spilled with reckless abandon

fleshscars:

I am eating pudding for breakfast and I am going to go see The Hunger Games with my sister now and I may die of excitement. BYE.

Attract me

Till it hurts to concentrate

Distract me

Stop me doing work I hate

And just to show him how it feels

I walk past his desk in heels

One leg resting on the chair

From the side he pulls my hair

Although I’ve been here before

He’s just too hard to ignore

Masculine he spins a spell

I think he’d wear me well

So where’s my morrow parallel?

It takes me

Half an hour to write a verse

He makes me

Imagine it from bad to worse

My waekness for the other sex

Everytime his soulders flex

The way the shirt hangs off his back

My train of thought spins right off track

Creative energy abused

All my lyrics go unused

And when I caught black hair blue eyes

I drift off I fantasize

So wheres my morrow parallel

“Are you okay?”

Do I look okay?

“What happened?”

Did something terrible have to happen in order for me to feel like this?

“Why are you feeling this way?”

If I knew, do you think I’ll be “feeling” this way?

“Can you just look at the bright side?”

Can you just walk away?

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Does silence now mean let’s talk?

“I care.”

If you did, you would leave me alone.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yea, I’m fine.”

And I sit, and I wait

Wait for another day to come

Come fast, come quick

Quick, like the drumming of my heart

Heart that keeps me alive

Alive as I am now

Now writing in a bound black book

Book I hope to publish one day

Day that goes on and on and never stops

Stops the world in it’s spinning

Spinning that makes me crazy

Crazy - well there’s a statement all by itself

Itself, myself, weself - wait that doesn’t make any sense

Sense, is that even a real thing?

Thing, scary movie

Movie, silent, The Artist

Artist, that’s who I am

Am. All I ever wanted to be.

Standing up in front and center with the mic in your face.

Bow your head and say a little rhyme.

Get up to the speaker and start to breathe.

One breath is all you need.

And then you spit.

“This may be the hardest thing you ever do

but you do it, right?

This might just be your one last shot

but you take it, right?

And while you fouls all look at me wondering

what the hell goes on in that head of hers?

I tick the mic like clockwork

And I rock the stage like Jagger

I punch the words from my verse

onto the amps which amplify the rants that go on in my mind

and seeing is believing when you see my mouth move to the rhythm of my beat

the beat that I treat is the the heart in my chest 

and the words on the page are verses with age

cause these rhymes didn’t just appear

they were brought here by the lights in the dark

and the darkness of the lights”

And then I breathe

And I’m done.