Muse 105: the tales never win

found via colour lover

I'm real, like I'm alive, like something no one else is able to do for me. You look at me strange, like I'm abnormal, like I need help or desperate measures of medication, and in comparisons of metaphors and similes, it could be ounces of truth. When you don't follow the rules, play ball in the house, vases break. Hearts shatter when fairy tales don't play in order. In real life, the step mother wins, the prince is ugly to the bone and nothing is real except for the pains and scars the hurt me. Don't keep it inside, and don't let the fairy tales win. You look at me strange because you're afraid of me; you're afraid of my scarred arms because I let them show while your insides have been all cut up.

Muse 93: How Did We Trust That?

found via beautyineverything

The light came in like it did every morning, through the windows, through the cracks, and through my fingers. My hand did nothing to shield my eyes from the sun, so I closed them and made my way out of bed by touch. The rough edges of the broken window frame used to give me splinters, but out of habit and practice, they don't hurt anymore. Nothing about this dilapidating house hurts anymore - I think I've grown immune, as all people do to the same allergies and pains, to whatever makes this place all torn up. It doesn't hurt anymore, but when I look how rusty the windowsill is, I wonder how I let myself trust him so easily. I put flowers and pictures to cover up the stains, but the light still shines on what I don't want to see.

Muse 51: Burden

source unknown

I am sad that the pain can only be saved through pain. Is happiness such an insufficient eraser that the only way to make a mistake go away is to mark it darker until the problem explodes into oblivion? I suppose that's the way the world has always gone about to get what it wants. We started small: sin with an apple, then grew on to wage wars, create atomic bombs and the destruction of races, all by a simple knock of dominoes though to be human intelligence. All endings have come about in the same manner. With more pain. Humans labour their revenge until death; generations pay deep beyond their lifetime. Although I could turn my other cheek, my words can cut you and I will say them until you bleed. My pain becomes yours until we bury each other.