excerpt from "This Is Mutiny"...

(this is basically just a taster from a book ive been working on...
its kinda just a collection of my writing. enjoy, fuckers)

"oh baby, you dont know how you glow in the dark"
sipped on intimacy from all the young couples putting on a fuck-show
100 kids and i am truly alone
665 thoughts and i am one drink shy of being the devil's best friend
me to the bottle: "i have a diamond hard liver"
wake up and caffienate myself out of it
but i guess i never was really in it much to begin with
just too damn busy having a head rush
swapping saliva at a chance at love
"you are a drug and i want you in my veins"

(i only write like this ever)

the internet is my haven
i am THE most boring and awkward person in real life
im even more awkward than the fact the word "awkward" has two double- u's in it
pretty sure i could even override your insomnia and put you to sleep
(only forever this time)
that is, in the unlikely event we will ever see each other face to face like i dream of
was i made this way?
my parent went out and bought titanium molds i can never break out of
i transcend all social barriers
normal may well be overrated, but i pine for a day of feeling average
rather just feeling down and used
im a puppet on the strings for the gods
their hyena-esque laughter kills me like THEY do
i live for the weekends but not as my friends do
they get high and smashed
i just study and lurk and just exist and i fucking hate it more than you would
(exams over soon, then summer, and although i will always be a winter kind of girl its nice to have time off school to do stuff and fucking
feel alive!)
but i got PLANS for the holidays...

"moet & chandon, darling, will only just do..."

the mrs who hits with her misses

smash a bottle of your best against the worst built hull in the harbour

and the best boy choir is setting you off with their chart breaking, heart breaking hit, "doomeddoomeddoomed"

because everone knows that you really are fucked

and then some

titanic sailing on a ocean of crocodile tears

your icy end is imminent, sweetheart,
you only doggy paddle because secretly you fear death

otherwise you would just give up to make THEM happy

(and i am with them on this one)

this is my stand (show me yr demons)

“what do you dream of?
im telling you, bby, im a work of art
a dime in a dozen or diamond in the rough
we are polar opposites
(but that never seemed to stop us from attracting each other)
And blame it on me, bby, im just a trainwreck
any excuse will do when theres a score to settle
im just yearning for a second chance
you call and I come running
i am breaking my back from bending over backwards for you, but my stitches are coming undone from the one before
i cant keep this façade up forever
i cant play friends
i cant play stupid
i cant play innocent
when every time I see you, I see what im missing...

HERES YOUR DISCLAIMER.

taking time from being a tragic to write you off... and for what its worth, i really do love you.

but for fucks sake, dont take everything i say at face value. swallowing this dialect without thinking about it too hard could be the death of you. there are a million interpretations of the thoughts that mosey round my brain. i just let you in on a few of the more tasty ones. and i really do hate explaining myself. but just dont forget that you choose what these words really mean. (fuck the dictionary)

e.y.b.

part time lover, full time fucker
open up old wounds for the fun of it
drinking blood from 'homemade' teacups, made in china
love never seemed so fragile
yet i still beat it black and blue for everytime it gave up on me
i wish you could love me back
'us' works well on paper
you always kiss my bruises and cuts
i would slash my lips for a chance to press them to yours
constantly invading my mind
just keep in mind that i am out of mine
i lost the keys and i dont have lockpick skills
sick sick dreams of you wrapping your car around a tree
wishing you dead
maybe then i could finally fall asleep
i want you off my chest, out of my chest
your name flings back and forth in my ribcage and multiplies in my
lungs, just to be breathed out, like
"smoke another cigarette, faggot!"
hot pocket tumours, sleeping soundly inside CAT scans
loyalties broken easy as tibias and fibulas

x-ray eyes

and

radiology poisoning

"my love is electric"

another antidote to the anecdote...

even my friends have been commenting on the bags under my eyes. i just shrug it off, roll my eyes. i can deal with the lack of sleep. im not proud of it- however- you are. go home to starve yourself from another 8-hour snooze so you have something to whine about next day at school, why dont you? and while youre at it, sort out your fucking priorities. you think your sex life > your friendships and self integrity. fucking hell!

its another fucking hipster 'trend' made from a serious fucking problem. every wishes their life to be the most tragic, their bags to be the darkest- its just a joke of a competition. you ruin this for everyone else- the people that actually have really issues, opposed to your 'daddy problems'. youre just pissed off coz he wont give you his plastic. you give bad names to them ('us', tentatively).this all makes me want to 'Columbine' it up on every one of you spoilt little shits. do us a favour and go fuck yourselves!!