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chalkboard_girl
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I took all my mother's sleeping pills
I jumped off a freeway bridge
I drank three kinds of poison
And drove my
stock CAR off a ridge, I BEAT myself with a bat, Put a noose around my
HEAD .
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livejournal calendar |
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[Wednesday
May 10th, 2006] |
im getting a new lj
if u wnan read it im me or something
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[Sunday
April 30th, 2006] |
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mood |
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 horny |
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ok.
so. i have a
boys phone number in
my pill box
(vacant of pills)
and
theres a boy in oakland city
or newburg
or
w h e r e v e r
who knows
that
my middle name is lynn
i wear six rings
i actually like the taste of vodka.
he does not know that i am only
1 5.
he knows my lips are soft
and my skin is even softer.
he does not know my phone number
or where i live.
he knows i smoke
and drink
and live to have fun.
what he doesnt know
is that
im
not
j a i l b a i t.
im just a
grrrrrrrrl
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| well its like this you see |
[Sunday
April 30th, 2006] |
his hands were thin and pale.mine were freckly
i wore six rings.there were dead people on the the tvand an asshole in the recliner.
it was illegal
and it was beautiful.
being jailbait
is fuuuuun.
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[Wednesday
April 5th, 2006] |
"& im sorry for the time that i
pu my hands betwqeen your legs
and told you it was small
(because it really was not at all)"
there were girls sleeping
dreaming and not really
knowing what was next.
or how to get there,
only knowing
that for the moment
they all wanted her.
but who was 'she' anyway?
a distorted image of something
that used to be wonderful
until
she realized that she just wasn't
skinny (enough)
boys knew her name
but only because it was written
in
e v e r y
bathroom stall.
& like her mother once told her:
"you'd be a pretty girl if you'd jsut stop that fuckin' cussing!"
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[Wednesday
April 5th, 2006] |
| [ |
mood |
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 w00t w00t |
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| [ |
music |
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sublime |
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someone once told me that
i would be pretty
(if only i didn't cuss so much)
when she grows up
she'll tell you,
popping her gum,
she's going to be a
m o v i e s t a r
"moviestars don't cuss sweety,"
her mother will tell her,
and pour
'purity'
down her throat.
Watch me devour
my toxic waste
&
&
&
'oh hell there she goes again.'
the baby has a defect
lying in the bottom of
a broken eggshell.
baby chicken's hearts
are beating behind
glass windows.
"life is what happens outside the laundry room"
& right before he wakes up
the walls stop dancing,
the floors stop talking,
and the clothes quit walking.
&
right before she falls down
she realizes
that there really is no point
to anything
at all.
<3
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[Friday
March 17th, 2006] |
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mood |
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 why? |
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i think im in love again
there was a boy
at the mall
he had a pink mohawk,
black clothes
and he was in a wheelchair
i dont know why
or what happened to him
i jsut know
that he is officially
one of my many
many
pill bottle boys.
<3
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[Wednesday
March 8th, 2006] |
| [ |
mood |
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 emooo |
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we were white trash infested
candy coated teenagers,
and this thing that we
(at the time)
wanted to call
(!) life (!)
was destroying us.
there were boys
in cars,
and girls in shoes,
screaming.
This malicious
game of hearts
is about to end.
and The Fool
is whispering
your thoughts
into my ear.
but he doesnt really have a face.
so does he even matter?
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| white trash beauty queen |
[Wednesday
March 8th, 2006] |
| [ |
mood |
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 apathetic |
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| [ |
music |
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the white stripes:: my doorbell |
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white trash beauty queen
super star
super mean.
<3 <3 <3
her white trash
traylor park ethics
failed to see
the light of the
living room.
And she didn't quite seem
to understand
the velocity
of his words
escaping his mouth
and curling around her
once so
desirable
e x i s t e n c e.
the supposed-to-be
e x p e n s i v e
lace curtains
rippled,
with thier
m o v e ments,
stained with
vomit
and lies.
we left the bottles
on the floor when
we moved out
and a condom in the
closet.
no one ever knew about her anyways.
