A Chemical Bath

It's not your fault.
                  The same way guns don't kill people
                  The way a lit cigarette doesn't know it brings cancer 
                  The way a bomb wouldn't be blamed for it's fatal design
You're no bad habit.
                  The same way taking a familiar route home from school isn't bad
                  (until a creepy guy in a white van memorizes the journey)
                  The same way answering the door for a neigbor is normal
                  (until he robs you at point blank)
Didn't you hear me?
It's not your fault. 

Who R U:? - The caterpillar

I am a Lindsay, a lark in over sized shirts and tight jeans.
my name: a can of olives, a car dealership, and a handful of girls born in '92

I'm Puerto Rican, a redhead, and skin cancer white
Basically an anomaly and a contrast

I write for fun, you can read for fun too
I love it when people criticize my work

I lack respect for spelling and grammar
Common sense and intelligence suffice



(i'm more Alice than Alyss) 

Sleeping Beauty.

I would pay to prick my finger on a spindle and to fall asleep for years.
as a matter of fact I'm thinking of at least going into hibernation.
My sleeping pattern =
sleep at the most random and inconvenient times +  being awake at the crack of any unreasonable hour.

I think too much to sleep. even when I do sleep..  my dreams are starting to be exhausting.

your truth.

You put me in this Scarlet dress

                and shriek: cheat, liar

ripping the fabric away

                calling me a thief

                                     an alien

                                     a child

I am a deceiver

I promise the wind

                using: assumption, insinuation, and appearance

bright colours in my silhouette

My critics interpret what they see and feel wise, and included

We know her: she laughs, she smiles, cries, and prays

We know her: she stares, she’s quiet

 and knows the shadows

They put me in a box, with two sides

and slots for hard metal

To my demons I am honest

I answer their questions

                using broken pieces glass and gold

whatever’s left

but you put the pieces here

for my collage

so I must answer with your words:

I am (only) innocence.

in one month.

Then we saw the houses

The ones we saw every time we opened our eyes to breathe

Past the droplets on the glass, into the future

We took in the simple pleasures

And feeling safe and comfortable

I asked a simple question

In a brief sigh

“Do we know? And how?”

I did not know that this would be used against me latter

My unsurity.

Latter my death.

I never doubted the present.

Moments held too much proof to be disproved.

It was the supposed tos, the what’s rights, that started my dissent

My definition was a question “Is this real life?”

And when doubt came in I began to fight

I used paper clips to brand myself,

I used the pliers to rip the connections

I exploded.

I was chaos.

          and pain.

Now my music is too quiet

And the memories drown the colours

ask me why and I’ll pay you to understand

Because I fell through the cracks

Because I lost it all

Because I was wrong

          Because I was doomed

But all I’ll really say is

                   I don’t know

                  

Because I don’t.

Want to call me?

to activate words: insert quarter

 when I write: the words look cold and dead

they burn, and sear with meaningless ice

no passion, no feeling, they aren’t enough

 I can’t write anymore because what I write is me and I am a mess.

If I could I’d crumple up and fly to the basket,

I’d fold my corners and rip me in half

I’d scribble over my features and torch my answers

I need to talk to you, to get my questions

I’ve lost the desire to know, but yearn for the fire you bring

Tell me about her voice, about her words, about her life

Tell me the way you feel around her

Tell me so I can bleed, tell me so I can live

This silence is driving me to the edge

I’m waiting for you to break the hope back down

I’m waiting for the end, to begin again

My brain is only loud when you’re silent

It’s a trap, a mess

I am a mess.

couldn't help but notice

it.

toxic heart, scrape the ooze off

scrape the overuse,

it’s green and alive

beating with radiation

giving all it has, has rotted it

thick layers of bubbling  deceit

and butterflies

dead ones, with twitches and reflexes

last night was nice, I smiled and laughed

breathing in the simplicity

that wasn’t the lie

the lie was in our hands; trickling past

I’m sorry I didn’t catch it and fling it into view

I’m sorry I didn’t slap my heart on the table

So you could see the bruises and the holes

Here’s my last cut, the deepest mark

Not on my whole heart but beneath

Somewhere deeper

I couldn’t put into words what was happening

I forgot to scream and yawned instead

It’s not your fault

     it’s just your hand print

From My Window

It’s a concrete slab, a walking band of pot smoking

people, using teenage love to stay warm, from here

to their cars.

it’s  a medal bench with a sobbing pony tail, and

parka wearing fat girls: too much make up and colour

on their eyes and boots: like sad clowns.

it’s the garbage truck at 5 a.m, banging it’s drums

as if revenge is to wake the Dreamers.

It’s the absence of green life, no recycling, no bushes,

no corporate agenda.

it’s the bars that frustrate those selfish few who’d like

to jump, or their friends that take possession instead of life

it’s the glass that keeps out the cool breeze but not the cold

It’s the view from our castle  on floor two.

(learn to take the stars.)