My Stories

Saturday, 31 May 2008

  • Stand Still

    I guess I’ve got a little more growing up to do.

    Not surprising, I’ve ran into more obstacles. Dead-end roads and cutting words. Misunderstandings and outright dismissals. Lies and fights and way too much pride. Excuses and justifications. It’s always something, right?

    Mostly, though, it’s me.

    I’m scared and I’m tired, though I have no idea why, because I’ve never really done anything… have I? I’ve grown up (in part), and, yes, that’s tiring in and of itself, but not like this. Why does it seem so hard to get up these days? Why does it feel like I’m losing ground?

    Maybe it’s that a part of me has bought into the lies I’ve heard. The lies I’ve told myself time and time again. Maybe I believe that I don’t have the strength to become anything more then what I am now. Maybe I let them convince me that I belong in the background, that I’ll never be deserving of the limelight. Maybe.

    If so, I’ve got to get past it.

    If not… then what am I missing?

    Used to be, I didn’t know who I was. Used to be, I didn’t know what I had (or didn’t have). Used to be… I wouldn’t have had the courage to ask these questions.

    Used to be… scratch that. I’m still struggling.

    ~ Cassandra ~
    "Anyone Can.
    Not Everyone Will."
    (did I or didn't I?)

Monday, 31 March 2008

  • Used To Be

    Used to be, I’d get so caught up in other people’s stories that I’d forget my own. To me, my own life was nothing more then a story I had heard, once upon a time.

    A sweet girl, (a little misunderstood, but that’s to be expected, really) living her life, because that’s the only thing she could do. So-called “traumatic experiences” aside, nothing exciting ever happened to her. She had the same problems every other person in the whole damn world had. She was nothing special. No more significant then a speck of dust.

    Used to be, but not anymore. I’m sick of living life like that. I’m sick of being pushed aside and my problems belittled.

    Yes, I’m a lot better off then a lot of other people (something I know first hand), but I’m through with believing their lies that what I feel and think, and need, and want don’t matter. Because they do. So I’m stepping out, stretching my fractured wings (the ones you tried making me believe were broken beyond repair) and I’m getting a running jump.

    If I fall, I fall. If not, I’ll fly. I’ll take to the sky. (try to tell me it’s not by my own spirit now, asshole. tell me it’s not my flesh, my blood, my heart, my life… my words, and soon… soon, my actions. try telling me to my face, and see just how much I’ve grown.)

    Used to be, I didn’t know how to be. Well, it’s time to rectify that, don’t you think?

    ~ Cassandra ~

    "Anyone Can.
    Not Everyone Will.    "

Sunday, 24 February 2008

  • "Breathe, just breathe..."

    A/n: This is a songfic, done to Anna Nalick’s ‘Breathe (2 AM)’. It’s my interpretation of the song. The first three “drabbles” aren’t true (at least for me… unfortunately, they may be all too true for some), but the fourth is sort of about me and my life. So, let me know what ya’ll think, please.

    -----
    Breathe

    I walk slowly, her clammy hand grasped tight in mine. Silence reigns. Words won’t do any good now. Her mind is set as she pushes through the glass doors into the sterile waiting room.

    An upper class woman in the front row looks up, her gaze assessing and dismissing. A young girl, trembling in the corner, barely glances up, but it’s not easy to miss the pain and fear in her eyes. The woman behind the desk peers out from behind her glasses, her distaste showing clearly in her eyes. Her voice is cold and judging as she asks, “Can I help you?”

    I shudder, squeezing her hand tighter. I can’t change her mind now. It’s her choice, and I can only be there to pick up the pieces later. My feelings don’t matter now.

    Hours later, I hold her close as she cries, biting my lip to keep the words in.

    I knew this would kill her.
    -----

        Two Am, and she calls me, ‘cause I’m still awake.
        “Can you help me unravel my latest mistake?
         I don’t love him. Winter just wasn’t my season.”
        Yeah, we walk through the door, so accusing their eyes.
        Like they have any right at all to criticize.
        Hypocrites. You’re all here for the very same reason.

        ‘Cause you can’t jump the track; we’re like cars on a cable.
        And life’s like an hourglass glued to the table.
        No one can find the rewind button, girl.
        So cradle your head in your hands and breathe.
        Just breathe. Oh, breathe. Just breathe.
    -----

    I knew him before he became the uniform. Before he left to fulfill his dream of changing the world. He used to smile. He used to laugh. But, these days, there’s no life left in his eyes. This life has changed him.

    I sit next to him on a stool, watching him cradle his drink in trembling hands. He’s mostly silent, but when he does speak, his voice is flat. Dead, like his eyes. He flinches when I touch his arm. I try to hide my tears.

    He throws back his drink, like he doesn’t even feel the burn. I wonder how much he has to drink before he can forget the things he’s done. I wonder how much more it takes before he’s able to talk about it. I don’t ask.

    Days later, I watch him walk away, and for a moment, I can pretend that he’s that same bright eyed boy leaving me to save the world.

    The defeated set of his shoulders completely shatters the illusion.
    -----

        May, he turned twenty one on the base of Fort Bliss.
        “Just a day,” he said down to the flask in his fist.
        Ain’t been sober since maybe October of last year.
        And here in town you can tell he’s been down for awhile,
        But, my god, it’s so beautiful when the boy smiles.
        Want to hold him… maybe I’ll just sing about it.

        ‘Cause you can’t jump the track; we’re like cars on a cable.
        And life’s like an hourglass glued to the table.
        No one can find the rewind button, boys.
        So cradle your head in your hands and breathe.
        Just breathe. Oh, breathe. Just breathe.
    -----

    A tears slips down my cheek as I hear the mirror shatter from down the hall. I wish I could help, but every time I try, you just push me away. All I can do is cry, because you can’t seem to see what you want so badly to leave behind.

    I steal quietly down the hall, and lean against the wall. You’re mumbling something to yourself, and I know all too well that you’re not talking yourself down. I just wish you’d open your eyes.

    I slide down, and press my ear against the door. You don’t know it, but I’m always right beside you. I hope that you feel me, and that I can help you find the strength to pull through one more night.

    You don’t know it, but I can’t live without you.

    You don’t know it, but if you go, I’ll be right behind you.

    That is how much I love you.
    -----

        “There’s a light at each end of this tunnel,” you shout,
        Cause you’re just as far in as you’ll ever be out.
        And these mistakes you’ve made, you’ll just make them again.
        If you’d only try turning around…
    -----

    I pour my feelings out, hands shaking, heart breaking, but you don’t seem to care. You brush me aside, and tell me you’ll fix me later. Later never comes. I’m left alone, trying not to cry for something that doesn’t even matter.

    I pour my feelings out, hope soaring, free falling, and you’re never there to catch me. You tell me you’re sorry, and that next time will be different. But next time is all the same. I’m left alone, wondering why I keep falling for the same old game.

    I pour my feelings out, with no one around, without expectations. You choose now to hear my cries, and memorize my fears. I’m trying hard to trust, but I don’t know if I can. You let me down, so many times. How can I ever trust again?

