Ink spills on paper, paper spells my blood

Ficlet- Lazy Mornings

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Mon, 26 May 2008 09:06:53 GMT

Title: Lazy Mornings
Author: awkwardlurker
Rating: G
Pairing: You decide...
POV: 3rd person
Summary: A moment captured in time.
Disclaimer: The grass is made of mint sticks, the moon is pure fat, the stars are bits of candy... and I am full of c*@p
Author Notes: A tiny ficlet written on my break at work. It's completely unbeta'd, and is really just me getting back into the swing of things after a few months hiatus from writing, so its probably really bad. I wrote it with PatD's Spencer and Jon in mind... but it was purposefully written so that you could choose your own pairing.

The sun slowly creeps through the half drawn curtains, and across the blankets covering the bed, a soft glow creating a comforting feel. There are clothes left on the floor, worn and dirty, shoes left where they had been kicked off. Flecks of dust move slowly through the stream of light, lazily dancing to and fro.

Beneath them, there are two figures still sleeping soundly, curled gently around each other. One is laying on their back, dark hair spread haphazardly across the pillow beneath them, cheek resting lightly upon the top of the second figures head, soft breath softly ruffling their hair. The blanket had been pushed down to their waists during the night to leave torsos bare. One arm is wrapped protectively around the figure that has themselves draped along their side, each holding onto the others hand upon the dark haired figures stomach.

The second figure is curled tightly against the other figures side. Top arm laying across the other figures torso, hands clasped together. The other arm is curled across the other figures chest, hand resting underneath their cheek. It is a childish mannerism that they have never been able to shake. Their lighter hair has fanned itself across the other figures shoulder, from where their head is resting upon.

Beneath the covers, the couple’s legs are entwined in a possessive, yet tender, gesture. Their breathing has become synchronized over the course of the night, and if the dust still slowly dancing above was to pay close attention, they would hear the gentle sound of two heartbeats holding a steady tempo, together, as if they were one.

Poem- Haunting Sobs

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 11:58:07 GMT

Haunting Sobs

Shapes in ash of a wonderland,
The playground smashed and burned,
A senseless waste of innocence,
A punishment never earned.

The haunting sobs of a child,
Are all that I can hear…

Searching through the ash,
Calling out their name,
Hating the one who has done this,
Knowing who’s to blame

And the haunting sobs of a child,
Are all that I can hear…

Running through the ashes,
Their sobs still all around,
Frantically circling, hopelessly lost,
Nowhere are they to be found.

And the haunting sobs of a child,
Are all that I can hear…

If only I could find them,
And not curl up into a ball,
Feeling so desperate and hopeless,
To the ground I fall.

And the haunting sobs of a child,
Are all that I can hear…

I scramble at my own head,
Mummering to myself it's alright,
But it sounds so broken, hollow,
This is surely a losing fight.

And the haunting sobs of a child,
Are all that I can hear…

Ears blocked tighty forever,
Until the time I’ll mend,
Though it takes till all is dust,
And the universe does end.

And the haunting sobs of a child,
Still all that I can hear…

Big cat spam for sweetchild85

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 02:32:00 GMT

This is a big cat spam… coz Ina (aka sweetchild85 ) was looking for pictures… dum de dum de dum… and I like making pic spams. Anyway… use what you want… or not. I’m not worried. *big grins* I’m more of a tiger and cougar person anyway. Oh… and snow leopards. They are awesome, but not sleek like you were wanting. They more giant fluff balls of cuteness. But I don't like lions... they are just kinda full of themselves because they proclaimed themselves the Kings of the Jungle. They don't even live in the jungle. Supid lions. I think that hippos should be the Kings... coz come on... what other animal can fart out its mouth. Seriously! And they kill lots of people a year. Go the Hippopotamus!!! Okay… I’ll stop rambling now…

I was also kinda lazy and couldn’t be bothered resizing or making thumbnails or thumbtags or whatever they are called. My mind is still fuzzy with the sickness.

All the usual warnings, lots of pictures makes dial-up grumpy. But feel free to open at your own will.

story dribble drabble thing...

