Jabberwocky

You guys really don't understand how much I miss Karns. I've decided I might just threaten my mom that if she doesn't send me back to Karns, I'll kill myself. I was reading Helen's old blog and I got all nostalgic. That place totally owns HVA. I hate my school so, so very much.

And something's really bothering right now. I just can't find this poem I wrote last semester on the back of a German paper. I really liked it. It was about a guy and girl who are always sneaking out to see each other at night, but at school she's nothing to him. So she dumps his ass. It wasn't a personal poem which made it all the better.

And I wish I lived in the Republic of Dave. Don't ask it's a video-game thing.

Anywho, I have to get to piano lessons.

Laters,
Rhiannon

The World's a Fine Place

Refuge is sought in the crawlspace beneath a loose floorboard.

"I'm afraid."

"Hush dear."

Bated breath as footsteps move down the hall.

Closer, closer.

"Mommy."

A hand is clasped over a mouth.

Whistling comes from the hallway.

Closer, closer.

Stop!

The footsteps, the breathing.

Only the terror remains.

A door creaks open.

"Clau-di-a.

Ro-o-sie,

C'mon out.

I know you're in here.

Don't be scared."

Silent tears run down a mother's cheeks. The stench of whiskey fills the room.

Could the neighbors have heard the screams?

Would they call the police before the gunshots rang?

Was this world really worth fighting for?

Life, Save the Empty

Today, Yesterday

You wrapped your arms around me

And it took my breath away.

It felt like not a single meaningless day had passed

Since you last held me.

Like it was only yesterday.

When we finally let go, you turned

And you introduced me to her.

A flawless porcelain doll, beaming, loving you

With all of her naive heart

Like there was no day but today

You told her that we were old friends

And I understand why you did.

But seeing you, seeing her, I couldn’t help wonder

What our lives would be like

If you loved me like you did yesterday

Had we been the real deal, true love,

And do you really love her?

Could we have been as happy as you are with her?

Do I still love you?

No.

Not today.

The Incident at 1507 SE Benning, Apartment 21

The number eighty-four bus screeches to a halt in front of a rundown apartment complex. The building itself looks like it should be condemned, the decay showing through its bricks. The lamp lit SE Benning Street is an urban nightmare for any directionally challenged tourist. Grimy men slipinto the alleyways between the decomposing buildings, with money in their pockets and a fix on their minds. Women in high heels and tight clothes stroll down the sidewalk, stopping by anxious men in parked cars, asking if they wanted a ride. Men and women, alike in their soiled rags, sit on the steps in front of these shit houses because they can't even afford rent in an apartment this squalor. As this bus creaks to a stop in front of one-five-oh-seven SE Benning, they perk their ears up to see the bus-door open and quickly close as a single passenger steps out onto the street.

A fine looking businessman stepped out onto the concrete.

"Eddie," grins an old vagrant. His voice is scratchy and the man coughs into his fingerless gloves after speaking.

Despite his immediate welcome by the occupants, Edward Vincent does not belong on Benning Street. Anyone can tell this just by looking his general direction. Dark-haired and brown-eyed, Edward stands at six foot and is wearing a nice white-collar shirt to go along with his comfy white-collar job. He loosens his blood red, silk tie and digs through his pocket to find a quarter. As he steps up onto the complex's steps, he flips the elder the quarter and reaches to open the door...

Up in apartment 21, Victoria Valentini is brushing her raven hair. Behind the dark circles and bruised cheek, there is a face that could be on film. Legend has it, that the most beautiful of angels envied that perfect face, and in order to make themselves feel better, they cast her into the darkest pits of the world. She tries to size herself up in the smudged, cracked mirror. With her jet black hair cascading upon her shoulders, her gaze turns to her battle wounds. The circles are there to stay, she has become accustomed to the unwelcome marks of insomnia. The bruise, on the other hand, is fresh. Victoria likes to play with the big boys. Honestly, it's nothing a little foundation can't fix.

Little Italy's not wearing much. A black skin-tight wife beater and grey, stained boxers are all the girl's dressed in. She's not expecting company, but at the same time, her jaw is twitching. She can tell somebody is coming. Her eyes stay on the mirror, but her fingers stray down to open a dresser drawer and slowly begin to pull it open.

There is a knock at the door and the twitchy girl swerves around, gun in hand, aimed right for whoever tries to come through her door. Her jaw is clenched and her hands feel very at home around the cold steel. A single drop of sweat appears on her forehead as she calls out in her low rasping voice, "Who is it?"

