30-days-of-scream

I started snorting cocaine when I was 17 and I don’t remember much in that time period except the intense sexual encounters we had. I’d call it making love, but I think we all know you have to be in love to do that. You never had much of that for me, but I had large amounts of it for you. I don’t see how I had any room for love in my heart when I filled it with drugs and bad things. I did though, and I still remember the way you’d kiss me at night when the world was quiet and no one was alive except for you and I. I remember when we would do bad things. I don’t remember when I started stealing my mothers credit card, I also don’t remember when I stopped telling my little brother I loved him. Either way I was melting and you weren’t listening to the words I would say. I look back at my writing when I was with you and I almost feel like publishing it to show girls what not to do. I’m a bit scared they’d fall in love with you like I had, despite the large amounts of tragedy intertwined in your veins. Every one wants a tragedy. If only they knew three months into it I was listening to nirvana on my bathroom floor while putting bad things in my body, contemplating doing myself off as kurt cobain did. Without you of course, because you were with the pretty blonde girl that liked fucking you and got you free drugs. I never could pinpoint the exact reason it never crossed my mind that you were burning me, but when I emerged from my daydream I looked in the mirror for the first time and screamed at the burn marks all over my thighs and wrists. I think that might have been the time that I started inhaling cigarettes, because I guess I needed another bad thing to ruin me in a different way than you did. For five months I was writing books onto my thighs to cover up your burn marks, and opening my veins to see me on the inside, because I know that the only thing inside of me was you. And I never saw much of you anymore. I think maybe that I was crazy, my mother sure thought so because after finding me passed out on the bathroom floor she sent me to a woman called a therapist. I don’t know why I told that woman about you because the next thing I knew she was crying and I was in a straitjacket cause apparently I started screaming. I wonder what she’s doing now, and I wonder if she still thinks of me at night when she’s falling asleep. Most people who meet me don’t stop thinking of me, but not in the good way. I leave scars instead of gardens and I think that’s why my mother began crying in her sleep every night. I started kissing girls at night, because let’s face it, after him I wasn’t too ready to feel like I wasn’t in control again. I wonder when I started making girls feel like he made me feel, I guess I liked controlling them and making them fall in love with me like I did with you. You should have seen the look on this blonde girls face when I fucked her for 3 hours then told her I didn’t give a fuck about her. I think you would have been proud. My mother started hiding the knives and I wonder if she was scared I was going to hurt myself, or her. Regardless I slapped her and she kicked me out and I’ve been sleeping on pretty blonde girls satin sheets. She promises me if I stay that she’ll buy me all the coke I want so of course I had to stay. There’s only so much coke, there’s only so much interest I have in a person. when I left she screamed at me about ripping her soul out and I told her there’s no way I could’ve done that because I was never interested in her soul. I wanna know when I started making girls rip their veins out. I wanna know when you made me rip mine. I ponder my unanswered questions over black coffee in the daylight hours, and I’m sitting on a brunette bombshells bedroom floor, fucked up on coke and smoking a blend 27. She looks at me and asks me why I was such a drifter, and why she had to scream every night in her sleep because she was scared id be gone in the morning time. I remember laughing and I think that’s when she cried in my lap and begged me to open up to her. Whether that was before or after we fucked for an hour I don’t know, but I’m going to go with after. I started shooting up with one of my temporary girlfriends, I really thought I loved this one but after shooting up heroin I think I could’ve loved the guy who shot John Lennon, ha ha ha, I’m totally kidding but if he would’ve heard that he would have gotten a laugh cause he knows how much I love The Beatles. I don’t remember falling asleep in a Waffle House located on 19 but what I do remember is waking up to my mothers face crying down at me. if I hadn’t have felt the restraint of my limbs I would have slapped her and I think she knew it too because she started crying harder, harder, and harder. I remember her telling me she didn’t know where she went wrong and that’s when I glanced at my wrists to see the track marks of my lovely habit and I realized what landed me in the asylum that day. When I was allowed visitors my favorite girl to fuck dropped by and held my hand for an hour while I told her I loved her over and over. I didn’t of course but I needed a place to get high when I got out of that shithole and my other girls didn’t call or come see me so I figured they weren’t going to be there. I was wrong of course, cause I woke up high as fuck on my brunettes bed and I heard her whimpering under me and that’s when I realized that I had probably fucked up and slapped her, cause she did remind me of my mother and the doctors told me I was damn insane and I wanted to cry with her but I didn’t want her to know I could provide salt water at my eyelids because that makes people want to lick your tears away and I never wanted a pity party. I told her I was just looking for good sex and drugs before I left to wander the streets and be picked up by a cop that thought I was homeless. i told him I was cause the truth is I never felt like I had much of a home anyways. I saw him at the flea market at 7:26 pm, I remember because I had to check the clock so I could know the exact moment I realized I might be getting bad. I ran to you with open arms to be greeted with confusion. I slapped you in your face and I just remember fucking you for two hours in your truck after that but it could very well be a dream. because I woke up in my mothers front yard with blood inside my mouth. I figured I had just bitten down too hard on my cheek, but the police showed up at my mothers door later that day saying I had violated my probation and I had to go to jail for 30 days. my mother cursed and screamed at me and I don’t remember her asking them not to take me so that’s when I first realized my mother didn’t love me anymore. jail was a funny thing, I liked it because no one sugar coats, no one acts like they give a fuck what you have to say. i liked it cause people in jail lack empathy. I spared them my story, because even when people ask what’s my history I think of my therapist that probably cries herself to sleep every night. Although I enjoy leaving people I never wanted to leave scars, or maybe I did. or maybe I just liked coke and heroin and not much of anything else. either way I don’t remember which girl picked me up from jail, I just know she took me to her place and had the heroin and the needles ready to be used and goddamn it felt lovelier then I could’ve ever dreamed of, I really fell in love with that girl but once I came down from my lovely high I asked her what her last name was and she told me we’d been fucking for a year and so I realized maybe I didn’t quite love her as much as