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Thu, 31 Jan 2008 10:25:41 GMT

Title: Meaningful Acts
Rating: R-ish.
Summary: What do you do in your time alone?
Disclaimer: This is mine. Totally and completely.
Authors Notes: Unbetad as usual. And I'm sure that you'll read this one way... but I wrote it in another. *shrugs* Cryptic I know.

Your skin prickles at the sensation of the cool air hitting your sweaty skin. It’s not uncomfortable, but brings you a light relief from the fire burning inside of you. Your hair is matted and damp, sticking to your forehead, as your body convulses, causing you to moan aloud once more.

You never asked to be left feeling this way. You never thought it was possible to feel like this. But you’ll remember this night for all time. A night where you tour your own defences down. A night where you are left helpless to your senses. Your emotions. Your instincts. This has become a second nature to you. You cannot go without it. It is a part of who you are. A part of what you are becoming.

Another moan emits from deep within you as your body shudders once more. You love this feeling. This feeling of being free. This feeling of control. This feeling of no-one being able to take this away from you.

One of your hands is grasping at the cool tiles, attempting to clutch and hold it, anchoring you to the world. The touch almost calms you down, but not enough to stop this meaningful act from taking place. Your mouth is dry from the shallow gasps you need to continue on with. Your free hand is slowly working two fingers deep inside yourself.

You can feel them as you move them, slowly and sensually. You can feel the roughness of your fingertips in comparison to the rest of your fingers. You can feel the knuckle protrude as you bend your fingers to a better angle. You can feel the slight scratch of nail as it grazes against your soft insides. Where your fingers attach to you hand.

You can also feel the wet heat through you fingers as you slowly move them back and forth. You can feel the tightness as your body fights to keep them out rejecting them from going further, and yet accept them into you, to become a part of you. It is a dance that will never end, but one that you need so badly.

You can feel as you are reaching the end. Just a couple more thrusts from you fingers into your body and you feel yourself release. A moan travels from deep in your gut as you reach your end. You are left with the satisfied feeling of a job well down. But are left feeling drained and tired You wait a couple of minutes before you swipe your hair back off your forehead and stand up from the tiled floor, still panting.

You know this is not the last time that this will happen. This is just one more time in an endless cycle. You look in the mirror. Right after is the only time you feel like you are worth something. It is what makes you feel beautiful.

Picspam for erinbonnie

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Tue, 15 Jan 2008 09:22:02 GMT

This is a picspam that I made for erinbonnie , because you deserve something to make you feel a little bit better hun, even if it is only for a minute. *hugs*

Anyway... this picspam is of Zac Efron. I'm not that big a fan of his... but there are definetly some good pictures in this batch. I just hope you haven't seen them... And if you click on any of the pictures, you get the full size version.

Ana's Song...

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 14:26:15 GMT

Title: Ana's Song
Summary: Life from a different view...
Authors Notes: I wrote this tonight after finding out that one of my friend's (who I've known since i was three but haven't spoken to in over two years) little sister is in hospital. She was like a little sister to me and one of the sweetest, most caring girls you will EVER meet. We were both in tears the whole time she told me. She is in there for more than just this but. She has some serious disease to survive with on top of this disease. I'm hoping to go visit her this weekend...

I’m look out the window, ignoring the teacher’s voice droning in the background. I don’t want to be here, but I know that I must in order to survive in life. I must obtain knowledge that they are willingly giving to me. That I need. But my mind is just not in it. And I don’t want to know the information they are attempting to make me retain. Plus, I hate being the new one.

At first glance through to the ethereal world outside, it appears so peaceful. The trees are alive and dancing; the grass moving liquidly over the ground. But look further to the horizon, and the sky is in a juxta position to the relaxing scene being played out. The clouds are a dangerous shade of grey racing through the sky, lightning violently punching the air. Everything was so full of life.

Inside, everything is dead. Sure, the people were alive, but there was nothing to remind us that we are in fact living organisms and not drones that haunt the halls. The walls are bleak, random posters covered in bright colours and fake happiness as a das attempt of decoration. The floors are as cold as ice and the plastic chairs that we are forced into daily are made of stone. The staff members are constant reminders that we cannot be trusted.

