Stockholm SyndromeSTOCKHOLM SYNDROMEStockholm Syndrome
1. Int. Club. Night We are in a night-club chock-full of people, mostly youngsters in their late teens and twenties. A few people in their thirties, trying to look young and hip but standing out in this subtle, hard to pinpoint way. Maybe it’s their slightly more expensive drinks that set them apart from the young, budgeted, cheap-beer crowd. Maybe it’s the clothes, although deliberately casual but with a touch of an office job and a higher salary.
It is karaoke night, as is advertised on a hand-made sign above a makeshift stage. There is a young GIRL on stage, carefully watching a computer screen
The Cyclea dash - a line - one more - two more -The Cycle
a gash - it's fine - three more - and four -
a drop, of blood, it falls - go on - do more -
cause when I cut myself - the blood -
it's what I do it for -
And having bled out my sins in a way that would be satisfactory -
It is all very rational (though the action to the thought is contradictory) -
I make an effort to regain m
To the Mother of My RapistTO THE MOTHER OF MY RAPIST: My words have the power to hurt you You better hope I never open my mouth You're sitting there in your cozy kitchen It's probably snowing outside your window In a tall, old building in Moscow Your world is quiet, voiceless, noiseless Especially if you lose your hearing aid A woman so far along in her life Graying hair, sagging flesh, menopause a history At the end of your days, you like your calm I hold the power to shatter your peace I hold it between my teeth It's wrapped around my tongue, tingling Burning and begging to burst outTo the Mother of My Rapist
Technically AliveI am the leftovers Thrown aside and left to rot Ten feet from the trash can, a heap, unneeded The remains of an act, of an evil thought Discarded, abandoned, a mess defeatedTechnically Alive
I am the aftermath An empty chair in class, a week in a row A heart's desire, shattered to smithereens A diary, a phone call, a cry – "I should have known" A little scream and a tear for "could have been"
I am the paperwork A tree died and on it they wrote my diagnosis What's wrong with the skinny crying girl in bed Starving, bleeding, post traumatic stress disordered with a grim p
spiritual pregnancy
I apologize that it's been so long since your comment on Kiota's story.
I just wanted to thank you for replying, because, for some strange reason, I feared that no one would, and I appreciate you for doing that(:
take care
allison.
--
"Everyone is a book
Daily writing their stages
Introducing their character
And maybe sharing some pages"
~Jarett Anderson
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*~*~*I won't let this build up inside of me*~*~*
--
"I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am."
--Sylvia Plath
____________________________
I have read most of your work, and even though I feel extremely ignorant, unsuitable and naive when writing about these subjects, I must say your essays, especially the last one, are truly touching.
I do not think I can possibly imagine what you have been through, and I can only stand here and feel sorry for the pain and shame you write of. But I do respect your thoughts, and I'm very glad you managed to express yourself anonymously on this community.
And again I am sorry, for being a 17 year-old does not give much importance to my words.
Time for a smoke... I'll try to meditate a bit on what you wrote. Even for me it's hard to understand. At least, there is someone out there who admires you. I will keep reading your stuff.
We should found our own little Kingdom of Destruction somewhere around here.
Welcome.
--
... Where lies the world's meaning? So smiling and gay,
Did you, dear, live only to die in this way?
If this has some meaning, it's godless and odd:
Upon your wan forehead one cannot read "God"!
(Mortua Est! / Mihai Eminescu)
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