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Welcome !	Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link	29-May 12:34:23 AEST

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Array ( [sid] => 82274 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => ''My Disorder...'' [time] => 2005-01-31 10:57:58 [hometext] => "I know who I am..." [bodytext] => She is a doll,
So porcelein,
But still remains so sullied.
Convulses at your touch,
You repulse her,
Something so humane could be so sick,
Disgusted with how everythings become.
She is your torn angel,
This angered girl,
A putrid princess of imperfections.
She is the siren of your song,
And an advocate of desire,
Yet wallows in the watercoloyrs
of Pain.
Persistant, she will persue her dreams,
And live in her sweet nightmare.
She is beautiful,
On the inside,
With her little black heart,
She trusts no one...
Ethereal in thoughts,
She ponders the end,
And betrays herself to the illusions
of life.
She is wrath in a dress,
Elegantly decaying in make-up,
This girl will never wake up.
She is twelve shades of grey on a rainbow day,
A moth shaped box brimful
of suicide notes and
razor blade kisses.
The ensanguined butterfly,
The bloody ribbon in your hair,
The whisper in your ear.
She is pure snow in a straight jacket.
Puppet girl,
She snaps her strings,
Of bows and lace and pretty things.
A wild card, bruised,
She is hit and missed,
The soilent soulmate,
The wasted wish.
Bound with insanity,
And gagged with apathy,
She is hung like a portrait of your hatred.
From her dying gut she vomits,
Entrails apoplexy and writhe in her stomache,
She is twisted,
Feel her turn.
A split twin trapped in this
siamese lock,
Stitched tight to her other half,
The embodiment of death.
She is temptation and has given in,
to the vast abyss of herself.
Yet she will overcome,
She will outlast.
Her lips are glossed,
She is broken,
Scarred.
Self-inflicting and contradicting,
She is punished.
She is forsaken,
She is a means to your end,
And though her wings are savaged,
She will rise to meet this oblivion,
And pray that she does not
disappear.
Her life is her possession,
Her past her Perogative,
Her future hopes and destruction,
This is her Disorder...

(c) Bethanie Martell, 29th September 2004. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 197 [topic] => 61 [informant] => xMizeriex [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => selfstruggles )

''My Disorder...''

Contributed by xMizeriex on Monday, 31st January 2005 @ 10:57:58 AM in AEST
Topic: selfstruggles

She is a doll,
So porcelein,
But still remains so sullied.
Convulses at your touch,
You repulse her,
Something so humane could be so sick,
Disgusted with how everythings become.
She is your torn angel,
This angered girl,
A putrid princess of imperfections.
She is the siren of your song,
And an advocate of desire,
Yet wallows in the watercoloyrs
of Pain.
Persistant, she will persue her dreams,
And live in her sweet nightmare.
She is beautiful,
On the inside,
With her little black heart,
She trusts no one...
Ethereal in thoughts,
She ponders the end,
And betrays herself to the illusions
of life.
She is wrath in a dress,
Elegantly decaying in make-up,
This girl will never wake up.
She is twelve shades of grey on a rainbow day,
A moth shaped box brimful
of suicide notes and
razor blade kisses.
The ensanguined butterfly,
The bloody ribbon in your hair,
The whisper in your ear.
She is pure snow in a straight jacket.
Puppet girl,
She snaps her strings,
Of bows and lace and pretty things.
A wild card, bruised,
She is hit and missed,
The soilent soulmate,
The wasted wish.
Bound with insanity,
And gagged with apathy,
She is hung like a portrait of your hatred.
From her dying gut she vomits,
Entrails apoplexy and writhe in her stomache,
She is twisted,
Feel her turn.
A split twin trapped in this
siamese lock,
Stitched tight to her other half,
The embodiment of death.
She is temptation and has given in,
to the vast abyss of herself.
Yet she will overcome,
She will outlast.
Her lips are glossed,
She is broken,
Scarred.
Self-inflicting and contradicting,
She is punished.
She is forsaken,
She is a means to your end,
And though her wings are savaged,
She will rise to meet this oblivion,
And pray that she does not
disappear.
Her life is her possession,
Her past her Perogative,
Her future hopes and destruction,
This is her Disorder...

(c) Bethanie Martell, 29th September 2004.

Copyright © xMizeriex ... [ 2005-01-31 10:57:58]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: ''My Disorder...'' (User Rating: 1 )
by ladyfawn on Wednesday, 2nd February 2005 @ 06:40:35 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

sadly beautifully written, so human, great images.......... hugs n' love nessa

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