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Jun. 2nd, 2008


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To Die would be a great adventure

By
Hollie Anna Lynch

I write to escape. Some hope feeling I get that if I write it down it will leave me like many of the people I have met in this lifetime. But that’s not entirely true is it? If I still have a memory of them, then they haven’t truly left me. Nothing seems to escape, not even walk away. With each breath it takes a different pain to be entitled onto the front page. Are we really here??? Why does each move I make mean something? Some people say we’re here to learn and complete tasks…..For what???  To me this is hell, a punishment that needs to be made the best of, but we’ve made our self’s believe that if we don’t do something this will happen. If I were to die in an hour this would have been for nothing, I have left behind nothing, I have done nothing to be proud of, I have changed nothing, fixed nothing, exceeded nothing, loved nothing, felt nothing. I was, am, will, have nothing. All that I do has not an effect on me after I am dead, I’m not afraid of death. I’m afraid of life. My hand is cramping, it’s “GODS” way of trying to stop me from asking the obvious. As if I am getting closer to the truth, something that someone doesn’t want me to spread. Talking about it makes a lump in my throat. “To die would be a great adventure” I have heard this before, It makes me smile. “In order to die, you have to live” This one makes the clocks and wires tick in me, and then I think….I will not die in an hour for in order to do so I would have had to live….. And I haven’t lived yet. I do not feel alive. I don’t feel what some may feel. Passion I may have once tasted has left me; love has yet to come my way…. “I have nothing to live for” and once that sentence has crossed every inch of your mind, it’s when you need to worry….for the sentence is reality and the reality is nothing. Why live? No, you see… If you read that and thought about someone committing suicide then you cannot see passed what you have placed in front of you.

 

“Life” What is the definition?

Jan. 27th, 2008


polaroidgurl

I Have No Place Here

"I have no place here"

By 
Hollie Anna Lynch

"Nia" A word I Don't like to use often, but others will. I Ramble when I talk, I get embarrassed if you Don't like the same things I'm into. I do care about what others think of me, but most of all I care about what I think of my-self. Some times I’m too eager to please that I over do it. I hold stuff in until it can't be held anymore. I hate high piched voices (they scare me) I joke about myself to the point that I’m not joking anymore ...I’m more like putting myself down. I like the company of people who stare at me in a loving way, but hate to be stared at. I’m intrigued by the way people can act without even knowing how mean they can be. I stick up for people to the point where I can be scary, but forget to do so for myself. I type LOL in messages too much. I type too much... I put people off, yet so many people say they like me. I'm prone to people’s problems. I can't help but get involved. I spend so much time fixing other peoples lives that I forget my own. I don't judge by what you’re wearing; only the way you act... and the sad thing is, I’m normally right. I Smile at people even when I know they will never smile back. I don't want kids, even though I see myself having them. I have so many things I want to tell people but I can't for I’m afraid I'll disappoint them. I'm afraid to hold on too tight because I’m scared that they will let go. I hate mushy people. I hate the word "baby" when it’s used in a sentence to a loved one. I am and will never be someone’s baby. I don’t know who I am....All I know is this is true,..."I have no place here" 


"This Very Strange World"
                         - YAEL NAIM

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Mar. 1st, 2008


polaroidgurl

The Road Will Find A Way




By Hollie Lynch

"I’m walking down that road again, you know the one it always seems to rain on and the pavement is so cold you can feel it through your shoes. Yeah I’m there, walking alone. Holding on to my jacket and fiddling with that one necklace I always seam to wear. It’s a beautiful one, a grey metallic colored with wings and fake diamonds on a chain. My mother holds a similar one around her neck but hers has keys to a lock. Water I drink now, clean and clear, the purest of pure that runs through my body deep and hollow; filling all the wholes that it passes on its way to the lowest of low. Crisp and cool the way I used to be. It’s so cold, no not the water, the air. It’s cold. I can’t help but wonder how the insects fly so high and the birds nest in tree’s when there feathers freeze and there young plead, but I like it. Keeping me alive, I know I’m here my heart beating fast and my lips pale and crusty. My blood being pumped thick and I can almost feel it flowing through me, almost as if I am holding it in my hands, studying every cell and color that it possesses. My hands, my hands, there pale blue. Being almost hard with the lack of heat in the air, placing them down to the tar beneath my feet; it still feels as if I have walked to an icy land, tree’s bearing invisible snow and the crisp blue sky to guild me. I don’t stay here long though, no, my icy land disappears faster than I wanted it too, flying back to reality, to somewhere I don’t want to be anymore. In this weird shell called my skin that doesn’t feel like me at all, I don’t speak when I need to and I speak to much when I shouldn’t. I have realized that life is very complicated, like anyone’s really, why should mine be any different. I just feel as if I was the hick-up that no one was expecting, the one that appears stupid but really isn’t she’s just afraid to speak because she’s afraid of being wrong and in the end turns out being right, but it’s too late now, you can’t say the things you should when the time has past. I wish I could be the road, and just watch everyone past, examining every step they take and the cars that drive above. The said thing is I do this already, that’s what has got me into so many situations. I’m not there; I’m sitting back and watching. I am like this, the ghost in the corner, but I can’t be anymore I have to evolve and grow. Speak up, Talk! Make your self known. You’re not wrong, you’re not stupid, and you have thoughts and feelings, opinions that matter. You are here, your not the road, your not the blood that flows and your certainly not going to live like that anymore. You can still be you just more awake, to find that one person who will listen to you and smile, watching your eyes pace the walls as your story builds until its high enough to touch the sky. What’s that noise? I can’t see where its coming from, there’s something on the road. Behind me, I can hear it getting louder, like a roar a noise that sounds like something you should dodge before its t"


"The road will find a way"

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Feb. 29th, 2008


polaroidgurl

Like ink from a pen


 bloody


By Hollie Anna Lynch

You don’t know me, you can’t be me and if you find the slightest relevance to me then I pity you with my soul..........

 "My mouth is eager to hunger the words that hurt you. Griping tighter to your thoughts and creeping through your dreams. I cannot help but stress my anger out on you, making the sweat run deep and the emotion scare you to the point of shiver and hail. Sticks and stones may break your bones but words will always scar you. Maybe not on the outside but to you I am always a lingering thought on a hanger parched in your head, ready waiting for you when you are in your deepest guilt and regret, and whenever you may do something wrong, whenever you disown yourself, whenever your hands find a hold on your face, and the tears to your skin run like taps broken and rusty. I will be there, fueling your flame of doubt and sensitivity. Craving on your pain, there will be no umbrella to this rain. The red thick coil liquid drowns you like Guinness to an Irish man. Cutting off all oxygen until you are there no more, nothing left but the shell and lies. I have marked you, I have left a trial. To teach you but one thing, that no matter who you are now, no matter if you change. These words will mark you like the ink from a pen. They will heat you to anger, and hurt you when I’m not around. For once I have spoken that’s all I have left, but a mark, a word, the emotional blackmail that I will never need to use. Only once I have done this but it will replay like a broken record over and over again, even when I’m gone. It wont escape you, It will never leave you, and then neither will I. "

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