SaturdaysShe writes and writes and writes about Saturday obsessions, about love that will never be and about things she wants to know but will fall before she gets her chance. Luck has never been her thing.There is always a sense of hope, but it never comes like in the fairytale.You see, she will never be a princessand it doesn't bother her as much as it used to because she knows she is broken.She know that she may as well be an orphan and that she will never achieve the dreams she wants.And it doesn't hurt.But she still writes, about daydreams she has that only cause emotions she finally gave into Saturday night.
Secret death by a loverI sat in my bedroom, music blaring, hands preoccupied with a pen and paper. Inspiration was something that settled in the pits of my heart by the day. But I never planned. If you left me alone I'd suffer in the demons I'd pinned in my mind so long ago. Forgetting is not something I like to do.My current time was two hours. Two hours of emotional stress, and captivating visions of later. I didn't want to worry about later, not today, not tomorrow, and not any time. My heart beat against the images. These were the ones I couldn't handle.-----In order they all came. Flashes of crimson blood and tears streaked down my mother face. It amazed me that even today being as vulnerable as a little girl could be, I survived with only secretive damage. My brother's hands (tiny, pink, un-touched hands) struggled against barbaric hands. Why would anyone want to harm c