a girl holding her throat, reading backwards' Journal [entries|friends|calendar] a girl holding her throat, reading backwards [ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ] [ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

[12 Mar 2004|12:51pm] i have relocated if you really want to know then ask 34 lights| shatter the dark

[05 Mar 2004|08:22pm] this is the end 12 lights| shatter the dark

[29 Feb 2004|09:45pm] 13 lights| shatter the dark

[29 Feb 2004|11:44am] 6. she is aged. two decades resting against her skin, against the lines beneath her eyes, in her chest. but they still whisper youth. they do not see her wilting valves and veins. a premature movement of hands. they see her face beneath the round sun and pass her by as vagrant youth. the young will never learn. and it is when she lies down to sleep. imagination takes her turn. pulling on all the strings attached to her heart and lungs. vital organs too still to work while the sleeping disease takes hold. a sleeping, jerking marionette. a landscape of emotion she whispers. i have to write. the words push from under her skin, indentations of knowledge pulling through. above her collarbone the letters r and k and l break the skin. in the space beside her elbow and wrist words surface and dive again. but they will not form in the skin of her tongue. a thick organ that adheres to its only rules and books. only her body can tell you. small metal typewriter teeth working from within. 3 lights| shatter the dark

[28 Feb 2004|08:25pm] 4. memory. a room with three walls. a window painted green. the everlasting heat and weight of vegetation. a room with wooden floors and tired walls. a vintage girl sitting deep. a dusted sunshine slipping through. a vine sliding its growth inside a photograph of a dead woman and her child. and yet we like to think everyone is still living. a southern sigh runs across her backbone. she listens with her hands against her throat as a man begins his digging in the yard. there is too much heat and sun for him. too much weight to bear. this life he did not ask for. digging against dirt as hard as bone. her imagination slips from her wrists just when her head is turned. she was listening to the birds again. the walls come down and there is too much to bear. an occasion for all things. and the windows were painted a cruel green. 5. five is missing 7 lights| shatter the dark

[28 Feb 2004|10:03am] 3. a liquid heat. a heat producing liquid. a drop rolling down a curved bone. and back again. the air a mass of emotion, foreign and blind. a timid tongue with too many words to force out and beyond. sitting with her head forward, a sickness stirring behind closed eyes. a mind that cannot and will not contain all. she is sitting like a book closed. ink bleeding between her hands, words floating between her hips. a heat she cannot contain and yet her imagination eggs her on. it is there, beyond your hands. bones connected to bones, a cradle to rest on. a massive code of the heart. open one valve and another shatters. one and zero one and zero. there are tricks to this trade. lying back and waiting. a sun that will never err, never stop bursting. she lets fear slip beside her, another shoulder pressed to hers. a back seat full of fictional characters and emotion. the skin beneath the wrists she says. is it true? is there some secret hidden there. delicate bird like bones, a tired mess. is it true if you just move this bone over to the side a little? look deep. there is a tiny organ hidden there. a tiny heart beating its beat. no one speaks of it but it is there. a second heart for us. a medical book mystery i promise. but listen dear. fear in her red dress and diamonds falling. it is a second heart, just smaller in size and fluid. but just don’t press too hard.... or it will burst like seeded fruit. 2 lights| shatter the dark

[27 Feb 2004|01:11pm] 5 lights| shatter the dark

[27 Feb 2004|01:10pm] 2 lights| shatter the dark

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