    If you’re going to hurt me, do it quick.

    If you’re going to break me, let’s get it over with.

    I’ve given you everything, and this is how you repay me.
    -----

        Two Am, and I’m still awake writing a song.
        If I get it all down on paper, it’s no longer inside of me,
        Threatening the life it belongs to.
        And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd,
        ‘Cause these words are my diary screaming out loud.
        And, I know that you’ll use them however you want to.

        ‘Cause you can’t jump the track; we’re like cars on a cable.
        And life’s like an hourglass glued to the table.
        No one can find the rewind button now.
        Sing it if you understand and breathe.
        Just breathe. Whoa, breathe. Just breathe.
        Breathe… just breathe.

    ~ Cassandra ~
    Dated: Jan 1, 2008

    "Anyone Can.
    Not Everyone Will."

Monday, 28 January 2008

  • Unexplainable

    It's not like it was before. Don’t know when, or why, it changed. All I know is that nothing is the same. It’s… new. Only not. It’s used, and abused, and scarred, and definitely not what anyone would expect. Not for this. Not now.

    The scars run deep, deeper the can ever be fixable. But they shine like that Moon in the midnight sky. Beautiful. Nearly touchable, if you want it bad enough. They’re not flaws. They don’t scream “It hurt so badly, but I survived.” No, these scars whisper oh-so sweetly “Don’t you wish you could be just like me?”

    It’s not damaged. It’s not horrid. It draws your eye. It hurts to look, but you just cannot turn away. It’s beautiful in that twisted sort of way, and you can’t help but wonder how anything could be that… perfect… after everything it must’ve gone through. Because you know it did.

    It broke once. It shattered into a million pieces on the ground, but even in the middle of its darkest hour… its’ sparkle outshone the Stars. It maintained its’ dignity when anything else would have crumbled into ash. The Wind wanted to carry it away, but it denied even her. Pissed her off, it did, but even now, the Wind still longs, dreams, wishes for the day when it will finally succumb.

    And, I know, you want to know what this “It” is… I can’t explain it. It’s everything and nothing. It’s good, but it’s oh-so bad at heart. It has broke, but it managed to pull itself back from the brink of oblivion. And, no matter what anyone say… it is not going anywhere.

    It is here to stay, in all its’ beautiful gruesome glory. The Sun, Moon, Stars, and Wind hate it… but, then again, it’s a thin line, isn’t it?

    ~ Cassandra ~

    "Anyone Can.
    Not Everyone Will."

Monday, 31 December 2007

  • Today's Chosen Skin

    She shifts; pulling today’s chosen skin tighter around her, falling farther into character. Yesterday is put away, pushed to the back of the closet, but she can still hear her former voice ringing in her ears.

    “Is that all you can do?”

    She steps closer to the mirror, trying not to meet the eyes staring back at her. She dusts the brush across the skin, sculpting this stranger’s face into someone who can be mistaken for her. The make-up hides the flaws, but that’s never what she’s been worried about.

    “Is this all you can be?”

    She flinches, but doesn’t make a sound. She just keeps applying the make-up with a not-so steady hand. For a split second she catches the eyes in the mirror. They’re empty. Dead. Void of any sort of life. She turns away.

    “Is this all you can do?”

    A tears slips from empty eyes, and trails over the skin hiding who she is. The difference is shocking… or would be, if she’d look up. She’d long forgotten what she’s like without someone else’s skin. She doesn’t look up.

    “Is that all you can be?”

    Her breath catches in her throat. Tears keep falling down, washing away the mask. Her hands curl into fists. Perfume bottles rattle when she slams them down. She finally raises empty eyes. She doesn’t like what she sees.

    Her voice breaks as she whispers “I honestly don’t know.”

    ~ Cassandra ~

    "Anyone Can.
    Not Everyone Will.    "

Saturday, 29 December 2007

  • Words On A Screen


        So many times I’ve written about life, and about death. About hate and love and all those other emotions I’ve never once felt in my life… that I know of, at least.

        I’ve written like I’ve felt them, know them, owned them… and maybe I did… through the eyes of a fiction character. Through the eyes of an alter-ego. Through the eyes of someone I wish I was. Someone I wish I could be.

        I pretend. I am pretend. I don’t exist. I’m not real. I’m not here. I’m invisible, and the only part of me that anyone can see is my words on this screen. Only, those get overlooked a lot. But it doesn’t matter… not like I meant them anyway.

        But maybe I did. I’m so confused these days. That’s about the only emotion I can say I’ve felt with certainty… I hope. I’m sinking deeper and deeper into this, and I’m getting dragged farther and farther out to sea. Did no one hear me scream?

        Just because I am pretend doesn’t mean I don’t have the right to be heard. Hear me, I beg of you. Acknowledge me as I am. Just a voice being carried across the Wind. Just these empty words on a computer screen. Just these fingers on the keys.

        This is how I exist. This is why I live. This is what I breathe. This is what I am… entirely. I’m losing grip with Reality, because she let go of me long ago. She knew I was Fantasy. Illusion. Imagination. Made completely of fleeting dreams.

        I flow through another realm…. where anything is possible. Where you can be anyone you want to be. Where the voiceless and the voices meet and join. They become a team. A body for the voice and a voice of the body. They depend. They need. They are. I’m still waiting for it to happen to me.

        I shift out of focus too fast for anyone to catch me. I change colors like the rainbow illusion I am. I flit and flirt with words all day, but still… no one hears the words I say. They read the words I write… but they don’t hear.

        They don’t hear the emotion bubbling over. They don’t hear the pain I’ve picked up from others. The sorrow and the misery. The laughter and the joy. The love and the hate. It’s good and it’s bad. It’s wrong, but it’s oh-so right. They don’t hear what I don’t feel.

        I’ve never felt shivers down the spine at a caress to the face. I’ve never known the pain of a fist raised in anger. I’ve never experienced the helplessness of watching a loved one turn and walk away. Not really, at least. Not truly. Not live and living and in color. Not bruised, marked and sated.

        It’s just jaded. Dulled down to an echo of some distant might’ve been memory. More then likely a dream. A figment of imagination. An illusion. Jaded. Dull. Not real. Not real. Never, ever real. Why can’t I have real?

        I’m waiting for my other half to break me out of this box. I need a body to go with the voice. I need to be capable of action. I need to move. I need to shake. I need to break. I need. I need. I need.

            Empty words on a screen. They don’t mean a thing.

    ~ Cassandra ~

Friday, 28 December 2007

  • Resetting the Timer (tick tick tick)


        Not quite what you were looking for, now is it? I’m just an anomaly like that, darlin’, and no one ever knows quite what to expect. Including me. Especially me. I couldn’t tell you who and/or what I am if I wanted to. I just don’t have a clue.

        I lost myself in the shadows of Imagination and Illusion. The fog between what is real and what is anything but. The mist hides the lies from prying eyes, but all along, it’s been myself I’ve been hiding from. You wouldn’t look twice if I threw myself head first into that wall you’re always leaning on.

