Archive for July, 2015

Scream

Posted in Uncategorized on July 17, 2015 by alisonadventures

The_Scream (1)

Come little girl

Have you ever played with fire? Have you ever cut yourself just to make the thoughts stop, blood pooling out of your human suit, wanting it to wash away all the doubts, fears insecurities, winged black monkeys scratching at your brain, the names, always the names.

Stupid failure useless useless useless.’

Self destruct before the world does it for you. Starve and harm and die before he has a chance to break your heart, before the disease gets you, before your best friend who shared your demons and journeyed with you to hell but with her, you got the tiniest slice of heaven dies and leaves you

alone alone alone

knowing you are only here, still struggling like a stubborn stain that just won’t fade because you may be a  masochistic but you are no sadist, you don’t want to put those who care, those who love, in that kind of agony.

Please make it stop please make it stop please make it stop stop make it go away

Say it like a prayer, and incantation. Howl it to the moon and hope your body erupts in fur and claws, you transform into your inner werebeast, you might be a monster but at least you could run, at least you could finally be free.

I want to run, I want to run so fast my sweat flies off my stupid human shell cocoon falls away, I want to run and run and stab and stab and free myself of this.

I don’t know if I am cursed or cursing myself, slowly poisoning my mind and body untill one day there will be nothing left to hold, nothing left to love.

I think of the secret garden, one of my favorite books as a child. “If your head is filled with thorns there is no room for the roses to blossom.”

I want roses. I want beauty. I crave it like I do love, like I thirst for water, the stream of liquid refreshing, reviving, healing. I want to heal. I want to be happy.

But the fire burns so brightly, hell calls out with the voice of a siren, luring me ever harder against the rocks, wanting to crash my tiny human skeleton out completely, the vultures are circling, the buzzards want to fly into my eyes and rip chunks out of the decaying flesh, the hyenas chomping what ever meaty bits are left.

Disease is like those predatory creatures in nature, always taking, never thinking of anything beyond the bloodlust.

Cancerous cells multiply, wanting to exterminate the bits and pieces that were once a young girl, once a beautiful boy.

Everyone wants to change you. Everyone wants to fix you.

Take your meds, Ali. Eat, Ali. Do your algebra and brush your teeth and perfect the mask, wire your gums shut, let the peroxide bleach your teeth as white as they can make it, as if having that perfect porcelain smile will somehow lighten the stains on your corrupted soul.

And if you stray too far from their perfect path of numbers and uniforms and tucked in shirts they will lock you away, send you to a prison they call hospital, inject you with needles and make you eat the fuel they call food, make you listen too the screams of all the other lost souls like yourself.

Little rat scurrying on on the floor of your cage. They want to turn you into a gerbil running around and around in circles, test their makeup on you, sell you the perfume and the bleach and the hair dye, the chemical treatment or even someone else’s hair to glue onto your head, giving the illusion of length, of perfection.

Perfect the mask. Sell them the products and the window dressings we call fashion, Focus on making the eyelashes long and dark and fluttery, the lips red and glossy and pouty. Coat the nails in bitter metallic polish to stop you from biting, shave the hair and keep the skin moist.

Do all this and they won’t judge you, won’t point at you and whisper and call you a freak and a loser and pathetic and broken. Do all this and even but it is too late, the damage has been done and the voices are in your head now, the disease is doing a victory jig with its burning eyes and poker sticks. You have been corrupted, the demons have collected their bounty, little girl has lost her body and mind.

You are poisoned and one day death will creep in like a comforting velvet hug, embracing your shattered psyche, letting you finally rest at ease.

Distract yourself with the games and numbers and drama, take the pills, buy the products. Do it so they won’t lock you away and throw away the key, like the witch did to Rapunzel, suffocating her with her wants, her desires.

It’s ok. If there’s one thing I can do is make a good mask, color in the lines, swirl the colors so perfectly they see a model, a daughter, a fiancee. Act the perfect part in the endless play called life.

But one day the cracks will get too deep, I will fall from the ice and plunge into the freezing

bottomless abyss.

Pick pick pick

Chip Chip Chip

Scratch burn hurt cry.
In the distance, the wolves are howling and the vultures swoop in for the final kill.

