Okay
This one might need an intro:
This piece has no real meaning, I just wrote what came first to my mind to write. Might not be suitable for younger eyes. The only editing that I ever did on this piece was one edit for grammar. (it's vs. its) The rest of it is raw thoughts.
Stream of Conscienceness writing:
by: Chasma DeLane
I hate it when you look at me that way.
Like you can pin my soul to the bricks behind me with lies.
Tears boil down my cheeks and I seethe while you soothe and you don't even know who I am.
Can anyone see me? I'm standing right here in front of you, with a pocket watch and a smile, feeling naked as sin when I have too many jackets on.
How can you say something like that? What is there about me that gives everyone the impression that it's okay to hurt me? I can see your thoughts, taste them on my breath like yesterday's whiskey.
You're a putrid human being. I gawk at you like you're a flamingo on parade and you don't even see me. Do you see you? I don't think you love me anymore.
Everyday, you beat my soul down and crumble its remains like salt-less saltines in your calloused palms, and everyday, I allow you to.
A better question, do I love you anymore? What is it about you that draws my being into you like a moth to scarlet flame? The sweet sadistic pleasure-pain of you KILLING ME SLOWLY with your satin, silken tongue.
I wish you could speak to me like you speak to her. I walk down the street and I see EVERYTHING, the opaque clouds whisper and hiss, trussssssssssst yourssssselfffff.
I trust myself like I trust someone with a bleeding heart that tells me love makes the world go 'round.
I hate your eyes. I can't stand the swooping, sloppy and sloping feelings that they slosh into my guts. Like pig slop rolling and SINGING lullubies in my stomach. I see the bottom of too many coke-and-rum glasses now.
I hate coke. And I hate rum.
What does that tell you, my love?
Too many times, I needle my fingers, when I'm sewing your shadows to your soles. I staple your morale to your skin, and laugh when you bleed out.
Twitch and convulse, my love, it'll all be over soon. My voice is soothing, just like yours, bleed out my darling, the end is near.
I consider helping you to your feet, just to watch you fall. I'm afraid that if I do help you to stand, you'll push me down again.
Tell me again why I'm marrying you?
Because I love the way I hate it when you stare at me like you can pin my soul to the bricks behind me with your eyes.
I love you for PRIIIIIIIDE.
Can you swallow that one, love? That I can be prideful? Can you handle the fact that here I am, laughing, my cheeks painted black with asphyxiation and pink with sheer pleasure from dying because you will miss me?
That is why it's worth it, that is why I love you.
I love you.