        You touch the walls I built to keep you out and me locked safely within everyday. You’ve seen what it takes to keep this mask in place. You know all about those fears that eat away at me every long, dark night. You know… but you’d never understand. And I can’t fault you for that. I wish I didn’t understand.

        But, then again, I wish I did understand. Because the truth of the matter is, I don’t. I don’t understand what makes me who I am. I don’t understand why I feel the need to be this way. I don’t understand why your eyes always pass right over me without a second thought. I don’t understand. But I wish I did.

        I wish I knew what’s real and what’s not. I wish I could learn to differentiate between myself and who I am not. What I feel and what I’ve only thought. Who she is and who I am. Because the line is becoming less and less clear with every lie that falls from these lips. I don’t want to be lost.

        I don’t want to be invisible anymore, but it’s all that I’ve ever know, so how could I ever live without it? I am invisible. Invisibility is me. We’re so wrapped up in each other that I doubt we could ever be torn apart. Not without irreparable harm. Not without dire consequences. I don’t want to be invisible anymore.

        If this is what it takes to tears those blinders from your eyes, would I do it? If bleeding is what it takes to finally feel real, would I be able to cut that deep? Would I be able to take the risk to let you in? Would I be able to bear the shame if this doesn’t go my way? Would you ever look at me the same?

        If this doesn’t go my way, could I bring myself to repaint this person you’ve always thought was me? Or would this change everything? Would I have to run away? Would you ask me, beg me, to stay? Would you tell me to go away? Pack my bags for me? I need this to go my way.

        If this goes my way… well, what do I do then? Do I become this person I’ve always thought I could be? What if she isn’t the perfect fit for me? Do I try again? Clean the slate and start afresh? Leave everything I’ve known and might’ve loved behind? Leave myself behind?

        If this goes my way, will I be able to stand on my own two feet? Would I fall on the first step? Would I end up crawling back? Would I sweep it all under the rug and forget that I ever had a taste of the freedom I’ve been craving? Would I let you beat me down? Would I pretend again?

        I can hear the clock ticking down, and every second that passes just makes it that much harder. I don’t want this pressure. I never asked for this… but maybe I did. I didn’t ask to be put into this world. I didn’t ask to be broken. I didn’t ask for these unanswered questions. I asked for answers. They always come in the form of more questions though, don’t they?

        So, riddle me this. Do I let go of who I think I might be to embrace who I think I’ve never been, or do I let go of who I am to become who I could someday maybe be? Am I really this person I see staring back at me? Is there really more then the eye can see? Am I as shallow as I appear to be? Will I crack if I break this mirror in front of me?

            tickticktickticktickticktick

        Time’s almost up. Find what you’re looking for yet, or do you need a little more time to pick my brain apart?

                Let’s reset the timer, please. Time is moving way too fast for me.

    ~ Cassandra ~

Wednesday, 12 December 2007

  • Electricity


        There’s electricity in the air these days. I can feel it. But I want to touch it. I want to feel it running through my veins. It’s reckless, I know, but I can feel the edge of it (it tingles and it burns) but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

        You know how it is… when you want something that bad, and it seems like it’s almost in reach, but its right beyond your fingertips when you try to grab it. (I can brush it with my fingers, but I can’t actually touch it.) I can feel it, but I can’t touch it. I can breathe it, but I can’t actually “feel it” feel it.

        If I touch it… maybe, just maybe, it’ll bring me to life. Maybe it’ll get me moving… but it’s a gamble. It could kill me. It could break me… but that’s what I want. I want to break, and I want to shake. I want things to move.

        Right now, I’d take the gamble. I’d risk it all. (I’d put all my cards on the table.) Right now, I’m here. Right now, I’m ready. I’m waiting for the world to move… but that’s right now. I don’t know how long “right now” is going to last.

        When this “now” becomes the past, and “now” becomes the present, I can’t guarantee that I’m going to feel the same. (I hope I will, but you never know.) So, if this is going to happen, it’s got to happen now. This moment. This second. This breath.

        I’ve watched so many chances slip though my hands (“… I almost lost myself. when I looked around there was no one else…”) and I don’t want this one to. I don’t want to wait too long, because I always seem to miss my chance by a mere second. I don’t want to miss my chance. Not this time.

        You never know if you’re going to get a second chance at the same thing. But that’s the beauty of it, I guess. You never know if you’re going to get what you want. You never know if you’re going to get what you need. (because what we want and what we need are usually two very, very different things.)

        We don’t always want what we need (because it hurts, it’s hard, it’s too much, not enough). We don’t always need what we want (it’s dangerous, it’s harmful, it’s useless, or pointless). It’s a very rare thing when what we want and what we need are the same thing.

            (one question: do we have what we need?)

        My answer; I doubt we’ll ever really know until it’s too late. We’ll find out after the moment when we need what we have (or don’t have) is already upon us.

        (the air is starting to calm down. it’s not a live current anymore… but I still feel traces of electricity lingering in the air.)

    ~ Cassandra ~

            (Electricity (n) - 1 a: a fundamental form of energy observable in positive and negative forms that occurs naturally (as in lightning) or is produced (as in a generator) and that is expressed in terms of the movement and interaction of electrons b: electric current or power. 2: a science that deals with the phenomena and laws of electricity. 3: keen contagious excitement <could feel the electricity in the room>)

Wednesday, 05 December 2007

  • A Tainted View


        You’re carrying enough guilt on those shoulders of yours, so I’m not going to add to it. I can’t blame you for something I don’t even remember. All I know is what I’ve been told, but word of mouth is highly unreliable.

        What I do remember is that you didn’t think me capable of that kind of love. But I was, at the time. You made it reality by rejecting what I tried so hard to give. It wasn’t because of anyone else that I did what I did. It was me.

        I used to be capable of reaching for the sky. I used to be able to touch the brightest star. I used to believe in something so much bigger then me. I used to know. I never thought. It was just there. It just was. Now it’s not.

        I used to crave contact with the people I adored, but you stole that from me too. Now, I’m just an empty shell, so fragile to the touch. I break and I shatter. I splinter and I crack. I’ve lost so many pieces. An uncompleted masterpiece.

        I could have been so much more than what I am now. I could have had the faith to move a mountain if you hadn’t torn me down. I could have sung about amazing grace with every fiber of my being. I could have believed in the unbelievable, but you held me down and wouldn’t let me fly.

        Now, now; don’t get me wrong. I believe every word in those pretty gospel songs. What I lack is the belief in the belief of those around me. It’s empty, and it’s forced. Its rhetoric spewed from lying lips, and the only thing they believe is that all their good deeds will get them there. After all, they showed up, didn’t they?

        They’re so much better then me. I slept the day away, dreaming about (shh) unmentionable things. Tsk, tsk. I’m living a life of sin. But you can’t blame this poor girl, can you? It wasn’t my choice to reject that ticket to their so called paradise.