I look down to where I am twirling the bracelet that encloses my flesh and bone. It is a flimsy thing, but it is what makes me different from everyone else. It is what sets me apart from the crowd. It is what identifies me for who I am. What I am; a constant reminder as to where I have been, and to where I am headed.

I quickly glance up to look around at all the others that obviously don’t want to be here, before I stare back at my feet. I feel ashamed to be stuck here amongst so many beautiful people. They are all so thin. So pretty. They are who I want to be. The have no fat on them anywhere. They are the definition of perfect.

Slowly I divert my attention to myself. Hands and fingers that are short and stumpy, nails that are bitten away to nothingness. My chubby arms, pale skin scattered with brown freckles, kisses of the sun. My wide thighs that seem to fill my black pants in unnatural ways. Stomach that bulges over the top of my pants and strains against my shirt. I know that I’m hideous to look at. No matter what I am told.

I have starved myself to look as good as those surrounding me. I have thrown up everything I have ever eaten. I have over exercised to the point of collapse, and I have counted every single calorie I have ever consumed to get by. I slowly saw the changes in my body, but it is still not enough. It will never be enough.

The rehabilitation that my family have placed me in is not the answer. They will just feed me lies. Feed me false promises. And to place me where I am surrounded by beautiful people who just inspire me to be more like them when I break free from this place.

After all, to describe me… I am fat. And fucking worthless. Anorexia will save me.

Je me suis...

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Sat, 05 Jan 2008 12:35:33 GMT

Title: Je Me Suis
Summary: Just a emo drabble.
Authors Notes: I wrote this because I am in a weird frame of mind, much like most of my drabbles. Anyway... yeah... it doesn't make much sense, but at least I'm actually bothering to talk about my feelings in a round-about-kinda-way. *shrugs*

If I told you that I want you and that I need you here, would you just laugh? If I told you that without you here my life has no purpose, would you just shake your head? If I told you that I’ve done worse things than this before, would you just shut me up?

I look at you and see the perfection that I wish I could be. You are the royalty, deity, star, of my dreams, and yet, I am your biggest nightmare. I am tarnished. I look at my skin and see the marks that life has left me with. The bruises, tattoos, scars, that have set me aside from those more pure and deserving of this life. And it would not matter if I scrubbed my skin for days, because they are stuck; glued to my skin like the spine of a book, holding together the story of my life.

I’ve lived my whole life lurking behind the shadows, hiding, hidden. The darkness protecting me from happiness that I know I will never see. The broken wall that I have built as a form of protection to save what left of me is slowly being torn to pieces. Allowing enough light to shine through and show me that I am tainted, dirty, filthy.

This place is so vacant, empty, barren, that the temptation of my thoughts is slowly taking over. Nothing can save me from here, but it’s the only knowledge that I can claim to myself. I never thought that it would be this wrong, this far from perfect. It’s hard to believe, that nothing is ever easy. I am not your desire. I am not the reason you breathe. You are the reason I cry.

I have been stripped bare. I do not ask you to understand me. I do not need your acceptance. I am alone, no matter what you say or do. I know that I am stronger, braver, daring, on my own. This is me laying my soul out to you. Do as you please with it. It cannot break me more than I already am. I am torn, broken, shattered, laying in pieces so small, I am rendered invisible. I am me. And without you, I do not exist.

Dribble drabble...

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Thu, 27 Dec 2007 05:46:09 GMT

Just a dribble drabble thingo I wrote... It really is just a big pile of angstyness.... *shrugs*

Penance

You know that something is wrong with you when you can't shake the negativity that is clouding your mind. You keep looking at yourself and finding things that are wrong; little things that would normally go unnoticed, but things that will make a huge difference once they are corrected. Nose is crooked even after two rounds of surgery. Too fat even when you throw up everything you eat. The scars that cover your body from punishing yourself for having these thoughts, and then more on top of for having to cut in the first place.

You know something is wrong when you can pick out every fault and start looking for ways to change it. You stop eating and what you do eat is spat out before it even makes it to the back of your throat. The weight that you are losing just isn’t enough, so you have to lose more. And the guilt of swallowing even the smallest amounts of food is so preposterous that you cave in and draw more blood to the surface, as if that will make up for the food you ate, and will bring your weight back down. Logically you know that that is impossible, but it makes you feel so much better for it.

