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Mind x
Records x
Lovers x
Soul x
Synthetic Hearts
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[Fri] |
| [ |
music |
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Heaven Help Us by My Chemical Romance |
] |
You may have been missing me.
Fact is I'm on Rhymenotreason a new elljay. Because, I feel as if I've grown out of this one. Time for a fresh start.
You may have noticed I use the names Elly and Sarah. Sarah is my first name, but I like being called Elly(my second name) most of the time, and refer to myself as it. So like, don't get confused
Thanks. Looking forward to talking with you, ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) can0you0chance !
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| Don't listen to what I say (Listen to what I don't say) |
[Tue] |
| [ |
mood |
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 nostalgic |
] |
1
Every morning I wake up to my funeral song, and repress the urge to roll over and die. Or go back to sleep. Yes, I mean sleep.
Every time I look at you I forget why I am not into doing this, and there's this feeling in my stomach telling me you are the one I want. But you’re not, because you can’t be. We can’t. I am heart broken about you moving.
Secret compartments,
Hidden rooms,
Boxed memories,
Air vent fumes.
Relocating promises,
Untying ties,
Give away stories!
Forgiving lies
Bundles of flowers,
Forgotten friends,
-Moving Houses-
Brand new ends
2
Except of course, you are just moving away from me, not moving house.
Everytime, and I can’t… I just stop, physically, mentally (not emotionally) and I think “how could you ever….?” And I ask myself more “Why are you killing me like this, it’s fucking stupid”
Maybe one day I will talk to someone apart from myself about my problems, but we know where that got me last time. Yeah, yeah. Going to hell. I get it.
Kiss me underneath the moon, one last time.
Just so I can remember the way happiness tastes, the way everything melts, looks better in the half light
(I thought I loved you, but it was just how you looked in the light) "Hearts don't break, you silly fool. Hearts can't break because they beat and make you blush. No, hearts don't break- just crack like the glass you wrote goodbye on."
&&
"You're the lightning, I'm the river guard. Bending the starts to reach infinity for these electric kisses that make me think about you."
You is a feeling, a notion. It's mind over you don't matter. When I meet you, it's sure I will make you bleed.
-----Let me rub my nostalgia all over you. My favourite myth ever is the one about the the ancient people who were two people joined together, and perfect. The gods were jealous and split them apart- scattering them differently over the Earth. Then doomed to walk the world alone, searching for their soulmate. I don't like happy endings, but I don't think we're heading there anyway. (again with the you)
3
Sometimes. I think I use that word too often. Sometimes, sometimes. It's like I cannot make up my mind.
I've been feeling rather lost lately, I can't write. I feel as if my drawing is getting better though, and I've been practicing my portraits and such. I know I suck compared to some people, but I do feel as if I'm making tiny little bits of progress with each picture.
There are so many story ideas in my head at the moment, though. There is the platonic one, and the repeating one, and the broken one. There maybe be others, but I can't remember- oh wait, there's the dream one as well.
They're all really overdue to be written, and I just can't bring myself to touch them, because I stuff them up every time I try. Nothing I write is ever good enough. Honestly, I know I'm a fuck load better than a lot of people my age, but after seldom reading my age group's stories, I've found that I kind of suck compared with what I want to be. I want to be more than I will ever amount to. My aspirations are huge and impractical.
Here's a moral dillema: Lets say you're pregnant(and, obviously female) and you're say, one month into pregnancy when you find out you're positive with AIDS.
Your kid is definatly going to be AIDS positive too. You can either get an abortion- never letting the kid see day light, let him/her play. Never live, or give birth to them, and force them into constant medicines, needles that will really hurt, -until they die at the age of somewhere between five to ten. Keep in mind that this child will also be forced to watch his/her mother die -because you have AIDS, and well, your fate is sealed. You can either kill him/her now, or give him/her a short, excrusiatingly painful at times, life of between five to ten years.
I honestly have not idea, but if I was the child, I think I would rather have been killed in the womb. Before I got to see everything that I would never have
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| Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same |
[Tue] |
| [ |
mood |
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contemplative |
] |
| [ |
music |
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FOB - of all the gin joints in the world |
] |
Either
These happened to me/ Are what I want/Should Happen:
*I want to be able to express everything though words, hand gestures.
I've been listening to "Of All The Gin Joints In The World" for three days on repeat now.
*"I've got headaches" reminds me of a story I once read.
Everything around me is changing, and I'm that's exactly what I'm afraid of. I want to change, but *I want everything around me to stay the same. Same people same conversations, same school, same problems there. I want to have a fantasy place I escape to. Sometimes I write what I want my life the be like, and will fantasize about that for days on end.
*If I could live in my mind, I would. Though, it is a scary place.
*I once had the wizards guild book thing, right? Yeah. Not a good thing for a person with my imagination. I had a castle, in my mind. I kept on finding weird ways and fun places. Bad thing is, though, I have the shortest attention span. So I'd sit, think, smile, imagine, all in about five mins or less.