        You twist words so beautifully. They stay the same as in this Book your tore them from, but somehow, they mean something completely different by the time you’re through with them. Scare the poor people, why don’t you? I mean, it’s one way to insure loyalty.

        You never liked me to begin with, but I’m sure you’d hate me now. I’m pushing at the boundaries that have been set by those who know what’s "best" for me. I’m testing just how far I can stray before the tether breaks. How much is too much these days?

        I don’t fit in your perfect little box anymore, but then again, I doubt I ever did. Your perfect little box isn’t so perfect after all, because you can’t even fit into it anymore. Then again, I doubt you ever did.

        Haven’t you heard? No one is perfect, and I believe I heard that (time and time and time again) from you. And I know that doesn’t mean it’s alright to go off and be imperfect to my heart’s content. It's sad how I could throw those words right back at you.

        Your words are lies, but they’re so tangled with the truth that I can’t figure out which is which is which these days.

            "I laugh at your faith.
            You laugh to my face.
            (cause we’re just nice that way.)"

        But even though you twisted me up so bad inside, I have no right to blame you. This wasn’t your choice anymore then it was mine. You made mistakes, and I stumbled more then once. I was so impressionable, so it’s no wonder this tainted me forever.

        So if you end up passing me on the street, don’t worry... your hands are clean of the mess that is my life. But, don’t try to talk to me, because I don’t really like you, to be honest. Word of mouth is unreliable, but it sure as hell can taint somebody’s view.

    ~ Cassandra ~

Sunday, 02 December 2007

  • Your Own Personal Paradise


        Now that you’re here, why don’t you take off your coat, pull up a seat, and stay for awhile? It’s not so bad. I mean, once you get used to that ringing in your ears, and the colors dancing before your eyes, it could even become your own personal paradise.

        Count each breath as another moment you made it through this life. Take it as a sign. You’re still alive, so don’t let your dreams die. You need them to survive. Your eyes started to become jaded, but don’t worry; I’m pretty sure you got here just in time.

        Here, in the dark, where no prying eyes can see, you can dance so careless and free. You don’t have to be ashamed of what you feel or what you think. It’s called freedom of expression, darlin’, and it’s never looked this good.

        Scream out your tears, because crying is for the strong. Weakness isn’t weakness in this wonderland of words. We’re free to be whoever we want to be, so don’t hide behind those fears anymore. Trust in your heart and spread your wings.

        Soar through the clouds of once-upon-a-time, and soak in the view through the eyes of a child. It’s breathtakingly beautiful, isn’t it? Nothing is impossible. Nothing is inconceivable. And here, repetition is all the rage.

        Once you get used to the ringing in your ears, you’ll be able to hear what the Wind is singing. She sings of a love that swept her off her feet, and left her floating forever in the embrace of a lover. She sings of the feeling dwelling in your soul. It’s restless and reckless, but it’s yours and it’s real.

        Once you learn to look past the colors dancing before your eyes, you’ll see the beauty in the broken, and the pleasure in the pain. You’ll learn to love the dark, for only in the dark can you appreciate the light. You’ll learn to love the war, for only then you can you be grateful for the peace. Live and learn, you know.

        Believe me, give it some time, and before long, you’ll never want to leave. You’ll never be able to tear yourself away from the allure of this fantasy world. You’ll never be able to look at written words the same again. The other life you knew will slowly disappear; shrouded in mist, and only a dream to you.

        So, now that you’re here, why don’t you take off your coat, pull up a seat, and stay for awhile? It’s not so bad. I mean, once you get used to that ringing in your ears, and the colors dancing before your eyes, it could even become your own personal paradise.

            I know it became mine.

    ~ Cassandra ~

Sunday, 25 November 2007

  • Confession


        Confession    . They say it's good for the soul. They believe it'll ease the mind, soothe the soul, and mend the heart. But one thing it could never do is erase the memories. That is impossible to do. But many try, and all fail, to destroy the memories of days gone by. Talking helps to an extent, but mostly  it just makes it worse. Words have their consequences. Reasons can be explained, hashed and rehashed, but they'll never be understood. Reasons are only understood in the heart.

        To some it's an addiction, to other's merely survival. Everyone has a different reason for his or her actions. They ask why... why do it at all? What forced you to this point, this place, where this was the only possible outcome? They ask, expecting an answer, expecting a reasonable explanation for why. But no matter how many times it's asked, the answer remains the same. There is no reasonable explanation, for this isn't the reasonable outcome. But still, it's the one many come to.

        Addiction it may be to many. They have no plausible explanation for why it had to be done. They are merely feeding the need, feeding the hole inside them. They seek desperately for a fix, a release from their yearnings. The call is nearly impossible to resist. It's not called an addiction for nothing. They're junkies in their own right. The next fix is the only thing on their minds. The second the high is gone, they remember what they did, what it took to get them to forget in the first place. The only way to forget again is to answer the call.

        Survival, one of the more noble reasons, in it's own right. They do it so they can live, but to live means it has to be done. Not just once, but over and over. They can't stop once they start. The cycle will continue to turn, and once again they'll justify the why. The memories will haunt them forever, but they'll push them away, block them out as best they can. They'll say it had to be done; there was no other way. They'll lie to themselves, and to everyone else.

        The ones who do it solely for revenge are the one's who suffer the memories the most. They'll have heard the warnings, known them to be true in their minds and hearts, but will not have heeded them. Revenge is mine, sayth the Lord. But they, in the heat of the moment, are blinded. They'll ignore the warnings, ignore the signs, and let the reasons why fetter, making it seems like the right thing to do. The only thing to do. An eye for an eye, right? But in the end, the memories take their own revenge.

        The most dangerous, by far, are the ones who don't have a reason. They do it because they want to, because they can. They take pride in the hunt, joy in the kill. The memories are held fondly, treasured like some priceless jewel. They are bedtime stories at night, and entertainment while awake. They are the hunters, constantly stalking their prey, and loving every moment. They'll take responsibility for their actions, not out of guilt, but out of pride. They live for the joy they find in the kill.

        So, well confession may ease the mind, soothe the soul, and mend the heart, few find a reason to confess. Few want to drag up the memories of the why, of the time, of the action. And those who do... well, they already relive the moments over and over again. Confession doesn't do much for them. People rarely change, especially in places like this. Once kind eyes become something else. They turn cold, dark, and almost lifeless. They become the eyes of a murderer.

            No amount of confession can change that.

    ~ Cassandra ~

Sunday, 18 November 2007

  • A Game Of Chance


        It’s a game of chance. Spin the wheel; let it go, and wherever it lands… well, that’s your fate. Few win, most lose. The odds aren’t good, everyone is doomed to fail. But still they flock to this game, ready to try their hand. They heed no warnings; they’re deafened by the screams of the ones who’ve lost.

        I’ve tried to steer clear of this game, but I guess everyone is destined to play. The pull was strong, like a magnet. I couldn’t resist, no matter how hard I tried. The crowds pushed their way up, pulling me along. I tried to run, but it’s hard to go against the flow. I was pushed and shoved to this point, and I haven’t had any time to prepare. But there’s no time now, it’s far too late.