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I’d rather be a fairy

Posted in Uncategorized on July 13, 2015 by alisonadventures

alifairybutterflycass

Is this what we become after we die?

Her mother grabbing her clothes off the rail, lightening fast, not looking me in the eyes. Her zombie kitten shirt. The special Nightmare before christmas one with jack and sally’s skeletal faces swooping in for a kiss. I feel muted, like I am being plunged underwater and held there. How long can you hold you breath before you suffocate? I cannot breathe.

Blindly, I look at the items…..her clothes, mingling with mine. The blue and white alice in wonderland skirt worn on so many photo shoots, her long black trenchcoat with a button pinned on “I love ML”. But did you cassie? Is that why you took those pills in terrys apartment, that why you sliced yourself open like a fish to dull the pain of your own existence?

I still remember the beautiful girl, the vibrant spirit who thought of others before herself, wrote secret  messages like letters tied up in bottles and tossed into the sea, those last words of the dying. Their thoughts, hopes dreams, loved ones. To drift endlessly in the ocean for years, maybe never to be discovered.

Did it hurt, when it came, that final moment of the drugs sealing you in your beautiful body, forever a model, immortal and stunning? As those last words of help escaped your lips as you were about to enter that endless, eternal slumber, did you suffer?

I don’t know, can’t know can only put on the black velvet jacket with the corset ribbons laced down the side in a haze, the  zipper partially broken but cradling my small form tightly.

My fiance looks on, surprised that I fit into the PVC metal boots that you wore to the metal clubs in London, the pink tutu skirt. But wasn’t it obvious?

We were the same person. Two halves of the same soul and then you were ripped away and I am alone all by

myself

myself

myself

your mother asks me if I want a pair of the satin cyber goth style pants my friend Louise gifted me when I still lived in the flat with my two closest girlfriends and I never thought I would make a best friend, a twin flame, sister soulmate who would then be ripped away. Back when life still made sense.

I hear her as though through a wall of water, the words on her mouth crawling out slowly like spiders across a web.

How long before I nod, recognize the pants as my own? Minutes, hours, days?

How long before the tears stop, will the anguish ever fully heal?

I should probably just accept I will be forever broken.

Your mother gives me a present from you, your monster high doll with the pink hair and lolita accessories. How could you leave her, homeless and unloved? How could you leave me?

Maybe its better where you are. Perhaps it is never cold and not full of the men who abused us, the demons in our minds. Maybe over there you can forget that hunger that caused you to stick your fingers down your throat, that pain that that you would do anything to escape, no matter the price. Maybe the toll of your life was a bargain for an afterlife of bliss. Maybe.

But what really happens after you die?

Maybe the more frightening question is living, and knows that one day when we least expect it all those we love will be eventually taken for us. Life has cancer and diseases where even your memories or limbs eventually fail you. Even your own mind is sometimes not your own. Perhaps death is the only way of truly finding peace from it all, but if so, why the survival instinct? Why do humans struggle through so much hardship and pain just to live another day, and have to endure it all again?

Is it that distant, glimmering hope that one day things will not be quite as horrible to endure? That last winged creature pandora managed to trap inside the golden box, even as all of the other plagues of humanity ripped free. For as everyone knows, humans could not live with no hope at all.

And what is faith, but the hope of a benevolent god, a better afterlife? Sometimes it is all we have to get us through the day, to go on in this quest of blood sweat and tears that we call life.

But the one wish I have that is stronger than them all is to go back in time, to be there to do something, to stop feeling so goddamn helpless but I cant all I can do is ride the tidal wave of kills until it makes me topple over, a ballerina on point even as her toes are breaking.

That or make it dull, just for the moment, just for a time. I don’t know how much longer I can keep living in this fantasy, but when I think about the reality the floodgates opened and I sob with the strength of the ocean that doomed Atlantis, forever a lost empire under the sea.

They say the only way to deal with your pain is to deal with it, perhaps to face it but I don’t know how without crumbling entirely.

The worst part of it is seeing the love and hope in your beloved’s eyes, and just knowing that you are a disappointment to them and yourself.

I just want to make the sadness go away but I can’t and so I continue my journey into the make believe. I’d rather be a fairy than

a human anyway.