Chronicles of L. VonDeadly

Heart Of Stone.

Sorry.

Mon Cœur S'ouvre À Ta Voix.

How much love would it take to make me whole? Do you have enough love inside your soul? Could you ever be that person for me? Can you clear out this emotional debris?

You trick your lovers that you're wicked and divine,
You may be a sinner, but your innocence is mine.

My Muse.

Leader of the Hoards.

Here I am expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded. Over, under, around, through, behind, slipping, gripping all in the name of sanity. Fear not the obvious, naked and oblivious. Congratulations on the victory.

It's just that everywhere I go
All the buildings know your name
Steel and granite reminders
The city calls your name

You don't. See. Me.

Compagno di Anima.

You don't get it do you? I would impale myself to spare you. It's deep. It's irrational. It's how I feel. I wish I could spare you. I wish I could spare them all. I've tried a couple times, but something always stops me. I would fling my insignificant corpse over yours to shield you from the storm. If it would do any good, that is. Because what are you without me? What is a boat with no sail? I'm nothing without you. I don't care if that is dependence. So I lean on you, you're a crutch. Big whoop. You got a piece of me, and honestly my life would suck without you. I would dive off the roof into a sea of re bar to make your life less difficult. But there is no way to impale myself. No corpse to shield you with, no sea of re bar to brave. But there is a sea of faces I would walk across to get to you. I would enter your existence, a stranger. I would coerce you out of the dark reverie. I would gently take your hand and join you in the silence. In the damp, cold, disgusting surroundings. I would watch you stare at the wall for hours. Enjoying the mere knowledge that I could see your breath in the air. Watch your eyes blink. I would be aware of our insignificance and depth of disturbed pain, you wouldn't. I would row through that lake of fire to see your face. Even if it was a mere ghost of what it used to be. We could be given the gift of another chance. I'd share my PB&J with you. We could be bosom buddies.

This is all in a dream of course. A lifetime away. The offer expired. The time is out. No longer running. Just out. The milk has curdled. The fruit has shriveled. The end has come. You are now a stranger. My soul's memory of you has been wiped. I will now search for you in every face I see. Waiting for the recognition that will never come. I will constantly pass you on the street and give you a double glance. Thinking the flicker I saw behind those eyes was the mutual understanding. Chalk it up to a long day and hit the sack. Wish I had more luck. Put on my trench coat the next day and sit on the bench at the park. Waiting for someone to sit next to me and call the squirrel a wetback. That person never comes. I die on that bench. Somewhere in the world your ribs will crack, your soul will turn to dust. You will cease to exist. To ever have existed. You lost faith. You lost hope. Your shine is gone. How could you not find me? How could you think I'd given up? How could you lose your belief in this.

I still talk to you. Your voice is always in my head. We dialogue. You give me advice, I hear you ream me for some of my decisions. I hear your approval and support. I feel the warmth from you emanating, I just never found the source. I know you're around here somewhere. That's why I waited. I never gave up hope. This is what I've found out in my time. Chipmunks are Jew bastards, owls are lazy crackers, the birds are finicky wops. I would've caught you up on my observations if I ever found you. So much to say. It's ironic that the more time went on, the more I had to say and the less time I had to say it in. It's complete now. The cycle has found it's natural end. But somewhere I still feel that warmth. Is there ever really an end?

End transmission.

Cold.

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

Well first of all I'd like to say fuck off. You don't get it why don't you go shove your head back up your ass. Don't waste my time I don't need your opinion. You don't know what it like to be like me. You don't know, so keep your mouth shut. Who the fuck do you think you are? The sad realization I have is that you were not any different. You acted like everyone else. You became the one thing you always ran from and protested against. How stupid do you feel now? How cold is the pit of your stomach right this second? Now who is the scum of the earth? And I had so much to say. I had a plan. I never wanted you to see the screwed up side of me. I never really wanted you to go. Fuck you. Fuck you and your cat. Pull this thread as I walk away. Fuck you.

I feel cleansed. There's no I in fuck off, you know.
I am.
This is such a pity.

I find it almost entertaining. I feel energized. You fed the beast. You became food like all the others. How does that make you feel to just be a number now? You're a tick mark. You're a notch on the headboard. A deep notch, bless you. But just another notch. Ha ha. Is it too early to say I told you so? Cause I'd feel a deep pleasure in doing that right about now.

Always. Am I your one and only desire, am I the reason you breathe or am I the reason you cry? I just can't live without you. I hate you. [I bet you touched her.] I guess I'll pack all my things, I guess I'll see you around. It's all been bottled up until now, as I walk out the door all I can hear is the sound of Always.

Passion.

It lies in all of us. Sleeping, waiting. And though unwanted, unbidden. It will stir. Open it's jaws and howl. Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love. The clarity of hatred. The ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. We can live without passion and maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we'd be hollow. Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead.

When the muse comes
She doesn’t tell you to write;
She says get up for a minute,
I’ve something to show you, stand here.

Many Shades of Black.

Fate loves death more than it loves you or me. This is easy to write, easy to read, and hard to believe. The words are simple - the concept clear - but you don't believe it, do you? Nor do I. How could I, when we're both so lovable?

I am now brought to a fork in the road where I stand paralyzed, unwilling to go on, for both ways lead to madness. On the one hand, there is so much light to be seen. It is as if the fork were glowing. It is as if I am in a tunnel and I see all these floating heads around me cheering me on. Telling me this is the right way to go. Come on! You can do it! Atta girl! Snort. Then I am reluctant but eager to see where the next fork goes. It seems, meek. A little rainy, but much more fun, somehow. Lonely, no cheerleaders, but it is clear and honest, and isn't as scary as the glowy road, in many ways. It's as if there are two people beckoning me, both convinced that their way is the better way. Me, unable to determine which is lying. Or if either are lying. Both could be better in their own ways. That makes sense. But there has to be a right one, right? I suppose not. Or else it would be that easy. I could go backwards, I realize. I could choose another utensil all together, right? Besides, I've finally accepted that fate doesn't give a shit about me. Fate loves death and destruction more than it loves me. Hence, the fork. My agony is entertaining, but must come to an end eventually.

God damnit, cunt. Where are you? I told you to meet me at the teaspoon. Hurry, I think I might be being chased.

Labyrinth.

Why does everyone let you down? Where do I start? It's human nature to be self-involved. Therefore everyone is guilty of it. Yet I find it hard sometimes to really understand the nature behind the way you're acting. Love you.

Why Are Tears Hot?

It's an honest question and I'm looking for honest answers.

Escape.

I don't want to splatter my filthy thoughts all over your strength.

I got fucked over a lot in years and nightmares past. Violence, manipulation, shame and humiliation is what I know. It's all I can give you. I want to hack a hole in my ribcage and get the fuck out sometimes. I want to stand over my body and look down and feel the surge of relief that comes with release. Finally I've escaped myself. I've escaped the pain that comes along with what comes naturally to me, hurting others. But I don't think that would go over well somehow. I have a feeling people might be very angry with me. Can a girl get a break? Sheesh. If I do what comes so easily, you get all hot and bothered. If I escape it, you get all angry. Though it's clear I stopped caring what you thought a long time ago, or else it never would've gone this far. I wish I could have seven year old me and sixty year old me in a room. We'd just hash out all the details and get everything straight. No more bullshit. I could explain how and why seven year old me had to go through the things she did, sixty year old me could give me a heads up on what and whom to avoid.

Darn, not possible you say? Alright.
I'll settle for a candy bar and maryjane.
You can run, you can die but you can't escape my love.

Peace to your mothas.