the heroin led me to believe. ha ha ha it makes me laugh to think about her clawing her long black nails into my arm out of anger, or maybe it was because she was trying to give me physical pain as I had given her emotional pain. either way it sucked leaving her cause we ran out of heroin and that bitch really thought she loved me. oh but no, it sucked because she was fucking hott and she liked nirvana so I think she’s the only girl I ever thought about loving before I realized I couldn’t love. i left her and I think I remember actually crying while getting into my car but coming down off of heroin could make a grown fucking man cry at the drop of a hat, so I never really thought much of it. I never really thought much of anything. except my free drugs and the great sex. I sat on a new blonde girls bed while she was shooting up d’s (not really my thing, but she was pretty trashy) drinking black coffee when I thought about him again and naturally when I think of him I leave to find something to spark my interest because obviously new blonde girl wasn’t taking my mind off of him, but I stayed, cause let’s face it, every other girl I could go to I had left too much baggage, and I don’t think I could work my magic without slapping one of them in the face, so I stayed and I slept, I must’ve slept quite some time because when I woke up, new blonde girl was fucking a black dude next to me and I don’t remember punching her in the face but I do remember her screaming for me to stay, that he made her do it and I couldn’t just fucking break her heart. I also remember laughing till I cried while walking out that sluts house. crazy bitch looked for me at brunette bombshells house but we were too fucked up to open the door and I really loved this girl. ha ha ha don’t I always seem to think I love someone when I’m shooting galaxies in my veins? it makes me laugh later when I’m sober, if I ever am. I don’t remember fighting with the girl but I do remember waking up at my moms house with my whole family surrounding my bed. I remember them asking me if it mattered to me that I was hurting them, or myself and I laughed and laughed and told them I was life, and life was fucking painful while they cried and sobbed. it was then when I went into my bathroom where I had previously been crying over the dickhead that fucked me up so bad I couldn’t walk straight, that I looked in the mirror and I saw someone. yeah all that poetic bullshit but I looked so fucking crazy. my eyes were blue as ever but beneath them were black circles, I was skinny as a rail and my hair was black, wild, cut short and shaggy. I had black eyeliner on, probably a couple days old. my favorite jean jacket with my favorite nirvana tee underneath, ripped jeans and my old chucks. honestly I was wondering when I became such a dyke, ha ha ha. I remember leaving that night and hearing my mom scream that I was such a pain on the family, I just whispered that pain was inevitable. and I was the definition of pain. she didn’t hear me, but she will learn one day. I walked to my nirvana loving long black haired beauty’s house only to find her on the bathroom floor with a razor to her wrists, fucked up part is she wasn’t even crying, just kept whispering over and over that she wanted to get me out of her veins. God she looked so fucking beautiful sitting there I almost wanted to take a picture but instead I picked her up and lay her on the bed that we’d shared meaningless (to me) sex on countless times, shot up countless amounts of heroin, and I kissed her until we both fell asleep. when I woke up that morning I hated to leave her, and I think it was the first time it ever hurt me to leave because leaving was my expertise, so I left her a note on her bed post that said I’ll be back. even though we both knew there was never any guarantee to that. I think I went to my fathers after that, cause at this point my mother and him had split and although everyone knows it’s because of me no one says anything about it for my sake, if only they knew how much I don’t fucking care, but like i previously stated people enjoy sugar coating, never saying what they mean which might be the reason I shoot up so many drugs but hey, like I said maybe I just fucking love heroin. My dad let me crash at his place, because let’s face it without my mom he didn’t really give a fuck what I was doing, weird part is he loved that I was fucking girls and I think it gave him a lot of pride as a father, ha ha ha maybe he’s just as fucked up as me. I told him that and we had a long laugh, but he walked in on me and his current girlfriend and slapped me in the face before kicking me out. so naturally I went to this girls place, funny thing about this one is I really never caught her name, she’s the first girl that never really gave a fuck if I left so I wonder why it was so hard leaving. well I left anyways because she wasn’t doing much for me, and plus she didn’t really fuck with drugs except she was a strong potthead, never really was my thing, I wanted to go as high as I could, not low. I guess you could say she was a hippie, those fuckers never care about anything anyways so maybe that’s why when I was leaving she woke up and smiled a goodbye smile. I did my famous wave that I always did when leaving a worthless souls house ( unless they were trying to beat my ass or something ) and I left with absolutely no intentions of ever coming back, because shit I thought I might have just stayed but everyone knows that’s not me, ha ha ha sometimes it makes me laugh when I think about how many girls I’ve left without explanations. maybe when I stop coming back they’ll know not to ever love someone like me, like him, because we are the definition of pain, and as previously stated pain is fucking inevitable. I remember walking into a coffee shop and seeing this long black haired, side bangs beauty that had on black right jeans, a nirvana tee and some converse. Fuck I actually stopped in my tracks cause she kinda looked like a girl version of me. she glanced at me and I knew right then that id end up at her place and we’d probably have some great sex, I just hoped she liked my kinda fix, cause a good fuck isn’t anything compared to a fuck high on heroin. seems kinda like a book or some poetic shit but I remember distinctly that she said absolutely nothing to me, just grabbed my hand and led me to her black mustang. I was almost thinking this bitch was perfect. I almost told her I loved her but then my eyes flashed back to him and I kept quiet. we couldn’t even make it into the door before she began shoving her tongue in my mouth, we somehow got to the bed and I’ve never been inside of someone like that, sober as fuck, and felt like I was on too of the world. I had a new favorite fuck, but I had to test the waters first cause I couldn’t let her fall in love with me because something about me didn’t wanna hurt her veins. I got up to leave the next morning but she was already awake blasting lithium and she asked me if I wanted to go get a tattoo, her treat. I said why not but we shot up some heroin before we went so I just remember waking to the next morning to a pain of my side and when I checked to look I had a lithium lyric on one side and pain is inevitable on the other. I guess I fucked up and talked to much. I never knew what my point was until she broke my heart. I am not mean to love, I am meant to be loved. I am here to teach people that pain is inevitable. I am here to take the human form of pain
—  The story of the girl who wasn’t a girl, but the purest form of pain