        I stand, frozen by something, listening to the instructions for this deadly game. It’s a gamble; you never know what the out come is going to be. If you win, it could be big or small… and if you lose, you always lose big. You get one chance, that’s it. And whatever happens happens. No negotiations, no refunds, and most of all, no turning back once you get to this point.

        From afar it seems so innocent, almost like a child’s game. But up close it’s easy to see that this is anything but innocent. The game master’s eyes burn, looking through your soul, insulting you without ever saying a word. It’s that stare that dares you to reach out your hand, to spin the wheel. Like some crotchety old man who no one could ever please, but there’s something in his eyes… you’d do anything to make it go away, including signing your own death certificate.

        I want to look away, try to break this spell that his eyes are weaving. But I feel like I have ice water running through my veins, freezing any movement. All I can do is wait. Wait, hope and pray. Pray that this goes my way, and that I walk out of here today, no matter how scarred, wiser than when I went in.

        Another fails before me, and I feel my heart pounding painfully in my chest. The line moves, as security drags the forever marked loser away. I come one step closer to my fate, whatever it may end up being. My mind spins, the excited mummers of the people behind me blurring. They have no idea what they’re walking into...

        The line moves again, and I gasp. One more step to go, and my heart is getting colder by the second. I didn’t even hear the last victim scream. The thought brings searing tears to my eyes, in stark contrast to my skin. The fever is getting worse, yet I can’t stop the shiver that runs down my spine as the line moves again… it’s my turn to step up.

        I’m frozen in fear, not wanting to move, but my feet move of their own accord, as if controlled by someone else. The master reaches out his weathered hand, holding it out to take mine. I stare in fear as he comes closer; unable to brace myself for the touch I know is coming. His hand is cold, but I can feel my flesh burning, almost like I touched my hand to a pile of dry ice. His eyes that taunted from afar are so cold and lifeless up close.

        He pulls me to the platform, the wheel sitting in the center. The colors flash as the wheel turns, tempting its unassuming victims to its side. The prizes very, from life to love to money, each with the small print beneath it, stating the price for this 'win' of a lifetime.

        I try to turn, try to scream, anything to warn these naïve people of the danger they’re willingly walking into. The master smiles and it’s as cold and terrifying as everything else about him. He gives me a gentle shove forward, so I’m standing in front of the wheel I was trying so hard to avoid.

        My breath catches in my throat as I see the losses listed on the wheel… death being the one to capture my eye. My tears fall as my hand reaches out to grasp the wheel, oddly soothing my burning flesh. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and spin the wheel firmly.

            "Around and round it goes. Where it stops, nobody knows…"

    ~ Cassandra ~

Sunday, 28 October 2007

  • Scared To Death - A True Story


        So you want the truth? She cries at night, lost in dreams of days gone by. The feelings rise, blurring the lies, and in the end it's all the same. This story had a happy ending... or maybe not. The tender age of who knows when, eyes still bright with hopes and dreams. But a sudden thought breaks through the fog; "What if it were all to end?" Maybe she'd be different then. No maybe involved, she wouldn't be the same.

        She longs for a hand to hold, blocking out the moans of unbelievable pain. Someone close, a loved one perhaps, suffers oh so close to her. Just across the room, in fact. On the floor, in the dark, praying for light and wishing for life. Who would have thought this would happen to them? Jesus Christ, where are you now? Embedded in her brain, pray again, pray again. All the lies, so many lies. How to tell them from the truth...?

        Words she would not yet understand, thrown carelessly into the wind. Unfit mother, unfit mother... give me a break, would you please? Trying to be strong, oh so strong, but one even younger still, stronger still, stands right beside her. Listening to the tears that fall, nothing able to wash away the fright. Help her please, help her please. The plea falls on deafened ears. A mother so close to the crippling edge.

        Finally help arrives at last, one try, two tries, third times the charm. And just when it couldn't get much worse, the threat of death looms again. It's ice cold fingers reach for them, a sister so dear, and a father so near. A wreck of metal, jumbled together. Thank the Father they had His protection with them. A crippled mother, a well missed father, and a mourned little sister... the thought chills her to the bone.

        But death could not leave well enough be, it had to rise again, you see. A brother's close brush with death, left on her shoulders to share the news. No more then a mere week apart, she could have lost everyone oh so dear to her. For heaven's sakes, she's just a kid... loss hits too close to home with her. Deprived of a childhood, held sacred by all, she hasn't a clue of what to do. Fortunately, it's only a dream to shake.

        She finds it hard, even years on down, to shake the fear, to shake the tears. Try as she may, she can't help but think, what if... what if? What if the surgery hadn't helped a bit? What if the car hit much harder? What if the brush what that much closer? Then the only one left would be her, with an older sister still a kid herself. There to take care of everything, their mother and each other. She wishes the what if's would find a hole... and drown themselves.

        So you want the truth? She's scared to death, scared that this is all a dream. That mom and dad aren't standing here, and siblings went from four to two. This story had a happy ending... at least so far. But luck can't last forever, and fear is deeply rooted. And her faith in life, love, and God has been severely shaken. Cults and losses have a way of sticking to the brain.

    So the truth is I am her... and I am scared to death.

        ~ Cassandra ~

Thursday, 25 October 2007

  • Trying And Failing


        I’m itching, scratching, peeling, poking… trying (and most possibly failing) to find something worthwhile underneath my skin. Underneath this mask. Underneath this lie. (because these days, I just want to be alive.)

        Could you say something that means something? Anything. Good or bad. Long or short. Fast or slow. (because I’m getting sick of “good” and “nice” and interesting has it’s place, but what do you find “interesting” about it, anyway?)

        I’m trying (and seemingly failing) to grab your attention while I still have the chance. To make you look and actually see everything that’s been hiding between the lines, and underneath the words I write. Could you stop and listen for just a second?

        I’m waiting for you to hold up your end of the bargain. I’m waiting for you to pick up the slack, and help me make things move. You say you want the best for me, but you’re too busy giving my best to everyone else. I need to move. Can you help me move?

        I’m trying (and failing miserably) to grab your attention while I still have the chance. I’m trying (and failing) to do this on my own. I’m trying, and failing… but hell, at least I’ve tried. It’s more then I can say for you.

        I tried. I failed. (but, I’m going to win… you’ll see. someday, I’m going to take to the skies.)

    ~ Cassandra ~

Thursday, 18 October 2007

  • The Truth And A Lie


        Everything I've ever said has been a lie. You can believe it or not, but it's true. I've never told the truth. And that statement just goes to prove I'm a liar. I've lied so many times that I can't seem to distinguish between the truth and a lie. What is true, what is a lie? Can a lie be true? Can the truth be a lie? And if so (or if not), who’s to decide? Me or you... or some stranger none of us has ever met? How is that fair? It's not.