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[Saturday
March 4th, 2006] |
i lied to the guy at spencers last night.
i was shopping for nose rings you see and
i have mine done on the right side and
he said that
;most girls get them done on the left'
i wanted to tell him that
;im not most girls'
but its cliche and i kinda am,
whatever
. so he asks me
'if u have it done on the right does that mean ur emo??"
i told him
no
and well...you see i lied.
Then at hot topic
the attendent ppl
stalked us all around the
store.
people are such assholes
(including me)
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| not really a poem but whatever |
[Wednesday
February 22nd, 2006] |
| [ |
mood |
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 i miss that fuckin house |
] |
i dont know you
so why do i keep looking?
the eyes of the gas station attendent
bore into me
and remind me of the days
when music poured through the windows
and into the yard,
when the cielings were as high as we were.
and when things were just oh so fucking simple.
this reminds me of the trash
on the porch,
that made people turn away
and walk back to thier
own perfect lives.
and do you remember
the days
that we curled up on the too small couch
and sipped our liquors and mountain dew?
this reminds me of him
dark skinned and curly haired.
his hands were big and filled with bone.
and he loved to stand outside my door
but only at nighttime,
(when she was asleep)
what about the walls,
that held our stories
and our words,
the walls that held our lives.
there were men in suits
in there one day when i drove by.
they were painting
white
over
clear and effortless white.
i wondered if they knew that
they were painting over me.
(inspired by 'the old house on broadway')
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| why do you vomit candy my dear? |
[Saturday
February 18th, 2006] |
this is my pathetic version of
d i s a s t e r.
torn up and soaked
with stale jack daniels,
and infested with
lies.
my hands are covered in the
bloodstains of this
'wasted youth'
and im
rubbing them in your face.
((so tell me,
why do you
do the things you do
when no one is looking?))
this is the new version of tragedy.
and we're living it to the fullest.
There were crackwhores in the backseat,
laughing, thier arcrilic nails
scratching at my flesh,
teeth tearing into my skin.
"why do you vomit candy my dear?"
bottles and bottles filled the shelves
full of lost memories
of things that would have been great
if you could have rememeberd.
Right now,
there's a car full of teenagers
that you might not know,
driving straight into
--oblivion--
and not even .blinking.
<3 <3 <3
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[Saturday
February 18th, 2006] |
this is
and will always be:
my disasterous mind.
there are pieces of metal,
twisted and hot against
your tender skin
and all your doing
is counting the seconds
until its over.
never mind
the fact that your
falling apart
being ripped apart
were all just little
w h o r e s.
and you know?
i've never seen
you look more
beautiful,
then now,
when when your heart
is splatttered
across my
disgusting
face.
---this sucks---and dont say otherwise--going through writers block like a motherfucker. and it sucks ass--hate writeres block--just thought i'd try to write something, but whatever.
why the fuck am i explaining my self???
fuck this.
<3 <3 <3
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| writers block |
[Wednesday
February 15th, 2006] |
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mood |
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 sick |
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1.
i'm dressed in:
short skirts
fishnets
and lingere
(you can't see it but you know its there)
2.
you will stare
smooth down your shirt
talk about me with your freinds
you'll say that im easy
and wink at them as you walk towards me.
you'll say im easy
and you dont even know my name (yet)
3.
you'll put money in my palm
and put your hand on the small
of my back
and walk me to your car.
4.
We'll sit on the balcone of
your hotel room and drink wine &
you'll call me baby
and i'll let you
(but only because you payed me to)
5.
I'll wake up to find another
grand on the nightstand
and you'll be explaining
to your wife
the lipstick stains on your shirt.
i wrote some other stuff but im not posting it--but i wrote it awhile ago--like i said--writers block---
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[Friday
February 3rd, 2006] |
i woke up between a memory and a dream.
& & &
i will
Be
FiFtEeN
in 21
days.
prepare to self-destruct in
5
4
3
2
1
♥
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[Friday
February 3rd, 2006] |
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this is the new version of tragedy. and we're living it to the fullest. there were crackwhores in the backseat laughing, thier arcrilic nails scratching at my flesh, teeth tearing my skin. bottles and bottles fill the shelfs full of lost memories of things that would have been great if you could have rememeberd. Teens in cars driving straight into oblivion--without even blinking--
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| hello jack! |
[Friday
February 3rd, 2006] |
this is my pathetic version of
d i s a s t e r.
torn up and soaked
with stale jack daniels,,,
and infested with
lies.
my hands are covered in the
bloodstains of this
'wasted youth'
and im
rubbing them in your face.
