Flight268

mafiagirl114 — Tue, 21 Dec 2010 04:34:54 +0000

and in this repository of dead thoughts and silenced emotions, ill pour every last memory of you. until its like ive never met you, never known you.never loved you, never been hurt by you.

like we’re complete strangers, meeting for the first time. no baggage, no history. no scores to keep tallies of, no games to be played.

i want

mafiagirl114 — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 16:18:33 +0000

to find that place where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. im not even sure it exists anymore, but since when do we give a fuck?

i wish i could will myself into nothingness. or at the very least, into feeling nothing. absolutely nothing. Nothing would be pure bliss.

i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel tnohign. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel tnothing. i feel nmothig. i feel tnonghin. i fell nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing. i feel nothing.

I wrote this for you

mafiagirl114 — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 03:35:56 +0000

The world is his pulpit.
He floods it with words,
A great deluge of raw thoughts.
Corrosive,
it eats away at me,
carving new rivers
into me.
Heartsblood
Running into the floor,
Staining the walls
Red;
The lampshade
sprinkled
with the freckles of life.
His words consume me.
He cuts me dead.

Tumblrrr

mafiagirl114 — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 11:29:17 +0000

http://being-and-nothingness.tumblr.com/

been spending way too much time on this site.

birthday cards

mafiagirl114 — Fri, 06 Aug 2010 12:56:57 +0000

Theyre just words,
Written on paper,
Written with ink.
They shouldn’t mean so much,
But they do.
They must
Because she reads them
Again and again
And again.
Words, like an army of ants
Whose mere presence,
Existence, ruins the picnic.
It’s already too late.
The ants,
Hollow as the words they’re made of,
Shuffle her off,
To that mythological place
Where sunsets are pink and gold
And old lovers always reunite
In the rain.
It’s nowhere she knows of.
Her rain smells
Of stale buildings
And staler people.

cosmic joke.

mafiagirl114 — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 22:36:48 +0000

tragic.
in this plane, this moment: i exist.
but only now, in the present.

so bleak. so hopeless. just empty. a bottomless black hole. an abyss.
the feeling of falling into what must surely be the deepest, darkest crevice in the earth.
forgotten.

being eroded away. nothing left of me.

ill join the ranks of the other perfectly molded circles on their conformist mission to roll through life, uneventfully.

memory keeper’s daughter

mafiagirl114 — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 22:32:52 +0000

She cut [paper] and listened. Her silence made him free. He talked like a river, like a storm, words rushing through the old house with a force and life he could not stop. At some point he began to weep again, and he could not stop that either. Rosemary made no comment whatsoever. He talked until the words slowed, ebbed, finally ceased.

Silence welled. She did not speak. …

“All right,” she said [at last]. “You’re free.”

-The Memory Keeper’s Daughter, Kim Edwards

create

mafiagirl114 — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 18:34:28 +0000

Create. Not because you want to or because the mood grabs you or just because you happen to feel like it. Create because you need to. Because it feels like if you don’t, you might die.

We The Living

mafiagirl114 — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 15:13:18 +0000

And who- in this damned universe- who can tell me why I should live for anything but for that which I want? Who can answer that in human sounds that speak for human reason?… But you’ve tried to tell us what we should want. You came as a solemn army to bring new life to men. You tore that life you knew nothing about, out of their guts- and you told them what it had to be. You took their every hour, every minute, every nerve, every thought into the farthest corners of their souls- and you told them that it had to be. You came and forbade life to the living. You’ve driven us all into an iron cellar and you’ve closed all doors, and you’ve locked us airtight, airtight till the blood vessels of our spirits burst! Then you stare and wonder what it’s doing to us.

We The Living, Ayn Rand

visible.invisible

mafiagirl114 — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 18:17:01 +0000

sometimes i feel like ive looked for you so hard, ive lost any chance of finding you.

its habituation. that law of life that says when youre frantically looking for your lost purse, you wont see it sitting on your desk because youre so used to seeing it. or when youre rummaging through the refrigerator, looking for yogurt, it’ll be right at eye-level but still invisible. things would be so much easier if objects could talk, tell you where they are.

then you would always know if you were still looking for something that no longer exists.
not just invisible, but gone.