget you.

Possibility

Rebirth

I.
Agony, shivering--
how much more can I endure?
Trudging onwards through the wasteland:
the teenage wasteland.
Alone. Always alone. Fighting,
fighting everyone,
but most of all myself.
Which makes it all the harder.
Rationalizing, slipping away
further into the delusions.
It is all I can do not to scream,
the gasps
coming short and quick
torn from me
like you were.
Fate is nothing
God, I wish fate were nothing.

II.
Then emerging, breathing,
feeling the light on my cheeks,
the wind on my lips.
Suffering leads to contentment,
though what I am content with
is empty.
Not alone anymore,
sang vivant in my veins,
pulsing like wine.
The dead leaves
are beautiful,
everything is symbolic of my struggle.
Tomorrow might be the wind
that blows out my flame
but it may be the fire
that ignites my heart.

***

Monotony

We go through the motions because we have to.
I tell you welcome,
you ask me my name.
I answer:
Laure.
You fidget with your tie.
You're friends with A.?
Yes, you are.
Have a drink, you ask me.
I say no, but watch you indulge.
The punch stains your lips.
Evening.
And it begins again.

***
Je ne suis la petite bellete de personne.

Find me
if you dare.
if you don't
i'll be alone
forever.

I am so confused.

You
Often
Got
Upset.
Ranting.
Torture.

(I'm doing a food poems. Silly me.)

Too
Overwhelming
For
U

But seriously. Isn't it easier to get lost in the dark?

Despite my Intentions

I almost always get bored with what i'm writing.
This story is no exception...it would have been easier if i wrote it in word so I could just post it all.

whatever.

All I have to say is fifteen thousand things may happen but life is just a charade and so none of them really matter in the long run.

not to say it's not an enjoyable charade. but it still is just something we do because we have to.

Flying Downwards

The room was sterile-smelling, white, and practically empty, save the presence of a hospital bed enclosing a frail looking child. Emmanuel stepped in the door, let it swing close behind him, and pulled off his scrubs.
His wings burst out of their wrappings, showering the pale child in a cascade of white down.
"I bring a message from the Lord."
The child wasn't listening, or at least she wasn't moving. Her brown hair was strewn across her face, covering her eyes. Her tiny chest was heaving.
Emmanuel tried again.
"I bring a message from the Lord." He shook his wings again, but the child did not move.
He wondered vaguely if she was already dead. It was forbidden to touch living people, because upon realizing angels are made of skin and bones, the illusion of a vision is shattered.
But he was almost certain she was, considering her chest had stopped heaving.
He was in deep trouble anyway. He had failed to deliver the message to the child before she died, and it would really make no difference if he touched her hand, just to see.
His fingers closed around two of the girl's. Their surface was cool and clammy.
Well, he thought, she is most certainly dead.
It was quiet for another moment, and then she turned her head towards him, her hair jerking out of her eyes.
"Who are you?" she asked.
Emmanuel backed away quickly.
"I am no one. I am a vision. Go back to sleep."
He didn't know where to go. He was trapped. His wings were exposed, just as he shortly would be.
The window was open. Emmanuel took a running leap out it, the glass shattering painfully around his shoulders. He pulsed his wings, testing, and then gave them one powerful swoop, rising towards the heavens as fast as he could.
When he reached the gates, he was turned away.
You failed your task, God told him. Return to earth and spend time among your people until you comprehend life. Then return, and we shall see if we have a place for you.
And so Emmanuel fell.