You barely remember the last time you saw yourself fully in a mirror. Too horrified that what you will see will be the same ugly creature that used to stare back at you. You couldn’t stand to see that after all of the work you have put into re-creating yourself. The new glasses that you paid far too much money for. The new haircut. The new clothes. To see the repulsive being would be too much to bear. Instead you look at yourself section by section, dissecting your body into sections to be scrutinized more closely.

You have been told many times that “beauty is on the inside.” Well fuck that. They only ever say that to the ugly people. If it is so true, then why doesn’t anyone ever tell the beautiful people that? They don’t because you live in a superficial world were looks are all that matters. And unless you are beautiful, no one will look at you. Not now. Not ever.

This is what makes you starve yourself. This is what makes you punish yourself. This is what makes you want to do anything possible to be more becoming to the world. This is what makes you want to be a sheep and fit in, because those that are trying to be individuals only get left behind to be eaten by the wolves.

This is your penance.

Poem...

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Sun, 02 Dec 2007 12:42:47 GMT

~ Self-Portrait ~

Why do I pretend to be
What I know that I am not?
Why do I let it consume me?
I know I would rather rot.

I cannot show the real me.
Not even if I tried.
No-one will see through the deception,
No matter how much I’ve cried.

Why do you pretend to understand?
Why even pretend to care?
You won’t ever find the truth.
This is my demon to bear.

I cannot show you the real me.
I’ll be waiting in my obscurity,
Forever escaping my lies.
Drowning from the impurity

So don't bother trying,
Because you'll never get to see.
What's hidden beneath so far beneath
In my darkness; the true and real me.

I know that my peoms suck.... but they are a form of release for me... so deal.

Story

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Mon, 05 Nov 2007 08:54:18 GMT

Title: Arrival
Word Count: 850
A/N: This is dedicated to Hanne... and will hopefully make her feel better. And hopefully not make me look like a complete fool. I wrote this out in about ten minutes, and is completely un-betad. So, sorry about the suckiness. I'm posting this before I lose my nerve to...
Summary:

I couldn’t stop fidgeting. I fidget a lot normally, but when I get nervous, it becomes a compulsion. My leg was jumping up and down in the seat, and my hand folding and re-folding the letter I held. If I stood up from the hard plastic seat I knew that I would start pacing. That’s how nervous I was.

Attempting to distract myself, I re-read the letter again. The paper was wearing thin and slightly crumpled. The edges of the page were bent and torn in a couple of places. I had read it that many times that I had it memorised and could quote it exactly. And no matter how many times I read it. Tears came to my eyes. The people waiting around me just smiled at me knowingly. In some form or another, they knew the pain and joy that I was filled with.

Then a voice came over the intercom and the doors I’d been intermittently glaring at opened. I stood up to scan the crowd as they all walked through the door. There were so many people. I just hoped that I wouldn’t miss the most important one. Slowly they started to spread out and head off in there different directions. I still couldn’t see them. I hung my head and scuffed the toe of my shoe into the tired grey carpet. Maybe I had missed them. Or maybe… maybe they hadn’t come… Maybe they realised I wasn’t worth the time or money.

Looking up one more time, I gave one last glance over the crowd. They weren’t there. They really weren’t. Turning towards the exit I moved slowly through the crowds of loved ones reacquainting with family and friends.

It was then I noticed something odd. The one person who should have been noticed but had somehow managed to slip by unseen. They looked kind of awkward and out of place; like they didn’t know what to do, or where to go. Standing there in their scuffed converses, jeans that were obviously well worn, and a plain t-shirt, travel bag hanging of one shoulder. They looked tired, their hair slightly dishevelled. They were the most beautiful person I had ever seen. The one I had been waiting for.

I wanted to walk towards them so bad. But my feet were suddenly filled with lead. My brain running a million miles a minute. What if they realised what a mistake this all was? What if they realised what they were really worth? What could I ever do to be able to make them love me as much as I loved them? I bit into my bottom lip. What if this was all some really super elaborate prank?