"Just me Vicky. Put down the damn gun and let me in," answers a gruff voice from the other side of the apartment door.

Her body loses the tension at his familiar voice. Dropping her gun, she dashes for the door and opens it up like a fourteen-year-old girl, eager for her first date. A smile comes to her red lips and her violet eyes light up at the sight of him.

"Hey baby," replies her lover as she steps aside to let him in.

The tall man enters. Unlike Victoria's hidden beauty, he looks like a statue of a god. His dark brown hair is spiked up a bit in the front and his blue eyes glitter like diamonds. Though he is only four or five inches taller than her, he is large and muscular, making him look twice as big as the dainty Victoria.

"Paul, I wasn't expecting you," she smiles and lowers her head, blushing, trying to hide that her determined eyes are still on the open door.

Paul gives her a quick peck on the lips and groans as he slowly sits down on her bed. Taking off his shoes, the big man says, "This week has been motherfuckin' crazy, I swear. Just today, there were about fifteen guys who came to me about this total dumbshit problem that I fixed yesterday. Not to mention the wife has been on my back all week. Jimmy has a science fair. Lily needs help with her homework. Yadda, yadda, like I care about her damn kids."

Victoria cringes slightly at his words.

"'Ey babe, how's about closin' that door and gettin' me somethin ta drink?" Paul asks, in a way that is more of an order than a question. The mistress takes one last careful look down the hallway before closing the door and heading to the refrigerator. Paul kicks back on the bed and spots the remote to the small, stolen television under a pair of dirty panties. Grabbing it, he barks, "Doncha ever clean this place?"

Victoria rolls her eyes and looks through the small fridge. Pulling out a can of beer, she turns and replies annoyed, "No, you gotta problem with that?"

The big man's grin faded and his face went cold. There is the distinct sound of somebody in the hallway singing Irving Berlin's "Steppin' Out With My Baby" as Victoria's odd, violet eyes turn as icy as winter in Wisconsin. Standing up, Paul grabs her by the wrist and forcefully pulls her closer to him. "Listen Sparky," he growls, "I don't want you given me any lip unless it involves-" His other hand lands on her hip.

"Steppin' out with my baby,"

Her free hand raises and slaps across his face. There is one second of silence as they both take in what just happened. Instinctively, Paul throws her to the ground and bellows, "You little bitch!", as Victoria scampers on the ground trying to get away from her attacker.

"Can't go wrong cause I'm in right."

"Oh no, you don't!" he growls and grabs her by her long black hair. Before she can even scream in pain, the big man slams her against the dresser. Collapsing on the floor, her eyes spot the handgun lying on the ground next to her. He raises his hand to strike her as she reaches for the gun. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you!"

"Ask me when will the day be."

Suddenly a gunshot rings out just as Valentini's hand touches her pistol. Her eyes dart up to see Paul staggering and a smile comes to her lips as the apartment door flies open. In steps a tall, business man holding a hand gun and firing off two more shots into the big man, who is dead before he hits the floor.

"The big day may be tonight," finishes the gunman in bravado. Putting away his gun, he takes out a box of cigarettes from his left pocket and his eyes flit over to Victoria. "Jesus Vicky, he really fucked you up! Are you okay?"

He offers the bruised damsel his hand. Taking it, she stands up and straightens up her clothes.

"Eddie!" she growls in a hurried, hushed voice, "What the fuck took you so long? I was worried I'd have to finish him off myself. Christ are you sure this is gonna work? Won't the hole in the door give it away?"

Despite her evident panic, Edward holds one of the cigarettes at his lips and lights it. Breathing out smoke, he calmly smiles and whispers, "I could hear you fighting from the hallway. I could hear Mrs. Gonzales run for the phone worried about you. It will all look like I came to visit my little sister and saved her from a cheating bastard the only way I could. See this will clean up much more nicely than if it was a simple murder."

Victoria crosses her arms and sighs, "If this doesn't work I'm not visiting you in jail."

"Oh, if I go to jail, I'm taking you down with me, little sis," Edward replies. His voice is playful, but there is an honest threat behind it.

The beautiful girl shrugs it off as a police siren wails outside. The siren has become a familiar sound to her ear. She lays down on her bed and mutters, "There's gotta be something better."

---

This is something I wrote a long time ago. I kinda liked it though. >.<

I Told You I'd Write It

Six Strings
Black, plastic, with six little strings
Which sing and bring that smile
To her face, every time he plays
That guitar. A smile, once broken
Such a long time ago, by the one
Who played four strings.

