Just keep your eyes on her...
Aug. 7th, 2005 07:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
axesladeThe chick with the messed up leg died, sniffle. In happier news....
Well after trying unsucessfuly to write something last night, I was listening to a Tori song I usually hate, but now I suddenly discovered beauty in it. And with that beauty came this.
Title: Unraveling
By Elizabeth Slade
It's hard to understand what makes her do it.
Even she doesn't know sometimes. She just does. She says it makes her feel whole. An oxymoron. Slicing ivory to bring forth liquid rubies, it makes her whole. But it does.
She lets out a little each day, like draining venom, and then she can go through the rest of the day. She can dance and giggle and fuck any man who pays. Sometimes she has to go back and let a little more if there's a particularly disgusting one.
You think she needs help. That if this makes her do it she should get another job. She can, you know. She knows too. She isn't dumb. Years ago she would have said the same thing to this self. But now she snaps. At you, at herself. And sometimes she cries.
Late one night you'll wake up to the phone ringing and before you pick up you know it's her. You hear her sobbing, pleading with you to pick her up, take her in so she won't do it again, she's so afraid. There was too much blood this time, it took forever to stop it, next time it might not. She wants the security of the white jacket and clean halls and no shoelaces or forks. So you say you'll be right over, get dressed and drive the forty miles to pick her up. When you arrive she's cleaned up and sitting at the table, asking if you want a cup of cofee. You take it without a word, and you talk as if nothing happened. You know it'll happen again and each time you'll come for that someday she won't be able to pick up the pieces
Well after trying unsucessfuly to write something last night, I was listening to a Tori song I usually hate, but now I suddenly discovered beauty in it. And with that beauty came this.
Title: Unraveling
By Elizabeth Slade
It's hard to understand what makes her do it.
Even she doesn't know sometimes. She just does. She says it makes her feel whole. An oxymoron. Slicing ivory to bring forth liquid rubies, it makes her whole. But it does.
She lets out a little each day, like draining venom, and then she can go through the rest of the day. She can dance and giggle and fuck any man who pays. Sometimes she has to go back and let a little more if there's a particularly disgusting one.
You think she needs help. That if this makes her do it she should get another job. She can, you know. She knows too. She isn't dumb. Years ago she would have said the same thing to this self. But now she snaps. At you, at herself. And sometimes she cries.
Late one night you'll wake up to the phone ringing and before you pick up you know it's her. You hear her sobbing, pleading with you to pick her up, take her in so she won't do it again, she's so afraid. There was too much blood this time, it took forever to stop it, next time it might not. She wants the security of the white jacket and clean halls and no shoelaces or forks. So you say you'll be right over, get dressed and drive the forty miles to pick her up. When you arrive she's cleaned up and sitting at the table, asking if you want a cup of cofee. You take it without a word, and you talk as if nothing happened. You know it'll happen again and each time you'll come for that someday she won't be able to pick up the pieces
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2005-08-07 02:20 pm (UTC)Slicing ivory to bring forth liquid rubies
Great writing.
no subject
on 2005-08-07 02:22 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2005-08-08 05:30 am (UTC)