Well, there was only way I was ever going to find out wasn’t there. Taking a deep breath, I attempted to re-centre myself. Placing one foot in front of the other, I found a path to the person who had captured my complete attention. It was then that their eyes, your eyes, caught mine. Eyes filled with the same extreme nervousness and tinge of excitement that I was now feeling.

God… you really are beautiful; body, heart, and soul.

I soon ran out of steps to take and found myself standing directly in front of you. You were slightly taller than me. So I had to look up a fraction. We just stood there. Neither of us speaking. Just staring into each others eyes.

From a surge of sudden confidence that appeared out of nowhere, I took the one last step that brought us chest to chest, and wrapped my arms around you. I wanted to show you how happy I was that you were here. I could feel your arms holding onto me. Like we were just trying to remind ourselves that this was, in fact, real.

Eventually I pulled back slightly, still holding onto you, and felt you stiffen against my body. I looked up into your eyes. I could see the hint of fear of rejection. I didn’t want you to feel this way. Not when my heart literally fluttered to be so close to you.

I leaned forward slowly again, pressing my lips to yours in a soft kiss. Not even a kiss really, just a gentle pressure of our lips. In the end it was you who had the courage to turn it into something more, a slow cadence of delicate movements of our mouths against one another. Hands hold one another to remind ourselves that this was real.

After a few moments, we simultaneously pulled apart.

“Hi baby,” you whispered to me.

Your accent making my knees turn to jelly. You know how much I love listening to your voice.

“Hey,” I whispered back. Not caring how much of an idiot I sounded, I quietly murmured the one thing that I had been dieing to tell you for so long.

“I love you. More than I could ever tell you.”

Your eyes looked into mine. A warmth spilling forth from them even as they appeared to mist over.

“I love you, too.”

Mikey!spam

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Sun, 21 Oct 2007 09:14:00 GMT

When I get bored I like to make picspams for people. This time I had no idea who to make one for... so I made it for me! YAY! So I made myself one of Mikey Way... BECAUSE I COULD!!! So there... I might bug The Goddess Ina later too to make me a new layout... That would be awesome... Spoil myself this week. *grins*

Anyway... all the usual, 55 pics, and not safe for dial-up users. SORRY!!!

poem...

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Mon, 15 Oct 2007 13:01:30 GMT

Going Down In Flames

I'm going down in flames
Burning through the sky
There's no way to stop it
It's pointless to even try

Emotions burning through
My barriers almost gone
My mind is scattered and diffused
Somehow I struggle on

Too many things at once
I'm finding I can't deal
So screwed up is my headspace
That I don't even know what's real

Drowning in the flames
Don't push me any more
Cause even as I write this
I'm a curled-up on the floor

poem...

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Mon, 17 Sep 2007 14:26:03 GMT

Blood Rage

Red, blood red
Splattered on the walls
Triumphantly I howl
And watch her as she falls

Blood on the furniture
I see through closed eyes
Dripping, pooling on the floor
Straightning out the lies

Raising now my eyelids
Staring round the room
No bloodstains on the floor
And so sets in the gloom

Imaginings just make it worse
Until all that i can see
Is a psycho with a blade
I'm looking now at me....

Lindespam 2

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Sat, 25 Aug 2007 09:21:42 GMT

I promised maincaneanother Lily picspam when she had calmed down from the last one... so here is a new one. Once again... 100+ pictures and definetly not dial-up friendly.

(PS This is coz my girl totally deserves it for having my laughing so much today! Love you baby)

And the Lindespam beings...

Goodbye...

awkwardlurker@livejournal.com — Sun, 19 Aug 2007 06:44:47 GMT

GOODBYE...

Goodbye my oldest friends.

My happiness has reached an end.

Goodbye my oldest friends.

I will no longer need to pretend.

Goodbye my loving family.

My spirit has wilted away.

Goodbye my loving family.

I will no longer make you pay.

Goodbye my dearest love.

My life has been destroyed.

Goodbye my dearest love.

I will no longer be left feeling void.

Goodbye my fallen angel.

My body is in tatters.

Goodbye my fallen angel.

I will no longer be someone who matters.

Goodbye to all that I know.

My essence is hanging on by a thread.

Goodbye to all that I know.

I would be better of dead.