where have you gone, joe dimaggio? [poetry, fiction, nonfiction and other random excerpts of unfinished or uninspired writing. updated sporadically.]

You will never not cut their fingers. You will never not cut your own.

life's a song and i just mouth the words. pillowbook.

I scrub, and I scrub, and I scrub.

you are nothing

assume i don't know how to say no.

i know you can't breathe.

i want to hold you like memory.

SLASH. Elliot's pretty sure his temperamental flat mate, Quinn, has a problem with him. But since he likes to call himself a pacifist, he'd rather watch MythBusters than find out why.

I'm blind.

I forget how scared I was of everyone before I came out. How I couldn't trust anyone because if they found out, my life would come to an end, figuratively of course, unless it wasn't. Trigger warning for self-harm, suicide, anti-gay violence, homophobia.

"intoxicated with madness i'm in love with my sadness": The Smashing Pumpkins - Zero

speckled along my arms.

That certain feeling only that uncertain person gives you.

"I don't feel like I can be close to you."

and suddenly, it's two years ago

I want to climb into the lap of my rapist father. Novella. Complete.

she's got the universe mapped out in her head.

i've hit bottom, time for the climb.

but never finding what I want.

Everything must run its course.

I'm not yet done painting you as something glorious.

oh what has this world done to you?

we're running away to london after not speaking for two years

Each time she slits your throat only words come out.

playing in gasoline - FootstepsToNowhere - littlest clouds - writerlike - lights over sounds

hello, hello said the butterfly to the moth

there's a dark side to everything on the radio.

in want of productiveness, to put

It's harder than it seems with no creative outlet.

you are part of the scene. it's beating in my veins, and i'll take it into consideration, but i won't listen to you just yet. only in this room. only here. don't forget that.

the things i'm made of

Cut the hair that curls.

my veins would burst with ardor and glitter and guilt

The peel parts from the body, sinks between webs and wicker threads.

right where I can see every hungry bit of you.

Because I am whoever I want to be. Collection.

Freckles are really rebels in disguise.

although this is new, it's only coming up because it's a throwback to the days I've put behind me

my white, elusive Scheherezade. Pillow book.

y o u r w o r d s m e a n n o t h i n g

I refused to choose a gender from a list of two options, as if our Technicolor world is made up of black and white. //Unfinalized title, I think.

you know you've reached this point when you can't even help yourself

don't be fooled, you won't learn anything from me.

And father has nothing but nightmares.

flamboyantly existent.

when i was younger, before i changed for the good, i may argue we would have got along nicely.

a list.

Dance with me, monster. Pillow book.

couldn't always stay there.

the label says non-drowsy, but look at me with my time running out and my life-line shrinking faster than alice.

i feel your sadness in the landscape

you're a lot better looking now, but the mirror'll stay cracked anyway.

beyond these voices

silk on silk, and a sigh

i'm not bright enough on my own, up at four in the morning because i don't sleep until i break my mind open.

i love you; don't touch me.

for the sake of brushing hands or being lovers.

Dark.

i dive into your skin and dance there.

poets starved for age

How were you supposed to know? It was all for you, it was all for you.

Sleep decorates the floor of my room like fallen stars.

she’s picked her poison: loneliness.

This smoke sings the sweetest lullaby.

Caked as a quote on my lips.

because italics and underlines are too soft, too sweet for me.

The new in thing besides optimism and pessimism ;-

pining, what else is new.

i spin rainbows

And she's still ill.

so often she trembles trembles trembles under my fingertips

htaeD

scrutineyes.

one of the most emotionally draining things i have ever written. do not read if you have triggers. reviews returned.

three words that are hard to say

i could say this line a thousand times.

I am, I am, I am

icarus lied

a series of sharp blows to the head.

If I have to lose myself, I'd rather that I lose myself to you. SLASH. Mature themes.

and i was the answer.

and everything I had before.

She was once an orchard; with her ribbon hair and subservient eyelashes.

he was everything and nothing at all. - written for and won first place in a contest -

of when to cling and when to let go, and the wisdom to know the difference. f/f consensual incest

she is in the mood for grass stains on her back and flowers in her hair.

