Saturday, July 17, 2010


I don't think you'll ever truly understand
the pain that lurks beneath the sand
Beneath this darkened heart of mine

I don't think you'll ever truly comprehend
the memories time can never mend
They lurk here in this blackened soul of mine

And I don't think you'll ever truly know
I don't think you want to truly know
I wish you could never truly know


Oh, I don't think you'll ever understand
I don't think you want to understand
I wish you would never understand


I don't think you'll ever know the truth
the pain etched within me in my youth
the pain that darkened this heart of mine

I don't think you'll ever know the fears
the frightening visions that stopped my tears
The visions that blackened this soul of mine

And I don't think you'll ever truly know
I don't think you want to truly know
I wish you could never truly know


Oh, I don't think you'll ever understand
I don't think you want to understand
I wish you would never understand


I don't want you to understand
I don't want you to understand
I can't have you ever understand


Friday, July 16, 2010

the lines grow

It's happening again. The lines between voices growing thicker, more noticeable; the voices less controllable. I am losing touch with myself, or rather myselves. Small memories, such as what I just did less than five minutes ago is hazy, as if it were a dream. Simple tasks, such as eating, seem such distant memories though they just occurred. This isn't normal, or right. I am frightened. I know I am slipping. I can feel it. The ground is crumbling at my feet, the sky falling down around me, and I can do nothing but whisper into the storm that doesn't truly exist.

What is real? I cannot tell anymore. Did I speak to you? Did I have a cup of coffee? Who am I again? My name isn't mine. It is that of a distant memory long forgotten, yet still remembered. Why? Where have I been. Why do I recall things I have never experienced, and experienced things I can no longer recall?

I am reaching for you. But my fingers cannot reach reality well enough to grab a hold of you. I think I'm almost there and your image wavers, distorted by my touch like a reflection within the water. Why can I not hold you? Why can I not hold the love that slithers up my spine?

Tiny little feet, tap dancing in my mind. Thousands of little feet and hands and voices, chanting and clapping and dancing as I slowly lose control, wanting only to understand, to reach you, to know.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

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Friday, July 9, 2010

I just don't know anymore...

Well, I started classes this week. The whole purpose of going back to school is to get a degree which will hopefully a) help me make a home for myself in the company I want to work for and b) help make people realize that I know more than they want to admit. Or, if these fail, help me land a better job elsewhere. However, now I'm really starting to question this decision. My experience so far with this had been great - up until the paperwork was signed for the financial part of it. Now, it appears no one works in the main office.

I do enjoy the classes, and am actually learning stuff in one of my three classes. The others - one I wanted to get out of since I teach the information at my own workplace. The other is a class everyone has to take, which is a good class, but so far nothing I don't already know. And the third class, I am actually learning stuff. But I'm uncertain really how useful such knowledge will be. It's teaching us all about Windows Vista. No one uses Vista. Vista sucks. I don't even have it on any of my computers. I have two running XP and two running Windows 7. All the work computers - XP. We'd been waiting to upgrade until 7 came out, due to the instability of Vista.

So why am I wasting my money on this? Am I doing the right thing? I'm just not sure anymore. I just hope this isn't for nothing.

Thursday, July 8, 2010


I was just sitting here, enjoying a nice evening. It was a particularly typical Thursday night. And then someone asked me a question. It sounded like a question of concern. Maybe. What was this person's reason for asking such a question? What was he really asking? And why? What is in it for him should it be a simple question of concern, although I was quite certain it held some secret message.

And that's when it hit me. I have such serious trust issues, I don't believe I'm even capable of any minuscule amount of trust in another human being. Don't misunderstand me. It's not like my trust issue is a new phenomena - or even that the realization is new. I have always been aware the problem lay hiding within. But the depth of the issue was quite the smack in the face.

I do tend to write about trust a lot. Especially as of late. Some of you may understand the recent fixation on the subject, and perhaps it is this fixation which has caused the sudden defenses. That must be it. I wouldn't be so untouchable as to over-react to a simple question, even if that question were laced with some hidden meaning.

Ah, but this isn't good at all. Next comes the walls, and pushing, the so many additional defenses. I do believe it is time to retreat into my world of words, and erase myself from humanity. I must hide from those I can and will hurt, and not allow them to feel for me, as I am incapable of feeling. Yes, it is time to curl up in a ball in the corner of my sanctuary, where no one, including myself, can hurt me.

You're the One

I thought this was all innocent
Just playing those bed games
But it’s starting to be clear
You aren't where this all aims

He breaks that trust just a bit
Then just a little bit more
And I go running over to you
Willing to be your whore

The angrier I get with him
The more I wanna be with you
The more I want to make him hurt
The more I wanna hurt you too

But you're not the one I love
You’re just the one I need
You are not the one I want
But you're the one who's gonna bleed

He turns his back once again
This is nothing new to me
But I’m gonna make him notice
Oh yes I’m gonna make him see

The angrier I get with him
The more I wanna be with you
The more I want to make him hurt
The more I wanna hurt you too

But you're not the one I love
You’re just the one I need
You are not the one I want
But you're the one who's gonna bleed

Do you still want me
Knowing you're not the one I desire
Do you still wanna play
Knowing you didn't start this fire

cuz the angrier I get with him
The more I wanna be with you
The more I want to make him hurt
The more I’m gonna hurt you too

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Where Does it Come From?