        But that's the way it goes. We don't get to decide what is true for us because it might be a lie for someone else. Why do they get to tell us what is what? Why can't we figure it out and decide for ourselves? Why do they get to tell us that the sky is blue? Yeah, I know it is, but that's beside the point I'm trying to make. Everything is a lie and everything is the truth. Like it or not.

        Everyone believes in something. Something was made by someone. Someone decided what goes into this something. So once again it's out of our hands. And as the "future generation" (meaning "children" to the older generation...) that happens a lot. They think we're too young to think for ourselves. They think we can't distinguish between the truth and a lie. Maybe we could if we knew exactly what was what.

        You ask five people for their definition of the truth and, I guarantee you, you will get five different answers. You ask them for their definition of a lie, again, five different answers. Everyone sees things differently, so you can't really define what something is. Not outside of your own opinion, at least. Everything is what it is. I wish we could just leave it at that. But no one can, least of all me.

        I know if someone asked me what I thought was the truth, I wouldn't be able to tell them. Not because I don't have my own ideas about it, but because there's really isn't one right answer. It's not a simple yes or no problem. This is a multiple-multiple-multiple answer problem here. It's complicated, and yet, at the same time it's so simple. At least it would be if people wouldn't insist on over analyzing it.

        So, getting back to the problem at hand. What is the truth? I think it's a lie. What is a lie? I think it's the truth. I believe the truth is a lie and a lie is the truth. Whatever that may mean, it's what I think. But then I've been told I'm insane, so it might explain it a bit. Not much, but maybe a little bit. So I'll tell you the truth. I haven't lied. And I'll lie to you. I just told you the truth. Believe what you want, believe what you will. It's the truth... or is it a lie?

    ~ Cassandra ~

Tuesday, 16 October 2007

  • Smoke Curling Through The Air


        “Perfection, darlin’,” she whispers, smoke curling through the air.

        I freeze. I freeze. I freeze… for a moment. Time stands still. Time stands still. Time stands still… but only for a moment.

        She takes another drag, her eyes flashing dirty gray. “You told the perfect lie,” she whispers, smoke curling through the air.

        I try to turn. I try to turn. I try to turn… and I fail. I try to speak. I try to speak. I try to speak… and I succeed. “You’re not supposed to be here,” I say, my voice an eerie echo in the air.

        She laughs. She laughs. She laughs… and I cringe. The icy cold fingers trace down my arm, leaving goose-bumps in their wake. “I’m only here because you’re here,” she whispers, smoke curling through the air.

        I shudder as her poison seeps into my soul. We’ve been though this before. I’m strong enough. I’m strong enough. I’m strong enough… or at least I was. “Leave,” I whisper, her smoke soaking through my pores.

        She laughs. She laughs. She laughs… and I try not to cry. The icy cold fingers grip my wrist, the bones grinding in protest, crying in pain. “You’ll have to be more convincing then that,” she whispers, smoke curling through the air.

        I take a deep breath. I take a deep breath. I take a deep breath… and slowly let it out. “Leave,” I whisper, hating the thrill running through my veins. “Leave,” I say, trying to inject some strength into my words. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror.

        She smiles. She smiles. She smiles… amusement sparkling in dirty gray eyes. “Try again,” she whispers, smoke curling through the air. “Try again,” she says, her grip tightening. “Try, try, try again,” she whispers, and I cringe. She grins, white teeth behind blood red lips.

        “Leave!” I scream, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Leave!” I scream, hating the thrill running through my veins. “Leave!” I scream, adoring/abhorring the hold she has on me. “Leave!” I scream, just one more time. I hold her gaze in the mirror, and watch the amusement fade into dirty gray.

        She softly smiles, her tears mirroring mine, and caresses my arm one last time. “I believe you,” she whispers, smoke curing through the air. “You’re strong enough,” she whispers, pride sparking in her eyes. “You’re stronger then I am,” she whispers, as her hand slides off of mine. “As you wish, my darlin’,” she whispers.

        “I’m gone,” she whispers, smoke curling through the air.

        But this time I can breathe. But this time I can breathe. But this time I can breathe… and this time, I am free.

    ~ Cassandra ~

Saturday, 29 September 2007

  • What Do You Have To Lose?


        All I wanted was to find what I had lost. What I got was more then I ever expected. It was overwhelming to say the least, and sometimes I do regret it. Because I know that it isn’t going to last. It never does, and I cannot change that, even if I wanted to. Life needs to take its own course. You can’t force something that isn’t meant to be. That’s how you get hurt… trust me, I found that out the hard way.

        We always talk about the “what ifs”. What if we’d turned left instead of right? What if, instead of trying to please everyone else, we’d done what was best for us? But we never try to find out. Everyone says that there’s no going back, but they’re wrong. You can, and you should, go back. Even if it’s just for the hell of it. Because you never really know what you’re going to find, and it could just be what you needed to change your life.

        Force life’s hand into give you what you so desperately want, but run the risk of losing everything you already have. It’s a gamble you’re going to have to take, because if you don’t, you will never know what could have been. And, believe me, you will regret it. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, that’s exactly when it will get worse. You need to bet it all, and wait out the storm. Only the strong, the brave, or the insanely stupid win this game.

        If you just sit and complain about the hand life has dealt you, then you’ve only got yourself to blame. Be content with what you already have, but keep reaching for the stars, because the second you give up is the moment you lose it all. You have to keep trying, praying and dreaming, even if you end up bleeding, because nothing comes easy. You have to get your hands dirty, get your heart broken, and put your life and sanity on the line. Because if you don’t it’s your own fault. You can’t blame anybody else.

        Try to keep everything inside and you’ll only find that it’ll just become harder to bear. Everyone needs an outlet. So scream if you need to, cry if you want to, because life is too short to spend regretting what you’ve become. Be happy with who you are, and what you’ve got. Smile even when you have tears in your eyes. Maybe you’ll touch someone’s life, and be remembered for something good. Don’t worry about what tomorrow will bring. Just keep getting through today.

        I can’t promise that everything will be alright. I can’t promise that you’re not going to cry, or hurt, or break. But I can promise that life is a little easier when you have someone to lean on. You have to trust someone at sometime; otherwise this life is all in vain. I know it’s hard to open up to someone, to trust them with who you really are, but it’s just one of those risks you have to take. Because you’ll never win if you never take a risk.

        All I wanted was to find what I had lost. What I got was more then I ever expected. It was overwhelming to say the least, and sometimes I do regret it. Because I know that it isn’t going to last. It never does, and I cannot change that, even if I wanted to. Because life is what it is. You have to take it as it comes, and roll with the punches. Paste on a smile no matter how you feel, and convince the world that it is real.

        What do you have to lose?

    ~ Cassandra ~

Tuesday, 25 September 2007

  • girl in the mirror


        I think these are turning into some sort of character study thing... the more I write, the more I find, and the more I find... well, the more I have to write. Let's hope these give me the push I need. It's a leap of faith, but it's about time I get past my fear of heights.