*I'm one one of those people who loves to quote songs.
*Today, in the Library, the librarian looked at my shirt and told me her daughter's friend also liked My Chemical Romance.
*I love people individually, but not in general. I live for crowds. All the people together, but separate, moving in all different directions and places.
*I want to fly more than anything in the world, sometimes, be free.
*Someone should tell Brendon Urie that it's possible to pass out from sheer joy.
*Suddenly, I am hit with manga. Like, slapped. In. The. Face. man, it hurts like a bitch.
*I do things not because I want to do it for me, but because I love proving people wrong.
(I one read a story called "In The Sound" I can never read it again because everytime I try I cry my eyes out)
Has anyone read "How To Make A Bird" by Martine Murray?
The main character, Manon, thinks similar tothe way I do.
All I really want is to be loved. All anyone wants. It's what we are.
We all want to be loved
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| Strong Words. |
[Sat] |
| [ |
mood |
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 amused |
] |
| [ |
music |
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You Can't Be Missed If You Never Go Away (CobraStarship) |
] |
I'm okay today, I guess. I'm still highly amused by Ryan Ross's tatoos, and I'm finding a story I didn't finish reading ages ago that made me very happy.
But well, most of it is Ryan's tatoos.
Veil The feeling is of rainbows
Life after death,
See through walls- windows
Where you take a new breath,
The after, after life
Behind every camera, another,
Picture of a picture
Every mother’s mother’s mother,
Sunsets replace sunrises
We’ll swap black for your white,
All shades of grey
Every measurement of light,
Those who wear the mask
A veil- they hide,
It’s a deception or an escape
Everyday has a new tide.
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| Imprint |
[Wed] |
| [ |
mood |
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 creative |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Patrick Stump - So Sick |
] |
Okay. So after a hundred million emo posts, I've decided to deliver some sweet, sweet slash. (Because, hello? Who does not love slash?) and well, this is kinda gender switch, because Peter is Peyton. So technically, it is not slash. Oh, I confuse myself even. Anyways, lyrics from G.I.N.A.S.F.S, and Patrick and Peter each belong to themselves. -Or um, Fueled By Ramen.
Here we go.
900 words of no cussing, late night conversations between best friends.
Imprint Sometimes, when the lights come on, and the stars go out, all we really need is for someone to care. And when the lights go out, the only thing we are afraid of is the dark, not what we’ll do about the rent that is overdue, what choices should we make to help us in the long run. In the dark, there is only unfamiliar, dark, blinding, suffocating silence. There is no world, there is only heavy, labored breathing. Time stands still, and you can hear your own heart beat in your ears, buh boom, buh boom, which drowns out everything else, so even if your fears were truly after you, you could not be able to hear them. But of course, nothing is there. Those who are afraid of the dark are really only afraid of their own imaginations. Afraid of the things cooped up inside their own brains, gnawing on their consciousness, to be let out at night and wreak havoc in one’s dreams. Leave a lasting scar, an imprint on your thoughts. * In her own way, Peyton really is a brilliant person. Smart, funny, easy to get along with. Contrasted with her slightly strange humor, and habit to take things into her stride, she could be rather endearing, in perspectives of the right people, of course. Peyton has a friend called Patrick. He’s pretty different from her, and people are often surprised at how well they get along, considering. He’s quiet, but you can tell just by looking at him he’s pleasant, and with another glance, smart. Peyton will tell anyone who’ll listen, “Patrick is my golden ticket” (By which she means; We’re going to do great things. And she’s right. She often is) ** There are some nights when Peyton can’t sleep. She just, just can’t get her brain to stop thinking so much, and settle down. Loops on trivial issues, things that have no place in her half sleep- half wakeful world. Not topics to be discussed at the wee hours, with, or without other people. She turns over, and whispers to the person in the other twin bed beside her. “Trick, Trick, are you awake?” He shifts, mumbles incoherently, and turns away from her. “Trick?” He sighs, “Yes, Peyton. I’m awake, seeing as you’re stopping me from sleeping,” He’s turned back to face her, and rubs his eyes, stretching a little. “What time is it?” “Early? Umm,” She glances at her clock. “Uh, three? I can’t sleep.” “Oh really? Neither can I. Wonder why.” “I’m sorry. It’s just… there’s these words stuck in my head. I think they’d make great lyrics, but I can’t get the wording right.” She plays with the frayed edges of her quilt as she says this, nervous habits showing. “Okay.” He could ask ‘Why can’t you do this in the morning?’ or ‘Why did you wake me up then?’ but it’s just ‘okay.’ Because everything is never great, it’s ‘okay.’ And things are never bad. They’re ‘okay.’ Never really giving out more information than needed. After a while of them him just blinking sleepily at her and her staring intensely back, he says “What’s the line? Would you let me help- saying it out loud would help me.” “It’s more than that though. There are these things I’m trying to portray, but they’re deeper that what I can make them sound. It’s like thin ice over deep water, but I can’t tap further than the surface.” She says, and sighs. “But the line is: ‘I’ve traced your shadows on the walls, now I kiss them whenever I’m down’. Obviously that’s not literally what it means. No one is going to be kissing dry plaster and asbestos, really. I mean it metaphorically. Or hypothetically.” She looks up at him, confused, and then goes on to study her hands. “I forget which one I’m saying. But it means; wherever ‘you’ are- no matter how far away- there will always be an imprint left behind. A lasting memory left on the people ‘you’ met, conversed with, and even loved.” “That’s a good line. Who are you referring too?” He says, maybe just a little impressed at her ability to make sense at such an early hour. “I like the whole concept. It reminds me of this thing I read on haunted houses eons ago. Some events leave such a feeling on the house, that it leaves an imprint on -in- the walls, and people who visit it later can get the feeling. Like footprints in the dry sand.” She smiles, and shakes her head slightly at him, but drops the whole topic of words. “Our tour ends tomorrow.” She says, instead. “I’m going to L.A, and you’re heading back to Chicago.” And he says, catching the meaning she was trying to share before. “Don’t worry, Pey. I’ll be coming over to your house in no time, darken your doorstep and cast shadows on your walls. I might not even leave, considering even if it is metaphorical, I don’t want you to get paint on your teeth.” She darts her hand out of her quilt quickly, and hits his hand playfully. But she doesn’t take her hand away, and instead clasps their hands together. “There was another line. “I sleep in you old shirts, and walk through this house in your shoes…” *** They don’t actually get back to sleep that night.