In those days, we were two mad girls, infatuated with death, and arrogant enough to assume we were the only ones trapped beneath the bell jar. Part of June's Creative Odyssey.

To have sought what you seek.

from the girl with dreamer's eyes.

daddy's going to make her all better, all better now.

and trying to drink it as it runs through your fingers.

poetry. shame, shame, shame.

I can't breathe.

These are ways to be permanently banned from Wal-Mart. How do I know these ways? You really don't want to know.

her stereo still plays at 2am.

our forms rush like ghost brigades

your poise - legs crossed, face tipped - reads: Confidential. Tell your secrets here. please r'n'r... will return the favour

because you know it really doesn't matter.

for this black & white world

i think they meet on the railroad tracks

Haiku: Quench

she doesn't know what it's like

i've been so thirsty, love.

something under my fingernails is itching.

You sing through cracked lips, dry and thirsty, of love's past moments.

Once upon a time, a balloon raped the English language.

darling, we are all adrenaline and paper cuts and raw electricity shudder-craving solar eclipses. stand here on the precipice of insanity and fall with me.

bones become letters in envelopes, stamped and sent the day you leave.

my recent years counted off by two's

the reflections of a girl

Dear sweet girl, I'm sorry he's an enigma

just like that, it's over.

Incest. Possibly offensive.

Tired of struggling for literary integrity? Relax! Here's all you need to know about writing slash fic! Oh my god, I am going to get so, so flamed. *grin*

Why does she believe? A stream of consciousness poem. Take it how you will. I would love to see your interpretations. My first poem in quite some time, it seems.

he's lost his wings.

when we meet in the street, you look away and pretend you don't know me. i'm too normal for you.

don't let it be only me.

i'm trying to figure out why we can't speak to each other.

hahahahaha

narcissism

listening to Bush makes me think of touching your body.

the one-sided romance.

They want to rescue too much, the flood has done its work.

i don't know whats hard, the forgetting or the not forgetting. i won't have you in my mind anymore.

You'd think I was ambidextrous, but really just a fidget.

rewritten: & there's this lack of completion, these pixels of this red and blue horizon burning between the syringe and your irises.

still I sit in this technicolor puddle.

brighteyes- a perfect sonnet inspired. i wish love didn't exist.

and laughter is forever tattooed on my placid lips.

you're cute.

summer nights and i'm trying not to scream “i love you.”

and reactions. GBLT, incest etc. Pls R&R

smiling brown eyes.

I heard you speak not about me not to me. No, it's never to me. I would just like you to know that I'm listening.

i love everything about you"

best friends forever; and it's so easy to lose someone these days.

she would never write him love lettters.

we're just addictions and suicides

like love. like longing.

I know, I say. I know.

in the bathroom I found bloodstains and an epiphany.

you have made my heart melt. caution: sappiness overload.

To put it simply, I love you.

she'd like to scream, but silence is golden. M for language

[slash] [world war I] the kiss was murder

Saltwater taffy, syringes, old movies, smeared lipstick. The leftovers of a life.

emergency room tabloids of slicing hearts on grey's anatomy

The pain of loss is not great enough for regretPolite critiques would be wonderful on this one, firstly because it's my first piece in a while and secondly because I'd like to give it to someone hence if you know me, do not read it please.

the poetgirls are striking back, scarred limbs and messy hair have never been so beautiful.

it's not too hard to fall.

when our cogs rust and scrape against each other

but honey, tinkerbell isn't tossing her fairy dust/on our heads anytime tonight

because you are beautiful when you are cruel.

unrequited love. what a kicker.

she asked, 'is that my soul'

Perceiving like never before.

The girls with the larger vocabularies liked to call her 'unorthodox' but everyone else in high school labelled her 'freak'... plz r'n'r - one of my better pieces, I think.

best friends forever.

for the boy who disappeared. sometimes i think i can still hear his voice echoing in the wind.

ive come to a conclusion

littlebitofsunshinefrommydarkcornerofdusk

She hungers after butterflies.

take it break it make it

a stutter: a flash of skin

summer. ambulance. august fourth

i want to be everything i'm not, just for you.

he's thinking of her and she's crying for him.

My feelings after rape

It's a poem on life. Read it and tell me what do you think! Please r/r!!!