My friend asked me what she should write a poem about. I suggested her boyfriend's guitar. (What? It's a kick-ass guitar. xD) Anyhow, she shot the idea down rather quickly. So I said I'd write a poem about it. And she dismissed it.

So I wrote this to spite her. I actually think it's pretty good.

Nice Girls Finish Last

Desperation was an understatement.
He was everything she ever wanted.

A lover, a friend, a heart ache.

Boys, it's true what they say.
All girls want bad boys.

Nice guys finish last.

Sometimes he'd pray she'd change her mind.
Until then, they were just friends.

Just friends.

That's all nice guys ever are.
Friends.

She would rather be with a bad boy.
Because all girls want a bad boys.

Except for you.

You never wanted a bad boy.
But what did the nice guy tell you?

Let's be friends.
Just friends.

At least bad boys only use you.

---

Mehhhh, this really isn't pertaining to what most people would probably think it is. Like this poem-like thing is zero-percent personal. I've just always thought it was hypocritical how some guys complain about girls only wanting bad boys, when they themselves only want "broken girls."

I have a whole theory on it. Maybe I'll post it on here some time.

Oh, No, No, No.

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs always make me happy.

I Believe I'm Going to be Alright
You showed me a secret house in a dark forest.
I believed that made me different.
You showed me a person beneath all the metal
I believed that made me special.

I told you something I thought I'd never say.
You believed it wouldn't work out that way.
You told me were better off as friends
I believe that you were right.

Wow Rhiannon, way not to be obvious. xD

Suck

That Morning

Sometimes I wonder if when you woke up that morning, you hit snooze on your clock like you always did or if you for once woke up exactly when you should have. I wonder if you showered in that morning like you always did or if you had showered previously that night. I wonder if you had to change your clothes several times to get that perfect combination or if you just threw something on. I wonder if you ate for breakfast. Was it your usual cereal bar and cup of coffee or did you sit down for a bowl of cereal or pancakes? Did you brush your teeth for the full three minutes or did you brushed your hair longer than usual? When you looked in the mirror, did you realize how great you looked? Did you realize you always looked great? Did you check your phone and see my message? Did try to text back your best friend and the message just didn't get through to my phone or was it still too awkward for you to even communicate with me?

Sometimes I wonder exactly what time you walked out your front door, and if you told your mother you loved her before leaving. I wonder if your older brother teased you as you were leaving or if he'd already left. Did your old piece of junk car stalled and you had to try a couple times before it would start running. Did you wave to that woman who always runs around your neighborhood in the morning. Was your mind thinking deeply on a certain subject, or were you mindlessly singing along to the song on the radio? What was playing on the radio? Was it your usual station, or was that song you could never stand playing and you had to change it to a different station? Or were you listening to a CD? Did that song remind you of anyone? Were certain words burnt in your brain?

Sometimes I wonder if some jerk cut you off, and if you swore a string of obscenities under your breath. I wonder if you sped to school cause you were running late or if you just didn't care because there were more important things on your mind. Did you even know what time it was or was the clock in your car a couple minutes slow? Did you catch all the red lights or ease through all the green lights? Did you wait impatiently at that one red light, or did you take your time before hitting the gas again? Did you see that truck coming or did it hit you before you even knew what was happening? How bad did it hurt? I hope to God that you didn't feel a thing. I like to tell myself that you snapped your neck on impact, but I know that wasn't your fate.

Sometimes I wonder what your last thought was about and if you knew you were going to die. I wonder if you thought about all the things if you had to live for and all the things you wish you'd never did. Did I cross your mind at all? Did you know how much I would miss you? Did you know how much I'd cry at your funeral and for the entire two months afterwards, and how many nights I would sit up wondering about every single thing happened to you? Could you have ever known how much I wish just one little part of those things on that morning had gone different? Because if it had, you'd still be on this Earth, even if you weren't with me.

---

I came up with the idea for this in Driver's Ed.

I'm kinda going through a breakdown. My mind hurts and I'm going back into that phase where I just absolutely hate everything about myself and I can't see myself ever having a happy future.

What I Do When I Should Be Taking Notes

Sam

He sat behind me in English class
So cute, rambunctious, bold, and brash
Poor me, I never even stood a chance
Like the waves to the sand
I crashed to my Sam.

His craftiness really was a work of art
I should’ve known right from the start
But his claws dug into my lonely heart
And a heart sang a song for Diane
Diane and her Sam.