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| Red and White |
[Thu] |
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Why do you give me mixed signals?
First, you really talk to me, and joke along.
But then. Then I say just a little bit more, and my reply is nothingness.
Why do you confuse me so much?
Also, guys and guyettes; I have pimped up my poem.
There’s a memory in my closet I trap in there with lock and key Stolen glances and sneaky peeks Silently, I watch it watch me. There’s a nightmare in my closet, Because the memory was not set free Mulling over it’s past and present But still, I leave it be. There’s a killer in my closet, Closed up where naught can see I attempt to evade it’s vision It’s hard, you must agree. There’s a destiny in my closet, Consuming my time and energy, My demise is near, I’m too far deep, Drowning in thoughts like the sea.
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[Thu] |
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There's this feeling in my chest. It’s kind of hot, restricting my movements, pulling my insides closer and closer together. Smushing them inside me. There's these butterflies in my stomach, with fire on their winds, setting alight everything and causing it to burn, burn down with such beauty and elegance and grace. It’s kind of endearing, what you do to me. Wonderfully wonderful and beautifully beautiful. It’s chocolate dipped in happiness and I get to eat it this time. So what if I’ll get a little heavier from eating it. So what if I have to use a little more effort every time I run now. These things you’re making me feel, making me dream of and wish about. The things I look up into the sky and see reflected in the stars. You’re causing them. But you don’t believe in love.
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| (Once, and once again) |
[Sat] |
| [ |
music |
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The Music Or The Misery (Fall Out Boy) |
] |
To write love on her arms
And wish it was true
Write it in red
And she’d wish it was you
To write lie on her arms,
And on her mouth too
Forever in black
But for no one to view
To write live on her arms,
And believe it was new
Swear by its white
But she’d live by its blue
To write laugh on her arms,
And be seen by a few,
Life’s fuller in yellow
And she'll pick up the clue
Edited, and better. In my opinion, at least.
Oh. Oh. And I want to write about fire next. And maybe a short story about these girls, kinda inspired from Project Zero (crimson Butterfly) Not the actual ghosty-camera thing, but the whole relationship between Mio and Mayu, and the one called... Sae? Yeah, I think. Just the whole, idea consept thing of thinking because you love someone, (LIKE I'M NOT BEING INCEST, SO YOU KNOW) doesn't mean you are the one they will turn to. Hard to explain in short
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| It doesn't matter what you say (it doesn't matter anyway) |
[Thu] |
| [ |
mood |
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 crushed |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
A Lack Of Colour (DeathCabForCutie) |
] |
You’re making an egregious mistake if you think I’m okay. And I’m not just saying that because of teenage hormones. Because I cannot relate to anyone anymore, or share mutual interests with them. Because well, my family don’t like what I like, and my friends are into subject that don’t really appeal to me. And no. I can’t change and like them. That’s the erroneous answer. And I’m correct unless I used that word in the wrong context. In that case, well. Excuse my emo. (This has primary colours, and the two primary shades. But’s and And’s in symmetrical places, all l’s in respected places. To Write Love on her arms- technically not mine. But the poem is 30 mins of my sleeping time, thanks a lot.) To write love on her arms And wish it was true Write it in red And she’d wish it was you To write lie on her arms, And stick to it like glue Always in black But that’s a point of view To write live on her arms, And believe it was new Swear by its white But she’d live by its blue To write laugh on her arms, And be seen by a few, Life’s fuller in yellow And she’ll pick up the clue (This is fact not fiction, for the first time in years) This is for you, because there’s a lack of colour here.
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