Sorry, I don't have any of my own stories, my writing is pathetic:P
Much madness is divinest sense
if anyone is for some reason on this page, you should probably ignore it. Everything is here basically for me to save and look at sometimes.
In the body, as in sculpture, perfection is not attained when there is nothing left to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.
"Hope" is the thing with feathers
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
I've heard it in the chillest land
I feel bloated, huge, disgusting, ugly, a monstrous lumbering sow of a woman, a greedy revolting red-faced creature, and every bite, I feel myself swelling, I'm punished for breaking the first commandment, don't eat more than a small bird because it's unladylike and you'll get fat and no one will like you, but it's too late, I can feel the sharpness of my cheekbones sinking, swamped under spongy bulges of flesh, my thighs spreading like warm lard
Eat to live, but don't live to eat.
Quod me nutrit, me destruit
I do eat normally: only what is needful for survival. I can't help it that we live in a piggish society where gluttony is the norm, and everyone else is constantly stuffing themselves.
if i eat anything, i'll eat everything, so i eat nothing
i want to be light as a feather and tumble away with the weeds
i was to be so thin that i can dance between raindrops in a downpour
i want to be so thin that when i step on freshly fallen snow, i don't mar its virgin purity
let me be empty and weightless and maube i'll find some peace tonight
one fine day in the middle of the night two dead boys got up to fight back to back they faced eachother got out their swords and shot one another the cop on the beat heard the nise came out and shot the two dead boys
cold as winter, stiff as stone;she faced the darkness all alone. a ghostly shadow, a reflection. a mirage, a recolection.
fridge pickers wear big knickers
fat and skinny had a race, all around the pillow case. fat fell flat upon her face, and skinny said, "ha ha, i won the race!"
the ending of the floor
has caught me unawares.
this must be the reason
why im falling down the stairs
for each ecsatic intant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstacy
Fir each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years
Bitter contested far things
And coffers heaped with tears
I measure every grief I meet
I wonder if they bore it long,
I wonder if it hurts to live,
I wonder if when years have piled--
Or would they go on aching still
eve noir (4)