        I need to find the strength, the will to accomplish what needs to be done. I need to learn to stand on my own, because I’m beginning to realize that no one is ever going to be there when you need them. Doesn’t mean you’re alone. But during your worst moment, your darkest hour, you’re going to be alone. You’ll have to learn to fight for what you need and more so, for what you want, because no one else is going to give it to you. Even if they did, it won’t be the same. You need to know that you alone made this happen. It was your blood, your sweat, and your tears.

        My blood, my sweat, my tears.     My life, and my choice, and no one else can make it for me. I need to take control. I need to learn, and I need to grow. I need to reap what I’ve sown and hope like hell for a better crop next year. That’s all I can do.     Or more like that’s all I’ve been doing, but I never get up and sow something better then what I’d sown the year before. It’s not “about” time to get up and make the difference I’ve wanted to see. It is time. Here and now. I can’t wait any longer. Actually, I could, but I won’t. I refuse to sit back and watch the world pass me by. I’m not getting left behind this time, ya hear? I refuse. This is my life and my choice and no one else can live it for me. I won’t let them live it for me anymore. I’m taking control.

        I need to stop relying on others to be there when I fall. They’ve never been there before, so why do I keep expecting them to show up? It’s a fool’s hope. It’s a fool’s dream of fool’s gold, but I want something real this time. I’m not going to be a fool any longer. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not...     I’ve learned that that doesn’t work. There’s only so many times… and I’m beginning to think I’ve said it one too many times. It’s lost its meaning, darlin’, but yet I keep relying on the same old, same old, same old. Not anymore. It’s out with the old, and in with the new.

        Out with the weak and in with the strong. Out with the tears and in with the hope. But I’m still a cynic, because I’m not going to let dying hopes kill me, too. I’ve watched my dreams die so many times, and I know it’s going to happen again and again and again. It’s going to, and I can’t afford to let myself hope in these dreams, because if I do, if I let myself rely on them, and believe in them, I’m going to fall when they do. They can’t hold me for long. I need something stronger.

        God, I can hear you laughing at me now. Not laughing, but there’s this smugness in your eyes. You’ve said it so many times. Everyone has, but that just makes me believe it less and less. It’s become the same old, same old, same old. I need something new. I need something strong. I need something I can hold and feel and see. I need something I know I can trust in, can believe in. Something that isn’t going to let me down. I know you’re right… but I can’t believe what you say, because I’ve heard it all before. It’s become so worn.

        How can I believe? How can I get out of this shadow? How can I grow? How can I know what it is I need to know? How can I find the words I need to say? When will I stop repeating everything I’ve already said? When will I finally be able to say I understand? When will I be able to say I’m happy? Who? What? Where? When? Why? Just stop it already.

        I want to be able to look in the mirror and see someone worthwhile. Is that too much to ask? I want to stop being this person I was made into and start being someone else. Someone better. Someone stronger. Someone smarter. Someone who can look at herself and see a person she can be proud of. I want you and you and you to be proud of me, too. Is that too much to ask?

        I want to be the one to break the mold. I want to be the one to put the pride back into your eyes. I want to be the one to make you smile. I want to be the one you want to see. But most of all, I want to be who I want to be. I want to be good, and pure, and bright, and the one you look at and say “God, she’s beautiful.” Not because of the outward appearance, but because of the confidence. The strength. The aura surrounding me when I walk down the street. I want to be something. I’m sick of being nothing.

        I want to be outright selfish, because I’ve been so selflessly selfish for so long. I’ve hidden myself away, thinking I was saving you the trouble of having to deal with me on top of everything else, but really, I was scared. I knew I could never compare, so I hide myself away, and I pretended to be something I wasn’t. It was selfish of me, because the person I was at least could’ve made a difference. Even if it was a bad difference, she could have done it. She could have changed something, but now we’ll never know.

        I cheated everyone of the chance to know me. I cheated myself of the chance to know me. It wasn’t fair of me. But it wasn’t fair of you to let me, either. It wasn’t fair of you to put others before your own flesh and blood. It wasn’t fair of you to put all your burdens on me. It wasn’t fair of you to let your feelings for someone else get in the way of our relationship. It wasn’t fair of you to put the weight of your disappointments on me. It just wasn’t fair.

        We’ve all made our mistakes, and I can’t judge you without judging myself. But I do. Just like you. You judge me by your standards, and you know from the start that I’m going to fail. Everyone will. Just like you. You are no better then anyone else. I am no worse then anyone else. We cannot judge one another fairly, but what is fair these days? Nothing’s fair. No one’s fair. Fair is just a word in a dictionary. Meaningless. In the end, we can only judge ourselves. And I do. Just like you.

        I compare and I fail. I’m sick of failing by the standards of others. I’m sick of trying to measure up. I’m sick of trying to fit in. I’m sick and oh-so tired of being scared. Petrified. Terrified. In the end, it all comes back to fear. I fear what others think, though that’s something I despise. I fear what you think when you look at me. I’m frozen in place, petrified terrified that I’m not going to meet your standards. That I’m not going to measure up. That I’m not fitting in, and am instead standing out like a sore thumb. I fear… you. I fear everything.

        But mostly I fear myself. I fear how easy it’s become for me to pretend that everything’s fine. I fear how hard it is to find myself inside, hiding behind all the lies. I fear how openly obvious my weaknesses are, while my strengths I’ve hid even from myself. I fear what it was I did, and I fear what needs to be done. Fear’s become my closest friend... and I fear that, too.

        It’s exhausting. I’m so tired of trying to run and hide from everything I fear. I’m tired of trying to hide from you. So, I’m not going to anymore. If you want to see me, well… here I am, in all my broken and abused glory. I’m not hiding anymore. The tears are real, but so is the hope you see shining through. Because if I can kill just one of these fear, it’ll be a little easier to bear. It’s worth the risk. It’s worth the fallout. It’s worth anything and everything. So here I am, in all my broken and abused glory.

        So take a good look, Life, and you too, Fear. This is what you made me. You took me, you broke me, you used me and abused me. But remember, I’m not playing passive anymore. If I’m going to be passionate, then I need to be passionate about myself. I need to care about who I am, and what I let others do to me. I can’t be passive and passionate at the same time. I’m not going to be broken anymore. Look out, Sky, because someday soon I’ll be spreading my wings.

        And to you, girl in the mirror, I hope you find your strength. I hope you learn to grow up. I hope you understand that words on the screen don’t mean anything until they’re put into action. Make things move, baby girl, because you're the only one who can. I've done all I can do.

        Hurry up, because I think you’ll like the view.

    ~ Cassandra ~

Saturday, 15 September 2007

  • A Letter To You (Whatever That Means)


        There’s no point in even asking you these questions anymore. I’ve said it all. It’s all been done. There’s nothing left to say that could possibly make a difference. I’m sick of trying to get your attention when I know that once I get it I’ll be too scared to say what’s on my mind. These words have been on the tip of my tongue for years, but I’m beginning to think they’ll never be said. (because, of course, I’d need to say them in order for you to hear them, but that’s not even the point to this.) What is the point? Is there a point?