It was recently asked of me "Mind if I ask exactly where you get your words and thoughts from? I know that may be a tough question, but the way I see it, you're as close to Emily Dickinson as the world is gonna get. And since we can't ask her anything . . .You're so beautifully dark. It's enlightening"

First and foremost, I must say this has got to be the nicest, best, sweetest, most wow-ing compliment I have ever received and I thank you completely for it, even if I do disagree.

But now to answer the question...

It isn't a question with a simple answer. In fact, I'm not certain at all of the answer. The darkness, the emptiness, the fears...they are all a part of me. They all have a home in the darkened halls of my mind. How did they get there? I do not know.

I have seen a lot in my life. Not as much as some, but more than I would wish on anyone, even those I most hate. I was abused in every way as a child; had abusive boyfriends; was raped. I have lost those I love and loved those I lost. I have learned that trust is rarer than love and more painful than death. I have learned so much, and the lesson most learned was never trust and never cry.

Perhaps it is these lessons which caused the dark rooms in my mind to be built. Cobwebs now cover the doorway, trapping anyone who tries to get too close. The blood of the innocent lays at my feet, staining the hardwood floors. It won't wash out you know. It'll never wash out.

How can wash away anything that has been pounded and beaten into being? How can you clean it, make it pure again? How can you turn it into something others would want to be around? You can't. It's tarnished. Ugly. Forever tainted.

But is this where the words come from? Is this from where all the pain spills over onto the paper? Or has it always been there? Was I perhaps born dark - possessed by the shadows that draw me in and leak out onto the canvas? Perhaps the words have simply always been there, and the stains of my past are simply that - stains. Perhaps I am the stain. A blemish on society, on this page, within these walls.

I am beginning to realize I cannot answer the question brought to me. I have tried, but I do not know the answer. My words, my thoughts, they just...are.

Monday, July 5, 2010


Silence. Lonely silence resides within these halls. Quiet whispers of tears echoing against the walls, a river flowing with endless fears. No hope. No dreams. Pain screeching from every crack.

Death. Cold death can be found within these halls. Quiet whispers of nothingness echoing against the walls, a trail of blood and mortality. No heartbeat, no light. Trust squelched beneath the hands of the betrayer.

Fear. Gifted fear resides within these halls. Quiet whispers of fears echoing against the walls, tears whimpered into the night flowing, trembling. No love. No faith. Anguish peering from the darkness.


I'm a Nerd

I'm so excited! School starts tomorrow. I'm 35 years old and going back to college. Yay me! I know, I know. Not too many jump around joyously when they hear the word "school." But, I have always been this way. Or rather, most of the time I was this way. I loved school. I love learning. I am one of those strange little creatures who will sit around doing math puzzles, or taking apart computers to learn more about them.

There was a year or so my first go-round with college when the idea of going to class wasn't all that exciting. Or perhaps it would be better to say, I didn't care about going to class because something/someone else was more appealing. That doesn't mean I didn't like class. Although, a 7am micro-economics class doesn't exactly scream of excitement. But 7am visits to the dorms? Oh yes, that definitely screamed of excitement.

I do miss those dorms. I miss the friends and fun. Well, I guess it isn't exactly correct to say I miss the friends, as I have found most of them again. But, there is a bit of difference between the excitement of being young and stupid and the friendships we have now. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't change still having these wonderful people in my life for anything. Just saying it's different than what we had way back then.

But I seem to be chasing my tail on that subject. Where was I?

Oh I forget. My head is stuck in 7am learning. Those were definitely lessons I'll always remember.

And alas, I have completely lost my train of thought on this one, and so I shall run off to find myself something constructive to do.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Another home?

I've decided to start a new blog. I have one on The Writer's Box, as most of my friends know (especially considering most of my friends live there as well); however, it has recently been made a private site, which makes an RSS feed to it from my FaceBook account rather difficult and slightly annoying.

Do not fear though - I will not be leaving the box. I am simply going to be housing my writings in both places, and of course (hopefully) having the posts updated to my FaceBook. I am a child of Social Media. One of its pawns. And quite proud of it.

This said, please be patient with me while I get used to updating various locations, especially with my recent lack of time (and energy).

Now then, onto the name of this site:

I was once compared to a rose. Okay, I've been compared to a rose on many occasions. Generally because of its thorns. Most look upon a rose as being something of beauty, symbolozing love and passion. But I find the rose as something much more. Yes, it has the potential for great love and passion. It also has the potential to cause bloodshed and pain. And the ability to wilt, to weep, to crave nourishment. It has the ability to draw one's attention close, only to then prick that someone and cause them to drop the rose and leave it laying on the ground alone.

In other words, here, on the Darkside of the Rose, you will find some of the pretty happy things we associate with roses. But you will most likely find even more of the darker things. If you don't like dark, dreary, and sometimes quite pathetic - don't read it. Everyone else, please read, enjoy, comment, and share as you see fit.