Can't sleep...

Eyes.
Hands.
Teeth.
A sightless orb.
A shaky touch.
A crooked smile.

Lashes.
Nails.
Lips.
A nervous twitch.
A bitten stump.
An awkward laugh.

These are my eyes.
These are my hands.
These are my teeth.
These are my lashes,
my nails,
my lips.

A cracked, blue stone.

This is my heart.

Model Citizen

Freja Beha Erichsen...❤

Manta

Mr. Lee Alexander McQueen❤❤❤

Watch. Listen. Write. Draw. Dance. Play.

Distractions prolong my life. It's all about distractions. Find something to do. Something to look at. Find something - anything to occupy your mind other than what's naturally there. Sitting there, in the back of my mind - and at the forefront. Sitting there, like a lump on a log - like a dark, black thing. Creeping, oozing, whispering - no - SCREAMING.


"Die, die, die."


Distractions. Even if I have to use my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Throw down coins and turn them all tails up, tails up is right. No heads.
All facing the same, proper direction.
Arrange them in an even, symmetrical fashion.
Make sure everything is straight.
Take a photo of it - to maintain evidence of this tiny perfection.

Calm.

That's how it works.

It's all in the distractions.

It's coming...

...

...

Fin.

this is emptiness.

Tonight I am sad.
Sad, sad, sad.
And lonely.
Always lonely.

I am not alone - I have a man, a family, friends... but I always feel alone. I am always lonely.

I hate this feeling. I feel so empty inside.

Heartbeats.

Heart beats.

He eats art, b!

;-P

teeth.

When I see someone smile, my first thought is: "is it fake or genuine?". False smiles are easy to detect for me, and they make me wonder about all the things that are behind them - or all the things that are missing behind them.

I see a man on the street with a closed smile. I think, "do you smile white and bright and happy? or do you have sharp metal teeth that you grind for nights on end, like me?"

Does anyone else wonder what's behind a smile? Mine is crooked and awkward, and rarely sincere. Does that make me a liar? I think we are all just playing a part, after all.

Does your heart smile? Or just the character you play?

These aren't so accurate I think, but...

私はあなたの言語を学びたい.
Je veux apprendre votre langue.
Jeg ønsker å lære språket.
Я хочу узнать ваш язык.
난 당신의 언어를 배우고 싶습니다.
Eu quero aprender o idioma.

...also Romani. I think the Roma are beautiful.

私は痛みに思います。私を解放してください。

insomnia.

NELL (넬) - 치유 MV

To you.

I don't know why I can't say these things anymore exactly. Perhaps it's because I'm afraid of you. Not afraid in the traditional sense. I am not afraid you will hurt me physically, or verbally. I am not afraid you will hurt me at all - not on purpose anyway. I know you love me. Perhaps it is because although I know you truly wish for my happiness, you have a selfish side - a side that is bigger, that overrides your wishes for me to be happy. I fear if I tell you my feelings, display my emotions, if I even frown - that you will be angry, annoyed or disappointed. I guess after all this time I have lost the will to stand up for my own heart. I am too tired, too weak. I can no longer bear to risk an argument with you. I don't think our love is strong enough to handle many more.

So now I bite my tongue. I can't tell you how I feel. I suspected this, but today I found out for sure. It's not the worst thing. It's just another sadness to add to my overbearing bundle of sadnesses I carry constantly on my back, in my mind.

I know you'd say "just tell me how you feel," and "it's okay." But I know it isn't. I can read you too well. It's too predictable.

I am afraid and so instead, I choose silence.

pop

So today I woke up and I felt a sudden sadness. I had been in a good mood for two days. It didn't feel right. It felt foreign. I am not comfortable with happiness- it's just not what I'm used to. My good mood faded, and I fell into a deep depression. I couldn't fathom how I was able to smile and laugh just the day before. It seemed like an act, and I detest false acts. Why anyone would be happy made no sense to me. All I saw everywhere around me was anger, sadness, helplessness, sickness, unrequited love and death. I saw longing that would never be fulfilled. Goals that would never be met. Nothing seemed important anymore. All but nature lost its depth - though at times, even the trees looked sad. I crawled into my bed - just me and some sad music, a fan blowing (I love the sound a fan makes), and my animals gathered around me, and I fell asleep. I fell asleep without my usual racing thoughts, without my worries or my "what ifs". I fell asleep as I never had before - empty. My hopelessness does not go much deeper than this. I am running out of time.

Today was a good day.

yeah... like that.

hey mister...

Mister, Mister Monster...
It is 3:14 a.m. and I'm still not tired. I'm going to shuffle to the bedroom and take my sedatives, my only hope for sleep. I'm going to drift off into dreamland in about an hour and a half - where I will dream the most terrifying things, as I do every night. Please wish me sweet dreams. xx

sincerely,
doll

i wrote a poem a few years ago...

city.

Broke, broken.

Like an addict doing his last line of coke and then overdosing

on a blood-stained carpet.

Deader than the streets at dawn on a Sunday.

Days, days pass before anyone even notices the smell.

Hell, it took a week last time. 

If it wasn't for the baby crying,

no one would have found the hookers' body in 5a.

Thank God for small favors.

Today I saw an old man dancing to the music of car alarms

as he waited for his son to return home from a war 

who knows when or where…

The street stinks of garbage after a light rain, 

and clouds of tobacco hang in the air.

Somewhere a stereo booms the sultry voice of Billie Holiday:

"Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze…"

Eerie melodies release you from any ease

you might have felt previously, if only for a moment.

You can never be too comfortable.

The street lights just turned on

and it will be night soon.

The paper-strewn alleyways 

fill quickly with those who have no beds

and dread the fear of no walls, no floors,

no locks, no doors to call their own.

A voice moans in the distance

and sends an unwelcome chill through my bones.

It rattles the senses.

I am aware, yet frightened.

My senses heightened, I walk briskly to my apartment

and go inside, locking all six deadbolts behind me.

I see, I see out the window

a girl staring blankly at an almost-burnt-out cigarette butt on the stairwell. 

It's clear she's not all there, 

and she sees angels in those tiny cinders.

And it really makes you wonder if 

aware is what we want to be,

when the crazy are the ones who can so clearly see

the only things worth looking at anymore.

A flea-infested cat screeches, howls into the dark

as the night settles in and stifles my thoughts.

I can hear the thump-thumps

of my neighbors sin 

against the wall, as I curl up into a ball 

and drift, drift off to sleep

with one eye open.

© 2010 doll.li

They fear that which they do not understand.

No one is really safe.

It doesn't matter if you're a successful business woman, a rich politician, a schoolteacher, a straight A student, or a drug addled prostitute - no one is ever really safe. Everyone has their own personal demons - their monsters. And if you think you don't, if you think your life is covered in sugar and happiness and nothing can ever hurt you, there is always someone you know willing to inflict their monsters upon you.


No one is really safe.


But what if you were "no one"?


Well, in that case, I guess you'd be really safe now, wouldn't you?