Blood @ MindSay

Luminescence

The moon shines upon your face.

Porcelain

Your stone cheek,

cool, smooth, waxy under my fingertips.

Love

My head upon your shoulder

as you glide your strong fingers through my hair,

your guiding arms around me a sanctuary.

Magic

Words softly brushing the air as the wings of a dove.

Shivers

floating,

lips upon my neck.

Blood lust

you turn from me, golden eyes filled with torment and pain

as I cry out in anguish.

The moment is gone.

Dixie currently feels:

 Alone

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

I haven't blogged much this week.

 

I've been so exhausted with all of the exams and revision sessions I've been doing.

I've been coming in and falling asleep most of the time.

 

With everybody now leaving me, all I do now is download music and sort it out - then put it on iTunes.

 

So far, I only have 850 songs and 57 videos.

But tomorrow I'm going to add loads more.

 

 

The Media Studies exam on Tuesday was piss.

The two 20 mark designing questions were exactly the same as the ones we had in the mock - design a music TV programme, and design a comic front cover.

 

I did the same two designs.

Typically, it was the best drawing of #1263 I've ever done, and I won't get to keep it.

 

Those Welsh bastards at the WJEC better appriciate it.

 

 

Today I had a Geography exam.

It wasn't so easy, but it wasn't overly difficult.

 

I have Friday and Monday off - FOUR DAY WEEKEND - and I'm gonna chill like fuck.

I might even end up eating all the ice cubes in the freezer.

 

It's been so hot recently, but today, I'm wearing a hoody in the house. Mam's wearing a jacket, dad's wearing a jumper - it's so cold.

 

 

Mam upset me earlier, so I used BSR again.

I only did 5 cuts, just above my elbow, but they were quite deep.

 

 

I downloaded 'That's Not My Name' by The Ting Tings earlier.

It's a really bright and happy indie-pop song, and it cheered me up a bit.

 

 

I've tried completing The Impossible Quiz four times in the past 10 minutes.

Every single time, I died on question 107.

 

107! THERE'S ONLY 110!!!

 

I watched a video of someone complete it, and I KNOW I can do questions 108, 109 and 110.

 

It's just 107!

 

...Alright, "wearing a tie" is a suggested tag today.

 

I haven't worn a tie in ages.

 

 

All through the Geography revision sessions, I've sat at the back with Miraan and done nothing but draw freehand sketches of #1263.

 

They've all turned out quite good.

I've drawn her in her school uniform from the end of the novel, wearing #1264's huge polo shirt from Rivalry, in her favourite outfit of a white and red shirt and green shorts, and then I drew her bedraggled and distraught after Imprisonment.

 

I've began to write Decampment - the chapter that comes after Imprisonment.

I need to finish Perseverance, then I'll be able to post it up.

 

I've gone over chapter 1 of Fire of Glory, and that's ready to be re-posted.

Either today or tomorrow, or even Saturday, maybe Sunday, maybe Monday - I'll go over chapter 2 and I'll post that up as well.

Dixie currently feels:

 Suicidal

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 Currently playing:

 

- Pokémon Diamond

 

 Currently listening to:

 

- My Immortal - Evanescence

- Vermillion Part 2 - Slipknot

 

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 Times cried: Three times

 Wounds inflicted: Left arm - 154, Right arm - 61.

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

I don't know what the point in blogging today is.

I don't mean anything to anybody anymore.

 

It's been a week now.

And look what it's done to me.

 

 

- 27th May-3rd June -

Dixie currently feels:

 Alone

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Blog Poem #1

 

 

I'm hiding my emotions from everyone,

I hide behind my fonts and smileys and fun.

 

The red arial, size twelve. Hides all,

Except the days when I sob, cry and bawl.

 

Those days are the days when I let everything flow,

I post photos of cuts and leave it all on show.

 

I'm shit at writing poetry, but everyone says I'm not,

I'm so bad I have to use rhyming dictionaries, a lot.

 

But poems just sound so wrong when they don't,

A rhyme on the end of each line, or flow it just won't.

 

I was just laid in bed, holding her under my chin,

She still has your scent, but its vigor is thin.

 

I hold her too close, my smell is now overpowering her,

But I don't think I can let go, I need to keep a hold of her soft brown fur.

 

My structure of syllables and prose is just fucked,

Try as I might, my talent's just cooked.

 

It'll never be whatever it once was,

I've turned it all against myself, because...

 

I don't even know the reason myself,

I took too much time over your shelf.

 

If it falls down then we'll all get a pain,

Right in the skull where it'll fall to blame.

 

Blame the one who didn't tighten the rivets enough,

A defective spanner, she didn't tug it so rough.   

 

Poetry is the worst form of expression in the world.

I don't think I'll try this again... My frustration is heard.

Dixie currently feels:

 Dead

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Blog Poem #2

 

"Scabs"

 

 

Whenever I was hyper active,

Enjoying the way I'm supposed to live,

I'd often remark on pointless things,

And smile on the joy that my randomness brings.

 

I once often remarked, my brain was gooey,

The sky was bluey, glue sticks were gluey,

My brain was so screwy, my Converse were shoey.

 

The best thing I ever said though:

"My scabs are chewy."

 

And that's not a lie.

I'd picked one from my knee and gave it a try.

It was crunchy at first, then soft inside,

The surface was squishy, all the blood had dried.

 

Scabs are only a barrier, a mask, if you will,

They cover the wounds and they will be clean, until...

 

Until I rip them off again,

I want to see what's under them.

The wound hasn't fully healed.

 

It's bleeding now, just like when I:

Drove the cold blades into myself,

Sliced off my flesh and cut out some trenches,

I start the war, I fight the war,

I make my own barracks, eat my own stew.

 

I raise my own weapon, but not to my enemy.

I raise it to myself, and bring it down fast.

Ah... Relief at last.

 

I've made this once happy poem into something I shouldn't.

Keeping myself happy, content, I knew that I couldn't.

 

My scabs are all gone now.

I've scraped them away, pow.

 

All that's there now are the remains of the mark,

The small red indents where my silver blades park.

 

Where they dance upon me,

Take their fill of my skin, see?

 

There's one there, one here, one just near my elbow,

One down in the middle, and this one here... Oh...

 

...Maybe I shouldn't show that one to you.