May 31, 2012
[challenge number twelve] explicit mania

submitted by the-ghost-in-your-bed

(it’s funny, because in a peculiar way, everyone knows what it is to feel like this. After all, who among us has not, once every while, felt so utterly wretched that they are delirious, manic, out of their mind in pain. But you see, that hysteria - although local to everyone - isn’t as normal as you might believe it to be. One moment there’s this depression dragging you straight down to the bottom of the ocean, right deep down where you can’t move let alone breathe. It’s suffocating and your lungs are screaming, crying out for oxygen but it’s bearable. In your state of compression, you are stable, safe in your despair. But then the water that has been building up and up on your head does something to gravity, you shoot up up up right up to the surface and it’s almost like you’ve been released from this ocean of sadness. That’s the beauty of this, you’re tricked into believing it’s over, you can rest, it wasn’t so bad after all. But you’re wrong. Because this relief makes you do crazy things. You’ve got such a rush you go out and you buy a car (if you’re rich) even though you never learnt to drive, you buy an expensive dress or pair of shoes(if you’re not) even though you don’t really like them that much. You’re filled with such elation you gush over everyone you meet, telling them the beauty of life inviting them to parties your parents won’t let you have, telling them how much you love them. It’s almost like being drunk, that side of it, all the time. It’s much more frightening and unpredictable than the depression. Fear grips you and makes you do even more stupid things. You’re out of control, nothing can stop you, except that it can. For most people, it wears off, you calm down. You can return normality, and now have the ability to say you know what it feels like. But you don’t. You have no idea. Because for some people, it never goes away. And the only way you can stop the mania is to be dragged back down into the deepest depths of the ocean. It never ends. Never. There can be varying levels of both, and sometimes, maybe often, it is unnoticeable. But you will never be balanced, never find a middle. There is no telling really, the only thing you can tell is that it is yours forever. If you are unlucky enough to have mania grip your life, you will be under it’s spell for your whole life. it’s funny, because in a peculiar way, everyone knows what it’s like to feel like this. ‘I understand’ but no, you don’t.)

8:28am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZaUpHwMU0BQO
(Notes: 3)
  
Filed under: the-ghost-in-your-bed challenge number twelve submission 
May 22, 2012
Challenge Number Twelve: Photo challenge

Greetings writers,

8:35pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZaUpHwLzMAJc
(Notes: 5)
  
May 21, 2012
My thoughts today were that

submitted by thedownbeat

You would make pretty babies that wore weird shirts.

That some poeple are not meant to know that they are loved. 

1:17pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZaUpHwLtxiN_
(Notes: 1)
  
Filed under: thedownbeat submission 
May 18, 2012
I Devote My Entirety

submitted anonymously

Your turtle-like hiding behind your sweatshirt is the cutest thing I have ever seen.

Your beatific voice laughing quietly is the sweetest thing I have ever heard.  

I have yet to taste your lips on mine, to smell your aroma, or to feel the curves of your body.

Yet I know they will be perfection.

You don’t see it. You only see your learning disabilities, your poor eyesight, and your flaws.  You see the physical manifestation of those imaginary flaws every day on your wrists, and all the way up your arms.

My vision of you is as different from yours as pink paint is from a stereo speaker. I see the way you eloquently wink at me as we jokingly flirt, and the way I would fit perfectly into your arms as you hug me through our virtual universe. Your scars are the physical marks that negative people have left on your life, and the battles you have survived.

Let me devote my entirety to your being. Let me be the little to your big as I kiss all of your scars. Let me throw away your knives and replace them with my heart. Let me love you as you have never been loved before, more than you ever thought you deserved. Let me grant you with all of the stars, leaving the moon in the sky as a meeting point for our love. Let me be yours.

8:12pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZaUpHwLjuD5e
(Notes: 3)
  
Filed under: anonymous submission 
May 16, 2012
Last Moments

submitted by ethereal-children 

When we wake up, I look at him or a long time and finally he meets my gaze. For a moment, I don’t see indifference, I just see him, the same beautiful boy who I loved so intensely and with such vigour. And I think I see reflected in his; the image of a wild eyed child with creased cheeks and tangled curls who he gave his heart to back when we were kids. Then as the light breaks with waves, the spell is broken and we’re done. “I..” he says, once again being the first to lay down his cards. I nod: I like honesty too and its dawns on me that for two people who hold the truth in such high esteem, we’ve be lying to one another for much too long. It’s taken us a shameful amount of time to admit we broke it, and before we break anything else, I stroke my wonderful boy’s cheek and leave.

12:22pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZaUpHwLa-xxu
(Notes: 1)
  
Filed under: ethereal-children submission 
May 14, 2012
[challenger number 11]

submitted by ethereal-children 

They lied to each other one last time when they promised to be friends.

7:20pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZaUpHwLUui22
Filed under: ethereal-children submission challenge number eleven 
May 14, 2012
[Challenge Number Eleven] Mylar

submitted by edgepieces
 
His heart expanded like a child’s balloon and she held tightly to it until the day he grew angry, and in his fit of anger, she grew frightened, and in her fear, she popped the balloon.

