Fine lines...

Do you often find yourself treading on a fine line? On one side you know everything that can happen. You know that the only pain you feel happens initially as you cross the line in defeat. The other is the unknown side, which you know very well can, and often will end in heartbreak or disaster. 
It's the line between reality and chasing a dream; circling the mouth of what seems a bottomless pit. We step one way we are safe and stable ground… and the other, endless falling…not knowing when we will hit the bottom.

You find yourself making brainless decisions, falling in love to quickly, talking before you think. Pay no heed to the old cliché "look before you leap".

More often then not we disregard the opinion and advice of outsiders, and fall onto the unknown side of the line; and even though we know exactly what will happen as soon as we take that step, we continue down that trail of terror. 

Why? Why do we open ourselves up to anguish and misery; fighting for something that is never meant to be ours? It's like we label our hearts, "Insert knife and twist" and throw it out on a cold lonely street waiting for it to be stolen or crucified. Then wonder why we feel so fucking depressed. People say "Maybe you want to feel like this, maybe you like the pain". Why would anybody want to feel like this? What's to like about pain? It's brought nothing more than tears and heartbreak to the world. To feel like there is absolutely nothing in the world you want to live for, when everyday is just another breakdown, just one more Fucking nightmare after another. When the only smile you show is one in disarray of how fucked up your life has become… Hiding scars, hiding your twisted thoughts, trying to hide from memories that only make you cry. Lonely… cold… insecure… scared… helpless... lost. You find me someone who wants to feel like that…

Race Against Time...

She climbs the stairs to the third floor, opens the door to her apartment, Number 34B.

It’s a small apartment, with a small living room barely lit with a single light globe hanging from the ceiling that flickers every few seconds. There is a faded pink couch in the middle of the room, sitting on a shaggy, whiskey stained rug. MTV statically enlightens a small coffee table, with three legs and covered with years of rolling stone magazine and half empty coffee mugs.

She drops her fake Gucci handbag on the couch as she walks past, like she does every other the day; Making her way into the lone bedroom in her apartment. The bedroom is darker than the living room with singe bed, covered in a cigarette burnt sheet, and makeup stained pillow and a woven woolen blanket. The bedside table sits under a busted reading lamp and a overflowing ashtray. Her clothes spread all over the floor from the weeks that have past, with no obvious order. Kicking off her smoky grey heels as she passes through the door, sliding down her little black dress to the floor, revealing her gorgeous pale white silky skin, her back covered in a diorama of black tattoos that resemble the memories of pain and suffering she has felt over time. A tattoo of stitching leads from her shoulders, down across her heart, past her small, but perfect breasts and perky pink nipples. Her thin, slender cold body and disappears into her red lace g-string. She reaches her freezing cold hands with black chipped, but shiny fingernails to open the door to her bathroom, which is small than most closets in any house. She stares at herself in the mirror, exposing dark fiery red lips, spiky piercing below her bottom lip to the left of centre. She reaches up to let her hair down; long jet black straight hair covers her shoulders, her fringe falls down over her neon blue eyes, surrounded by a thick black layer of eyeliner that has been slightly smudged throughout the day. As she stares into her own eyes, she bursts into tears. Running a river of black down her face; it seems to have become a daily ritual for her. Night after night she comes home and cries herself to sleep. You can see the faded scars on both her wrists from when the days have just been to much for her to handle; Today was one of those days. She reaches into the drawer and removes a clean silver razor blade, of which she has a collection. She removes the last of her clothing and turns on her dirty shower. Before stepping in, she picks up the phones and dials a three digit number… “911, what is your emergency?” a voice says.

“I’ve cut my wrists” says the girl “I’m bleeding”

She drops the phone and steps into the shower… crashing into a ball in the corner as she makes the incisions in her wrists… as the blood begins to flow from her veins into the shower then down the drain… she leans her head against the wall… pondering whether fate will take her from this life, or if the paramedics will reach her in time. She has left it up to god to decided her fate… it’s a race against time.

NightMares

Fuck! Another nightmare begins, another day to follow another sleepless night. Time to drag your arse out of bed, put on your brave face and confront the world that doesn't care. You can feel yourself breaking inside, unsure of how long you can keep hiding behind a smile you don't believe in. In the downward spiral heading rapidly towards the inevitable emotional break down. The only memories that remain are those with tears... When you were torn apart. The worst thing is the fault lies with you, and now you're suffering in your shadow, with no one to answer the screams for help inside your mind. Scared to death of what awaits you. Silent answers that mean nothing to know one go unheard. Crying for a solution that isn't coming... Everyday is the same... Ending in why. You slam your door shut behind you after your day of pointless acting, to go drown yourself in a sea of tears, in the darkest corner or your mind... Waiting for the next nightmare to begin...    

Behind Closed Doors

Behind closed doors the moonlight shines only bright enough to illuminate the shadows of a dark past, The path that had been traveled to many times had become somewhat unrecognizable, yet not disguisable to herself. The passageway to the deepest circle of her inner soul. Where even pure beauty shows more flaws than perfections. A place that encircles memories that induced the black mascara sea beneath her teary, yet painfully gorgeous eyes. In even her saddest of days she could melt the ice off the coldest hearts. Her disbelief in herself provoked the self belief in others. She is an angel with a scarred heart and broken wings, black as coal. But she is an Angel none the less. In the day she is like you and I. in the dark she cries herself to sleep. Her drugs only dull the pain, slowly killing her inside. One can only take so much hurt. Once the powdered relief fades, she becomes more broken than she was in the hours before. Recent memories pass thought her mind unnoticed. The innermost painful memories still haunt her. As she delicately steps out of her 3rd floor apartment, she again turns into everybody’s Savior. The Savior that she longs for deep inside. As the hours tick by, she sits at her desk knowing full well what the night holds for her. The beautiful woman that left her apartment this morning will turn into a girl shattered by an excruciating recollection of a life she once lived. A life known only in her apartment… behind closed doors.