Afraid of losing him, I went out against myself
Couldn’t bear to think of him with someone else
Of these feelings he knew, and he used it well
Like life gives all that it can
I gave it all to my Sam.

In darkness, my tongue was swollen
Without a goodbye, he left me broken
Without a kiss nor loving word spoken
Days, weeks, months did pass
I told no one of my Sam.

Yet the truth came flooding doubts
By gloating word of a vile mouth.
And all I loved did shut me out
None even tried to understand
What really happened between me and
That Sam.

Blue-Gray

There’s something so cruel
About that cold gray river
It’s mystifying and underlying
The bottom line is it’s unbearable
Thinking about my river
And the day your eyes
Were blue.

Air

I believe it was you with whom I sat
We listened to music and you told me that
Life was a game and not to fear the flame
Ignore the stares, but remember how to care
Just breathe, breathe in the air.

Life Imitates Art

If I were blessed with unhappiness
Your touch could take away the blue.
When I am cursed, I know the cure
Can be found sitting next to you

Your laugh must be witchcraft
For I’m captive to your smile
In your car under all the stars
You make the aches worthwhile

Life, they say, is not fair
I’ll have to agree with them there
And were life to imitate art
I’d paint me holding your heart.

Fire

You eat up all things in a greedy haste
Yet you have an appealing taste
For when I’m lost, cold, and scorned
I turn to you to keep me warm.

[Untitled]

Tragic, yes
For a child to understand
That their hero
In the end, is only a man

[Also Untitled]

Thinking again of
A star I swore I’d forget
I can’t help hoping.

[I was working on haikus in English class]

It is a life of
Laughter, tears, terror, and joy
And elusive love

The Lich King

The Lich King sits on his throne

And the hobgoblins surround

In darkness they do grow

Underneath the ground

Man has not seen but knows

Evil is all around.

When man is overthrown

The Lich King will astound

Hark! As the end is near

All children quake in fear

The horror is finally here.

To make the whole world kneel

But you won’t feel

-a thing

Your Hair

Blond.
And flips at the end.
Funny to feel this for a friend

Your eyes
Gone.
Those baby blues could never mend
The broken heart of just a friend.

If They’re Right

My friends say I’m perfect for you

It’s all just a joke, I don’t mind

My mother says I’m crazy ‘bout you

She knows nothing, so it’s fine

But at night when I’m in my room

I dream of the stars and stare at the moon

And maybe, just maybe, think of you

But I’m struggling with an internal fight

Cause I really don’t want them to be right.

Hippie Stuff

Incense, guitars,
Hendrix on stereo
Woodstock on the wall
A flower for your hair?

Helter skelter
Light my fire
Gimme shelter
I’m growing tired

Best Friends Forever

Silly me, how could I believe
All those years ever meant a thing?
I hate to tell you this but I hate them
Your new friends, so shallow and petty
To be honest, they’ve been rubbing off on you
Now I kinda don’t like you too.

Every time you ask, I hope he’s not coming
But he always is, so I find some excuse
Then I stop and think about how it used to be
You were still like this, only then I can see
The one who changed was me.

Rapture

Stars
Dancing cross the heavens

Cars
Blurring the two oh sevens

Don’t cry for the
Capture

It’s just
Rapture.

Get Out

Too many times

You’ve said goodbye

For good

Too many times

You’ve come back into my life

Get out!

You Don’t Know

You know why I smile every time you are near
You know why your voice is what I long to hear
I know it’s childish but what they say is true
Blondie, I’m crazy about you

[Mildly Sexual Untitled Poem]

You’re in and you’re out
And you’re going around the speed of light
You’re sweet and you’re kind
And you’re looking mighty fine tonight

I’m cold and distant
And my malicious behavior can spite
I’m tired of trying
And I’m going home alone tonight

Free Will

Sitting still the mannequin poses
And dreams of being a puppet
To move her arms to dance along
Instead of stillness everyday

[Another Untitled Poem]

Distance is what keeps the air
From catching aflame
Water cannot help it now
Then whole world’s ablaze

[Really Emo Kid Poem That I Wrote In CJ]
Rejected from the pack
The lone wolf goes its own way
And though I know its grim fate
I envy his freedom

Signs

Screams in the night
Looking for a fight
But by the break of day
The screaming goes away

I scream in my mind.
Can they see the signs?
Do they hear what I say?
And ignore it anyway?

e.e. cummings

Life laughter ­­– fall
love; The strangest of
Them all

Kills me – thrills me
yet when the day is done
I’m still (alone in:love)

Ashes to Ashes

The pitch-black sky stretched for miles as two old friends, a man and woman in the prime of their lives, sat on a front porch, watching the deadly sky. The man sat in the corner holding his knees, with a fearful look in his eyes. Lying upside down with her feet up in the air while she stretched, the woman yawned, coughed harshly, and checked her watch.

