AliceDanielle

A start A cleanse A washing away of all things Last year. After today I'll breathe again. I say. After today, yesterday won't matter I think. But you still happened. And I'm still holding my breath Counting the seconds until you burst into my life My lungs Like a breath of fresh air after four months of not having any. And love, I'm counting the seconds just like everyone else When that ball drops on New Year's Eve. But I'm counting on something else. And I'm still not breathing Because you're still not here.

As soon as I got home, and also to my dad, all I could think of was getting the hell away from him. I chucked my backpack on top of some chair somewhere and walked through the kitchen towards my room, grabbing an apple along the way. Just as I was about to open the door, I tossed the fruit around a few times, seeing how many times I could catch the lopsided thing. I should have just opened the goddamn door, though, 'cause my dad somehow caught sight of me at the last second. "Ben," he called out my name, undoubtedly so he could gain from the sick joy he got from giving me stuff to do. "I've gone and told you 'bout twenty times now in two day

Emotions are funny things. They seem to come out of nowhere, and really, they're made of nothing; yet, once they grow, you can't escape them. For instance, you could be having a perfectly nice day filled with laughter and sun-kissed skin by the pool one minute, and the next you could be in tears over God knows what. Sitting on a lawn chair while your friend swims, you might just hear her mention something selfish. Or really, not so much selfish as obnoxiously self-centered. You might become agitated at her stupidity, or the way she couldn't care less about anyone else other than herself and her insignificant little life. Suddenly, the paper-t

one picture's worth a thousand words, but tell me-- how many images can you conjure with only one, simple, beautiful word?

The hotel room curtains billowed in the wind which was flowing from the open window, whispering soothing yet eery words of comfort and insecurity. The flowery print brought a headache that lulled behind my eyes, the pain flowing in, and out... Pressure, then nothingness.... I squeezed my eyes shut as I contorted my body so as to wrap my arms around her-- so broken. So drunk. So unstable. So lost. I wrapped my arms around her and she leaned into my chest, as if the tighter I held her, the more she could count on herself holding in place; as if my arms could keep her intact. The throbbing continued, and suddenly even the air was irritating. I

I've always thought that I would never run out of words. It was simply a given that words would simply roll off of my tongue, slip from my mouth and reveal my thoughts. Then explain, please, why I am now staring at an empty paper. I am choking on my own sentences, refusing to let them out because they just sound so goddamn ugly. Everything is ugly, everything disgusts me, everything is repelling. Someone today informed me of the scientific theory that some genius dumbfuck came up with, stating that outside the self, nothing exists. Now I lay next to my bed, praying to god that this is not true. For without the essence of everything that is n