Regina Harris
2

She was an artist. Her circle were the libertines, the patrons and the hangers-on, bohemians and parasites, poets and pamphleteers and fashionable junkies. They delighted in the scandalous and the outré. In the tea-houses and bars of Salacus Fields, Linds escapades- broadly hinted at, never denied, never made explicit- would be the subject of louche discussion and innuendo. Her love-life was an avant-garde transgression, an art-happening, like Concrete Music had been last season, or ‘Snot Art! the year before that.
And yes, Isaac could play that game. He was known in that world, from long before his days with Lin. He was, after all, the scientist outcast, the disreputable thinker who walked out of a lucrative teaching post to engage in experiments too outrageous and brilliant for the tiny minds who ran the university. What did he care for convention? He would sleep with whomever and whatever he liked, surely!
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Perdido Street Staion Station - China Mieville

(30 day otp challenge- day 13)

Day 8: Least Favorite Movie

This is a touchy subject for me because when i originally watched them as a child i hated the third one, but a few months ago after watching the third one again i actually kind of liked it. So i dont really not like the 2nd or 3rd theres just parts of them i dont like so im just gonna say those instead. Micky and Roman, hate those bitches. Mrs Loomis i loved as a killer but Micky was so pointless, same with Roman.

Day 10: OMG WTF Death

Btw this will be the last of mine for the day (i posted so many cause i havnt for like a week) Anyway so the OMG WTF death for me was Jill. I mean i seriously thought Jill was gonna get away with it and to be honest i loved Jill’s character, being so obsessed with fame that she would kill her friends, family, it fits so perfectly with todays society! It was a shock for me when she actually died, i mean i wasnt expecting it at all, but i guess i shoulda known better from a Scream movie ;)