& & every night
i lie awake and
think about the monster
in the room
across the hall.
dead and lifeless
falling apart
in a v shaped foil
and a bottle
of her
favorite
hard liquor
Jack Daniels
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[Wednesday
February 1st, 2006] |
“people smoke cigarettes after sex because they want to be emotionally distant from the other person,” he told me, holding a match up to the tip of my Marlboro Red. His face was paler than normal, and his toes were drawing little hearts on the bottom of my feet.
We were a mess of dirt cotton sheets and sweaty palms. His were currently kneading into my back, his fingertips caressing the bruises on my hipbones and working through my hair, which desperately needed to be washed.
The room smelled like vodka, cheap cigarettes, and ‘love’. I got up and walked to the bathroom. The sun coming through the window was warm on my bare skin. In the mirror was a skinny bloodshot girl with just-had-sex hair and pouty lips. But she was a slut, and I’m not. I found my clothes by the shower, and got dressed. My legs ached and I could feel bruises forming on my hipbones.
Back in the bedroom he was standing against the windowpane, the sun was streaming in, making him look like some type of warrior sex god. His chest was bear and covered in scratches and little bite marks, and his bare feel poked out of the bottoms of his ripped jeans.
We looked everywhere but each other’s eyes. We could never make eye contact after sex.
We walked to the diner down the street. The air was sweet with the smell of deep fried foods and sugar. We sat in a squeaky leather booth and ordered vanilla cokes and French toast. It was warm and buttery covered in powdered sugar and syrup. I imagined how it would look coming up again later. The thought made me cringe.
We ate and smoked and talked about things that we thought people in diners should talk about, like movies.
“My friend and I were going to make a movie one time. It was going to be about two super slinkster cool glam diva girls who wrote poetry and traveled across the country, and in the end they were going to make a movie about themselves. It was going to be rad,” I told him, sipping on my coke.
We paid the waitress and left.
We walked to The House. It was a big two-story farm house, half yellow and half blue. I never knew which colour it was supposed to be, but it was gorgeous. Inside there were teens lounging in orange and yellow striped couches and chairs, smoking joints and watching Disney movies. Little kids played on the floor, screaming and laughing, and a warm lovely smell came from the kitchen. Dinese was cooking eggs and bacon and buttermilk biscuits.
We sat at the coffee table, and someone handed me a joint. It was blueberry flavored and wonderful.
It seemed like time stopped at the 420 house. People were always passing through, staying for dinner, or overnight. Kids were always playing around on the hardwood floor and there were always cartoons.
Lucinda turned on the stereo and The Ramones filled the house. She grabbed me and we danced around the living room. Everyone else put down what they were doing and joined in. we passed joints and danced until our feel hurt and our bodies were glossy with sweat.
We stayed there until the sun had gone to sleep and the moon played croquet with the stars.
I woke up the next day, curled up between him and a little boy in a batman t shirt.
Peter Pan was singing on the tv.
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[Wednesday
January 25th, 2006] |
i have warts on my fingers
that just wont go away
and chemicals
in my hair
burning my scalp
because
we just aren't
good enough
and and
there is a scale
attatched to my ankle
and the numbers
are getting bigger
and bigger
and this is
all a dream
a fucking
dream.
***
or is it?
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[Saturday
January 21st, 2006] |
she was intoxicated and
'in love'
with the boy in the
parking lot.
and her fingers were bleeding
dying manifestos
onto the hood of his car,
(where they 'made love' for the first time)
she only remembered because
he had the word
-decay-
tattood across his collarbone
and thats what they were.
boys hung on nooses
from her cieling fan
because she loved to watch
them kill themselves.
someone once told her she was
like the girl in that one tom petty song
'girl on lsd'
but she was too
stubborn to admit that it was true.
oh who cares anyway?
shes just a party girl
without a party.
and shes losing control
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chalkboard_girl's journal