“It’s half past noon,” she informed her friend and sat up, crossing her legs like a child eager to hear a story.

“Never wanted to see the end of the world,” the young man sighed and leaned against the railing. “Always thought it would come long after my children were long gone.”

“Well, somebody had to see it,” she responded and stood up. Her voice sounded as far away as her eyes looked, now wondrously gazing at the midnight afternoon sky. Coughing again, she looked down at her friend and offered a hand for him to take. Reluctantly, he took it and pulled himself up to stand next to her. Walking toward the road, the young woman paused only to pick up a stick in the front yard. Her companion followed, curiously, as they walked down the road to the edge of the neighborhood to the street.

With the mobs now hiding, or worse, the street, once a busy highway, now was littered with trash, a few crashed cars, and the occasional sign of death. The young man tried not to look at that last bit when they did come across one. His associate, on the other hand, seemed not to notice such things at all. In fact, she seemed to notice nothing as she strolled the street, poking cans and hitting pebbles with her stick. So distant from this hell, she would only stop every once in awhile to cough such a hacking, horrid cough that her friend would stop as well and sigh.

“We’re dying, Eve,” he finally said plainly, after a particularly intense coughing fit that she had to stop and sit on the curb. Behind them stood the grocery mart, with its windows shattered and food, necessities, and other things strewn across the parking lot. The screaming, fighting, and gunshots now had been replaced with an eerie silence.

The silence caused young man’s hands began to tremble, and his friend looked up at him, with a trace of fear in her eyes. The fear, though, was not for his words, but for his expression. His eyes had the gleam of a madman, for he was surely mad, and his face twisted to this panicked frenzy as he spoke.

“We’re dying,” he repeated, more angrily this time, “And there’s nothing our technology, our science, our prayers can do about it. Christ, you’d think that we’d be able to do something about it, but in the end, the high and mighty human race falls like ants beneath a kid’s magnifying glass to Mother Nature. You and I, we kept our heads when all were rioting in the streets. We were calm and collected when all others were trying vainly to cheat death, and what do we get for our rationality? We get to die like the rest of them! They acted like animals and we were calm. It’s getting harder to breathe. And look at you, Eve; you can hardly stand.”

The woman looked at her ankles and he took a step back. “We’re going to die,” he, with a manic laughter in his voice, yelled to the heavens as he tugged at his hair, looking desperately for an answer, “and there’s not a damn thing that can save us!”

With that, he collapsed to his knees, coughing. For the final time, he repeated a single phrase. This time his words were filled with despair as he hugged his knees and in a soft, broken voice cried, “We’re dying, Eve.”

The girl embraced her best friend and told him in a calm, comforting voice, “Adam, we were always dying.”

===

Okay so, it's been awhile since I wrote in this. First off, the preceding story kind of came to me while I was watching a Twilight Zone. It was originally going to be two old friends sitting on the front porch admitting their love for each other at the end of the world, but just how the boy seemed so anxious, and the girl seemed so laid back, made me want to make them go for a walk, and eventually, Adam lost his mind. Then I just had to end it with that line. It kind of wrote itself. I'm debating whether I should submit it to LitMag or not. So when you comment this, it would be helpful if you point out things that sound awkward or things that don't make sense. Btw, extra points if you get the title. I don't expect anyone to get it though, so don't feel bad.

Secondly, update on what's going on Rhiannon-World, so far 2oo9 has been amazing. I haven't cried yet so that's a good sign. Granted, it's only the second day, but I digress. As for what's been going on since I last updated, I've been kind of caught up in a bunch of stuff recently, if you know what I'm talking about good for you, if you don't it doesn't matter because I'm finally over it and getting back to myself. I am not in any way looking forward to going back to that hell that is Hardin Valley Academy. Seriously am I the only person who dies a little inside when I remember: "I don't go to a high school; I go to an academy."? It makes me want to shoot a bunny in the face. I really, really hate that school. You have no idea.

Thirdly, I wish you a happy 2oo9. Whether jolly old 'o8 was the best year of your life so far, or the worst, or even just an okay year, every year has the potential to be better than the last.