poopeepah's profile

  It seems I am destined to live as someone who is constantly terrified. The boogie man is still under my bed or lurking in the closet, you see, and at night I still hear the screams of the children he devours. The images of long concealed nightmares are finally sharpening, and I can remember. Like, like (and this is one of my first memories) when I ran from my room, my room that would darken so drastically at night fall, with elongated images of torture sketched with charcoal, and not f...

"I am not." This purred to my love-hurl when we rest in bed. togettingher. She Smiles. I am not. This is quite lackluster, Re-member-ing, always, but As for feeling --

i would pass by that window same hour. Every day i would hear the music spewing out of the window’s curtains. one day i stood outside ears attentive for the excruciatingly sweet duration of that song he was talking to me, that [horrible] guitarist: “wren you hear an awake-ward tune, id catches yr i -- you know.”

It was in the hallway outside the party that my phone rang again. A scrawny banana had just stepped on a quite drunk Arnold Schwarzenegger’s foot and was about to get beaten up pretty bad. I pretended not to look. I was having fun, for a change; it was like being in Europe, at one of those clubs. You’re thirteen, on the cusp of something big, and everyone there is older and drunkenly talking to you as if you were the prettiest girl they had ever seen. Except this time I had a drink in my hand...