muse:talking heads.

i don't even know. allow me to sort myself out through this.

muse:
the voices continue to echo around in my head as i stare down at the pink math book in front of me. geometry. math for real men. that's me, totally. and you, of course. as i sneak a couple of glances at you, you roll your eyes and continue your rant on about how we aren't prepared for the upcoming test. i'm plugged in to my music, but i can hear you loud and clear. the others try to tell you to believe in our group, that we can pull through the hardship if we work at it. you seem more than skeptical. i sit this entire conversation out. i just want to comfort you, with something like "we'll do fine, i know we will," but my mouth won't open. it's like someone pushed the mute button and suddenly my vocal cords don't work anymore. i want to reassure you, to let you know that we'll be okay--i want to be the one to assuage your fears. but my own fear conquers my speech and i just sit on the sidelines in silence. i'll tell you about it later, i think. he'll call, and i'll be able to say something.

no such luck.

muse:poison

muse:
i'm reading your story, your life on my brightly lit computer screen. perfect, perfect, perfect, that's all this is. all because you've felt needed by somebody. wanted by somebody. loved by somebody. the lack of that burns through my veins like a poison, igniting something within me that you've never seen before. your story, your perfection is all i've ever wanted. and though it's fitting (because you've struggled so much), i can't help but feel cheated. how can this even be fair? i shouldn't be feeling this anger against you, you have no hand in the matter. but it's seeping through me entirely and i can't help but hate you just a little bit for having what i've sought for so long.

making of:crazy

i knew i wanted something dark and ominous, so that's what came out. i think i freaked myself out writing this, because at the end of the first point of view, my hand was trembling and my heart was pounding. and all just from writing and visualizing the scene.

to be honest, i'm not sure where everything came from. i just imagined the typical horror movie music that is like constantly getting higher in pitch and sounds like someone sighing faster and faster. and tried to incorporate all the senses of that into the writing hopefully it was successful?

writing from the pov of a crazy person was hard though. nothing seemed too crazy except that this guy could feel vibrations of a soul. or could see them. a bit supernatural, but sufficient for crazy? i have no idea.

kuh-kuh-kuh-crazy. (pov practice)

side 1:

a crashing echoes through the house. i can instantly feel adrenaline rush from the tips of my kidneys to my head and to the nails on my toes.

'nobody's home, nobody's home with me, what in the bejeezus was that?!' i think, as my fingers start to tremble.

time slows down, seconds seem like an eternity, and the clock hands seem to have cast some sort of spell as i'm glued to my chair. the rest of my cluttered room seems to go dark--the only thing i can see is the little island of light created by my small, blue desk lamp. i glance around madly, trying to find some way of defending myself. nothing.

footsteps start up the stairs, ringing as loudly in my ears as my thunderous beating heart. who knew that a stranger walking up the stairs could sound like the end of the world?

my chair continues to hold me captive, as i start breathing rapidly. as i hear the safety click into the "off" position, my racing mind finally decides to let me know that the intruder has a gun. and then my brain switches into overdrive and i can't seem to think clearly anymore. everything has a foggy haze to it.

thunder crashes outside, and i finally realize that there's a humongous storm outside. 'maybe it's not someone,' i think, slowing down a bit. 'maybe i'm still safe.'

the report of feet in the all-too-empty hallway prove me wrong. my vision snaps to different places in my room, the hairs on my arm are standing on end, my heart decides that it's going too slow and the speedometer reads a thousand miles per hour. so much for fight-or-flight, i'm about as ready to move as a brick.

a knocking on my door. my eyes jerk towards the source, and i swear they start to bug out as the knob turns. a few, wispy, long and stringy white hairs blow in from the gradually opening doorway. my heart is still keeping way over race pace, and the door continues to inch its way open. a black trenchcoat, knee high leather boots, pale hands, ghost-white hair...

"holy shit!" i scream. "you're--"

the other side. the crazier one.

the house is empty, but he can still see the vibrating of a single soul through the closed window. thunder rolls through the heavens as rain continues to pour down in a relentless stream. the moon has vanished from the skies tonight, as has his sanity. his wild, unruly, long white hair billows behind him in an animalistic manner, even though it's sopping wet. he clenches his gun tightly. life's vibration needs to be stopped in that house.

raising his weapon, he brings it down hard against the door. it splinters all too easily, announcing his entrance with a cacophony of breaking wood. he can feel fear rush through the house like a tidal wave. perfect. he steps in, his tall, black leather boots echoing on the marble tile like heartbeats. too neat, too orderly. he releases the safety on his gun and continues his seven-step climb. his wet hand has sullied the elegant white of the railing and he smiles maniacally.

"truly," he whispers crazily to himself, "disorder and chaos are beautiful."

he clomps through the empty hallway, footsteps resonating and leaving even the walls trembling. a sliver of light from under a door. he knocks (for courtesy's sake, though she's been dead to him for some time) and opens the door. light spills onto his face. he raises his weapon and takes aim, but not before, "holy shit! you're--" breaks the silence. the gun screams, and once again, all is quiet.