        I’m scared to death of you. I’m scared of your (lack of) reaction. I’m scared that you’ll look right through me. Have I become that good at being invisible? It’s a sobering thought. So, tell me, what do I need to do to get your undivided attention? Do I have to stoop down to the level of those you (try to) help? (would you even reach out your hand if I did?) Do I have to lie to your face, slit my wrist, down a handful of pills, mess up your life enough to get you mad enough to confront me about it? (because you’re strong enough to confront everyone else, but you stare blankly at me, pretending you don’t see that I might be breaking down. are you scared of me, too?) Do I have to run away to make you notice my absence? (I’m already invisible, so it’s kind of redundant when you think about it, but what else is there to do?) I’m getting desperate here, but I’m frozen in place by your lack of… what? (affection? understanding? your lack of need/want/will, to know what goes on inside this head of mine?)

        And here we go again, repeating these questions I’ve already asked because I’ve drained all meaning from the words. (they don’t even hurt anymore. does that tell you something?) I’m not going to over-dramatize this by saying something cliché, like “I’m dying here”, or “This is just an empty shell”     (even though I’ve done it before, but I’m trying to tell the truth here.), because (let’s be honest) I wouldn’t care if I was just an empty shell. (do I care?)

        I’m not breaking down. I’m apathetic. I’m tired. I’m sick to death of dreaming, cause dreams don’t get me anywhere. They don’t do anything. They don’t give me a shoulder to cry on (ya know, if I even knew how to cry). They don’t keep me warm on those cold, lonely nights (no, they just rob me of my peace and bring me closer to crying then I’ve ever been before).

        Dreams are great, if you have something to build them on. I’m empty handed. I’m trying to build my dreams on a foundation made of sand (because I don’t know how to build a foundation on “Christ”, so stop pushing me! and you, you just don’t get it do you? but that’s okay, cause I’ve been lying to your face, anyway) and watching everything I have crumble when the tide comes sweeping in. The only so-called joy I find is collecting all the scattered pieces to start all over again. (it’s a twisted cycle, but at least it’s mine.)

        And I’m so sure that things would only get worse if I told you all of this to your face, so I’m not going to let you read it. (I may be playing a dangerous game of chance, but I’m not suicidal, thank you oh-so very much.) You’d never be able to look at me the same, and I’d be stuck in this same exact place. (you’re strong enough to confront me, but you wouldn’t. I’m supposed to be “perfect”, right? the only ones allowed to break are the strays you take in every single day. is it easier to ignore your mistakes if you just pretend that they’re not there? it’s kind of hard to do when it’s living, breathing, and staring you right in the face, huh?)

        I’m writing you this “letter” (which you’ll never know exists) and I’m spilling out these thoughts (which hold no meaning anymore) and I’ll let everyone else know how I feel (or is it felt?) about you and what you do. You’ll be the one left out in this cold this time. And when that day comes (if it ever does) when I finally have had enough, and force you to look me in the eyes, to accept me as I am (how I’m going to accomplish that is a mystery as of yet), I am almost positive you’ll cry.

        But I’m just going to smile, because like I’ve said, these words don’t mean anything anymore. There’s no meaning behind them. They are just words. You can read into the definitions and get the gist of what I’m saying, but you’ll never really know what I meant, because I didn’t mean anything. (and you’ll never know if that’s a lie or not, cause you’ve never been able to tell when I’m lying. you never will. you see, I’ve made this into an art form.) So, that’s all I have to say. (until the next time you do something to make me… want to feel.)

            And never doubt that I do love you. (whatever that means.)

    ~ Cassandra ~
    (There's a sort of companion piece over at my other site: Repetition)

Friday, 14 September 2007

  • Renegade


        She should have been ready for this. It always happened, so why would this time be different? The mistake was hers. She let herself get attached, she let herself hope. Hope is dangerous, dreams are deadly. She'd learned that at an early age. No one ever stuck around.

        The roads are dark, and eerily quiet. Nothing new to her. The dark hides her from prying eyes, allows her to move from street to street without trouble. She grasps the straps of her ratty backpack tightly, all of her worldly possessions tucked safely inside.

        This time had seemed different. She'd let her guard down, and had nearly paid the price. Trust was something that didn't come easily. Trust was something that took years to repair once it was broken. Her trust wasn't broken, it was shattered. The pieces wouldn't be easily picked up this time.

        Running takes it's toll, both physically and emotionally. She'd been longing for someone to care. She'd let herself need someone else, and it had come back to bite her in the ass. She'd learned her lesson the hard way. She could only trust herself.

        Another dank ally, another littered street. This was what she called home. Home was a place you could feel safe. This was as close as she could get. Home is where the heart is, and her heart stays with her. She doesn't give her heart away.

        She ignores the eyes following her every move. She stands out more then she blends in. Her once blond locks, now stained a dirty brown, shine under the dim street lights. Her crystal eyes dart back and forth, taking in everything around her. She's used to the looks.

        She didn't speak to anyone. She simply removes her backpack and sits on the ground, leaning up against a wall. She's been told, far too many time, that she's too pretty to be here. She looks like she comes from a life of luxury and comfort. Why she'd want to leave it for the streets is beyond them.

        Money. It's the root of all her problems. No matter how far, how hard she runs, money can always find her. Money broke the fragile trust she had. Money keeps her on the streets. It's not something anyone here would understand.

        She's been caught several time. But she's clever and fast, every time she's gotten away. How much longer she can keep it up is unknown. She's tired of running. But she cannot go back. She'll run till she keels over from exhaustion is she has to. She's not going back.

        People can be bought. For the right price some people would sell their souls. Selling someone else is nothing. With money comes respect, comes fear. One or the other. Money can't save the soul from burning forever. Pain can be bought.

        She's a runaway. A renegade. The name the others in this place gave her. Renegade. No one knows where she came from, what she's running from. She appeared one day, and someday she'll disappear, never to be heard from again. Not in this place.

        She cries only when no one else can see. She cries for the things she left behind, the things she's running from. Things to come. People who come, people who leave. No one ever sticks around. She's closed her heart the best she could. She doesn't have much of it left. They've all taken a piece with them.

        How much can a seventeen year old know about loss? A question she'd been asked time and time again. Age means nothing. Loss comes no matter what age. It's not something that only the old know. This seventeen year old knows enough.

        She should have seen it coming. People can be bought. They'll sell their own souls for the right price. Selling a little renegade is nothing. This time seemed different. It wasn't. They wanted, they wanted, they got. For a price. A price she'd have to pay.

        She closes her eyes. Darkness is comforting. Darkness keeps prying eyes out. She can run in the dark, live in the dark, stay in the dark. Light holds no appeal to her anymore. Renegade lives, and runs, in the dark. Dark is home. Home is where the heart is. Her heart is dark.

        Life shapes who you become. The things you go through, how you react, determine who you will be. Life has made her into this. A runaway, running for the rest of her life. Once cowering in the light, now standing tall in the dark. She ran for a reason. She'll continue running for that same reason.

    ~ Cassandra ~