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not_quite_dead
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Name: Liz
Location: Fargo, North Dakota, United States
Birthday: 4/18/1991
Gender: Female
Interests: "A friend to everyone is a friend to no one." Only recently have I applied that to my life, realized that it applies to me. Well, I suppose that's why we invent these little "anonymous" sites. Maybe why mine's getting a make-over of sorts. So I may, who knows, be a little honest. Honest, of course, in a cryptic way--disguised as artistry--so I can tell the world why my friends piss me off, or why I want to burn all of the memorabilia I have from my ex-boyfriend. And if he read that right there he would maybe hate me. And he'd know it was about him. But he doesn't need to know that. And I am digressing here. So, that's my interest... being honest.
Message: message me
Member Since:
3/10/2005
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| What is this,
this pretentious "poetry"?
This massacre of adjectives
on an innocent page
Forced suffering of critical minds,
who read your misguided,
cryptic words with an air of
given superiority
Unforgivable acts committed
through mindless mediums,
typically applied for an
informational exchange
What is this?
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| No one is safe
from my traitorous tongue
and no one goes free, when
by gossip, one's hung
and we all do talk shit
at least, we'll say, we don't lie
but, anyone bold behind a back,
confronted, becomes shy
i would say sorry,
a lie--but almost just,
though who could mean that?
when we know it's you. not us.
Eh.
That was pretty crappy.
But I wanted to write something that actually had a rhyme to it.
Not just...
A dismembered sentence.
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| You...
are a dumb skank!
;D
I need to write something.
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| everything
There's something amazing about a screen. It can make you feel so
lonely, but it can also give you comfort during your loneliest moments.
People spend so much time staring at screens, it's really amazing.
Doing all sorts of things, too. Writing, for example. Working on a cure
for cancer. Looking up porn.
Threw you for a loop there, mhm?
But I miss paper.
Good old-fashioned paper.
Paper has a history to it. People before you have held that book,
people who have loved, cried, hated, yelled, lived. A screen. A screen
is everything. And everything is nothing. By the transitive property...
A screen is nothing.
A week ago I wrote a letter to my aunt. Nothing big. "Dear Aunt
So-and-so, I'm still alive and here's a bunch of paragraphs about my
life which I consider too boring to be mentioned in casual
conversation." My conversations are often spent discussing lives that
fictional people have lived. Because I watched them live them. On a
screen. I guess that letter must've been something to Aunt So-and-so,
though. She died just yesterday. Which is why I'm sitting in grandpa's
study and typing up this little ditty out of my ass. Sorry, grandpa.
Didn't mean to deface your computer with my obscenities. I know you
don't really like that. Well, you don't really like me anyway. Not much
of my family does.
Which might be why I'm here, and you are all... over there.
My Aunt had Buerger's Disease. Which is a disease where basically your
blood flow gets cut off from all of your appendages systematically. You
pretty much fall apart. She was not a very happy lady, understandably.
When it comes down to it, the only reason my family kept in touch with
her was because of her disease. I guess she was kind of a typical
middle child... Mediocre, easy to ignore... Depressed. Maybe
clinically. If not in her youth, definitely once she found out she had
the disease. Poor woman... I guess we all kind of thought she'd end it
herself in the end. It being her life.
It's almost ironic that our entire family has been brought together by
the one aunt, cousin, niece, daughter that no one really ever paid
attention to. Hah. Wherever she is, Aunt So-and-so must be laughing at
us. I would be. It is rather laughable.
My family's always bonded around the television. Maybe that's why no
one ever paid attention to my aunt. Everyone so busy watching these
fictional characters live out their lives. And my poor aunt... Wishing
she could be interesting enough for my family. Wishing she could be
vibrant enough to create a life just as interesting as those fictional
characters...
Her life was poetic in the end. Poetic to me. She and I were quite
alike, now that I think of it. Generally ignored by a family that would
rather staring at screens than taking note of our existence. Maybe if
I'd noticed these parallels while she was alive... She would've stayed
alive just a little bit longer... She wouldn't have sped up the
inevitable and ended herself before the disease did.
Maybe some day her story will make it into the screen. And she'll be everything instead of nothing. For once.
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| You and your twin...
Maybe it came through hatred of him
Or of a weariness cultivated inevitably with time.
More likely the latter
But dearest, honey, sweetie, whatever you are today...
Your smile.
Your laugh.
Your voice.
It's all... so... bothersome.
Inexplicably.
Perhaps, as with facades these days, yours merely... cracked.
I saw a glimpse of a liar.
A self-centered narcissist.
Someone who doesn't know what they're talking about...
But insists on doing so anyway.
Huh.
It's really a shame.
Now, the question is:
am I simply naive? (Yes, I can pronounce it now, thanks.)
Should I trust my willfully ignorant self?
The self that sees you lonely.
Scared.
Depressed.
Broken.
Or is it true, what they say?
That you're pretentious.
Self-absorbed.
Manipulative.
Simply put,
a bitch.
It's funny... you like to talk about how she doesn't think she's a bitch.
When everyone that meets you thinks you are.
Hah.
In any case...
I'm lost.
Very very lost.
The only thing
(between you and me),
that I know about
(between you and me)
right now is that...
No.
I don't love you.
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