7:19pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZaUpHwLUuWj0
(Notes: 1)
  
Filed under: edgepieces submission challenge number eleven 
May 14, 2012
An Almost Prayer

submitted by edgepieces

I sometimes pray .
 
And when I sometimes pray, I apologize for not sometimes praying enough.
 
“Sorry, I’ve been so busy…”
“Work’s been crazy…”
“I tried to call you…”
 
I make excuses for not sometimes praying enough. But when I do sometimes pray, my chest opens like a window on the first day of spring, like the arms of a child. My heart collapses like the levees in New Orleans and my words crash as violently as the waters that destroyed whole hearts in half-days did.
 
I sometimes pray to you and I see your face glisten and I hear your voice twist and the threads of your promises tighten and I know that some day, you’ll be gone. I know.
 
The death of a deity is the decomposition of the flecks of one’s being.
 
I have worshipped so many and now you’re the only god I have. I have worshipped so many and they have left me when I most needed them. I harbor no hatred towards them, but I feel each scar is more painful and lasts longer than the one before.
 
I sometimes pray to you, asking for forgiveness, for just a little longer, one more smile I can use as a bandage to slow the bleeding in this gash across my breast.
 
But I know you can’t give me that.
 
So I sit alone - a faithless fool - sometimes praying to nothing.

7:17pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZaUpHwLUttfM
Filed under: edgepieces submission 
May 10, 2012
Is this what they meant when they said we’d be heavy in high school?

submitted by bappletree

When I’m wiping the last bit of smudged mascara from my lower lids, you call me back for the first time in weeks. I tell you about my dreams. They’re the same as before, but you don’t stop me, so I just assume you don’t remember. Drowsy, nostalgic, sweating a little, I talk to you about what I’ve been doing lately, stretching the barely-anything over ten minutes of unimpressive babble that I know doesn’t fool you one bit, but you don’t stop me.

We talk about old friends, and I confess to you that the thought of living in a tiny dorm in a faraway place with no distant, sensitive quasi-friends (you) to call up in the middle of the night scares me so much I could die. As usual, this feeling condenses back into my bones having received no reciprocation, and we talk some more about college and dreams again. You want to be a music teacher. You say you’re not going too far from here. You want to help kids with the sort of stuff we went through back in the day. “I could see you doing that,” I say. I’m afraid to ask what sort of stuff you mean.

I talk about my writing again, and it’s different with you because you don’t stop me. Part of me wonders if my writing is as much a constant in your life as it is in mine; we barely talk, but I keep you inside me like an extract on a shelf that gets sprinkled into everything I do and everything I am and everything I will be. And I wonder so hard that you hear me through the walls of my skull and the cell phone waves in this brief moment of interconnectedness and telepathy that we used to experience as kids as you say, “When you’re a famous writer, I know you’re going to write something about all of this and just change all of the names.” But I won’t change the names. I never have, and you don’t stop me.

At the end of the call, I beg you to text me, trying to hit the perfect balance between sincerity and desperation even though I know you won’t answer. I tell you I love you, and in some ironic, symbolic act of self-preservation, I hang up before I hear what you have to say back.

I spend the rest of the night wondering what would be different if for once you could stop me, could stop the pouring of my lifeblood into these monthly disappointments and words you don’t read. I wonder if it hurts at all to see me fight so hard for something that’s already dead.

4:53pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZaUpHwLEnZzw
Filed under: bappletree submission 
May 6, 2012
Thank you.

submitted by bappletree

Thank you for sitting on my desk in LA and talking to me about death (even though the previous summer you had me too giddy and stupefied to get into the pool with you at that party). Thank you for only getting playfully angry when I sang Miss Murder in Algebra I (even though you could have killed me with those days you waited to say we couldn’t be together). Thank you for that sleepover (even though you weren’t there with me, I thank you for singing to us (even though it was sort of bad)). Thank you for the AIM conversations (even though you could have just as easily ignored me), those stupid jokes (even though you could have acknowledged them around your then-friends). Thank you for writing (even though it was about her). Thank you for playing your song at my party, and thanks for that Kermit card (even though my birthday was six months before).

Thank you for high school (even though we barely spend any of it together, honestly). Thank you for introducing me to the person with whom I would soon fall hopelessly, hopelessly in love (even though you were convinced it was only because the two of you were so alike). Thank you for hallway half-smirks and monthly phone calls that get too loud and too long and too late (even though they file the nights down to splinters and I soon realize it will be weeks before we speak again).

And thank you, thank you, thank you for the gumption to laugh, to cry, to etch defiant little circles into the walls others build for me (even though I have yet to whittle one down completely). Thank you for love and heartbreak and loyalty and angst. Thank you for being the person to keep my nails out of my own skin, even if you were never there before, even if you aren’t here today, even if you never show up again with a box of bandaids in one hand and a dead frog in the other like when we were kids and tell me you should really stop disappearing into oblivion. Even if you never knock on my radiator in the middle of the night to tell me you finally feel it, too.

Even if I hate you, I love you with the intensity you taught me to feel, and for that I thank you, I thank you, I thank you.

9:12pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZaUpHwL0cgXK
(Notes: 3)
  
Filed under: bappletree submission 
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