Untilted Jar ( Amaranthus Caudatus )


Those things I am forever shunned into for I am a lepor, one with thin skin to stretch over sharp bones, one with sunken green eyes like the deep part of a lake waiting to be rippled, one with dark circles of sleeplessness under my waterlines. My mouth is forever rotted with the acid I gurgle out between my teeth so that you may see the sharpness of my fangs that I can one day sink them into your cold flesh with the harsh intent to murder and ravage the crystalized pieces of you.

Have you ever picked up a man in your newly bought car and drove him where he needs to go while he uses your iPod so that all the battery runs dry then at the end of where he needs to go he hits you so you fall forward but then wake up tied to a tree where your car is crashed into the river and he is molesting your every crevas and making you form a layer of grim and hopelessness?

Neither have I.

But I have felt that helplessness, though maybe not in that exact way but in the way of being forced to do something and not being able to say or do anything about it because at the time I was the 'crazy' one the 'sociopath' who'd 'do anything to get her way and hurt anyone who stands in her way'.

All I wanted was to die and I didn't thing it would be that bad anyhow, it was my body, isn't there a right somewhere that says I can do what I please with it? Even if that means carving lines, deeper as they gets closer to my main veins. Even if that means places the barrel of a gun to my empty chest so when I pull the trigger the force makes me miss and my lung is punctured. Even if that means hitting my head against walls to try and stop the little things that bother me like my 'parents'.

Why is the phone ringing such an a significantly loud noise that I must scream at my mother to get it within the first ring before I trot upstairs and smash the phone into little pieces like I did the last two? Why is it that when either of my 'parents' talk to me I feel like taking a hammer to their brittle and hard faces. Why is it that sometimes I'd rather sit in an dirty bed then face the light that Thomas brings to my day?

Does the cold light of morning bring me no joy?
Does the warm feeling of his hands along my own bring me no blush?
Does only the hatred and yelling make me want to scream?
Does the blistering on my fingertips from playing until I bleed give me nothing but pleasure?
Does his love make me love him back?

Do not listen to my depression,
wait until the mania begins.
Then I won't stop shaking,
playing, writing, singing.
I refuse to end the notes,
tumbling, pouring, following.
I will never surrender,
dancing, humming, loving.
I was born with the disorder,
manic depression.

I believe I was near to the edge more then once,
writing poems within poems,
why can't I stop thinking?
I'd like to rest but I've been up all night,
my teachers already hate me because I like to sit
by the windows and watch the rabbit run by the courtyard,
damn those rabbits with their watches.
Bitterness invades my starving tongue,
pray for me because I am falling,
suicide laced,
little bitch,
unwanted child of  \\DARKNESS//

End my fucking sorrow,
end the salty taste I still swallow,
end the dry pills,
end the cutting,
end the life,
end the life,
end MY life.

I need a steel boned waist clincher,
hold my frame together with the black ribbons of time,
clinch my torso to fit the shape of a paperthin-
homecoming queen.

Written by EmmaFranko (Avena Sativa)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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