Don't worry-
I have only bad intentions
It's only me
Sexual
Intervention
Eyes whisper hate
Lips whisper greed
Let's create
Let's create
Something from need
Hold your breath
And keep it in
Sickly sweet death
Wrapped up in sin
I'll be with my friends
We'll see you there
We'll see you there
It never ends
It all trenscends
Your body is a prayer.

We got the electricity
In a tiny car
Tasting toxicity in a
Broken Bell Jar
Cold Cold sand
One warm thigh
Grand and 
It's
In demand
You tryna fly?
Breathe it in like air
Skinny boy, share
Spin my head
I wanna take you there
We're walkin' dead
Let's go to bed
Let's go to bed







 

I've been looking for hope in all the wrong places
In soft spoken men
And in smiling faces
I should have known when
They all let me down
Hope's not here
But in some other town.
"I like it,
"What is it?"
They all look confused
They almost made me quit
Instead I'm amused.
This place isn't the place I know
The place I know is beyond my vision
So I'll love and hate the snow
And fuck my old decisions.
I'll get a job with a name tag
And maybe a sneer
"Do you need a doggy bag?"
I need a beer.
They tell me I won't cut it
They tell me to get out of town
They tell me to get lit
And search underground
I'll take it and I'm ready
But I want more
This place is unsteady
I'll be under the floor.
 

 I asked him for a tattoo
My plastic skin wouldn't hold the ink, he said
He said he thought I knew.

I asked him for a scar
My porcelain skin wouldn't crack, he said
He said stone won't mar.

I see the wrinkles beneath your face,
Nothing to do of age.
I see the bleeding mascara you'll never replace,
Even with your life on stage.

Oh talent, Oh youth, Oh Beauty.
Men so gallant, women pretty

We'll hawk our name for some tranquility
A wink for some solitude
A kiss for a memory


How easy to fall under the debutant's pall
We are poise, we are classic
An animated china doll.


 

-Emme 

Hello, world. Here is just a random bit that I didn't plan out at all and, accordingly, is kind of sloppy.
Leave comments, tell me what you think. Thanks!

-start-

    Klara waited outside of a diner for Silas. Her hands are warmed by the steak sandwich through it's wax-paper-esque wrapping. She noticed she wasn't wearing gloves. Or a coat.

    She remembered her shoes, though. Small victories? She flexed her toes and saw the fabric of her sneakers rise and fall accordingly.

    An old man, weathered, crosses in front of her to enter the diner. The blue neon sign declaring "PETE'S EATS" -- obnoxious and a childish rhyme, in her opinon-- casted harsh shadows across the man's face.

    "Shoes  are prison for your feet," she told him as he walked by. He continued as if he hadn't heard her. The mutterings of a crazy-eyed waitress sitting on a sidewalk, who would respond to that? But then again maybe he just didn't hear her. He was old.
   Klara's face felt cold. Cold in the stone, flat sense of the word. Inside her mind she was singing "Island in the Sun" by Weezer to distract herself from the clear fact of how stone like her face was. She did look like stone. Blue stone, thatnks the to weird ghostly lighting. No wrinkles because of youth, she could have been a statue. A statue in a cliche diner uniform with cigarette stains inbetween he index and middle finger on her right hand.
    Silas' Gremlin could be heard screeching down the street, and seen swinging into the parking lot and halting about halfway onto the sidewalk in front of his sister. Almost killing her.
   This was a usual occurance. 
    Not him killing her. Him almost killing her. It's not like she's a zombie. Even if she was that still wouldn't make sense because you can't re-kill a zombie.
    Silas was the picture of youthful poverty as he stumbled out of his car and bitterly kicked the door closed. He ruffled his butchered hair in contemplation, as if thinking, "I want an El Camino." He screwed up a smile as he saw Klara sitting on the sidewalk. A smile that had touches of acid and hope. A smile that has seen too many job interviews with puffed up resumes and family dinners with much of the same principle.
    He folded himself next to his sistet uncomfortably--he was lanky. She handed him the sandwich and watched him, fascinated, as he devoured it. He ate quickly and protectiviley, as if passer-by's were going to run up and tackle him, then steal his sandwich and eat it infront of him. He eyed a nine year old with suspicion.

    "Do you think we get along because we both have nonsensical names?" she asked as Silas licked the remaining steak juice from his fingers.

    "We get along because you feed me. And because we're related. And my name is perfectly fine."
   "It is not. the only other Silas I know is an albino-assasin-cult-member."
    "You know an albino-assasin-cult-member?"
    "Thanks to 'The Da Vinci Code."
     "That book was crap."
    "It was a good story."
    "Too many people took it seriously."
    "True."
    "Why aren't we sitting inside?"
    "Too many people and my boss has been glaring at me for lecturing customers."
    "But it's freezing."
    "Yeah."
   "And you're not wearing a coat."
    "Your coat has holes..."
    "And your hair is greasy."
    "I spent my shampoo money on iced tea."
    "That was good tea."
    "You drank my tea?"
    "What?" A car alarm went off in the distance... Klara pulled a strand of her greasy, lank hair behind her ear.
    "That Dane Cook is a silly bitch."
    "What?"
    "Let's go home." Silas got to his feet like a cat, and went on to stretch like one. He helped Klara to her feet, who flattened her uniform --
   
     "It's maroon."
     "it's red."
     "It's maroon."  
    "Fuck you."

    --- and got into the Gremlin fearfully. The sound of the engine gurgling was ominous.
   They didn't talk in the car. The music was too loud, anyway.

    "Debussy should never be blasted as loud as Nine Inch Nails."
    "What?"
    "Debussy--"
    "Pussy?"  
    "Eugh."
    "What?"
    "Fuck you."

   They arrived to their apartment building intact. Furry dice still swinging violently they got out of the "car." They had just been in the cold air, but it was still a shock to see their breath. Silas did the thing where he pretended he was smoking a blunt by putting his fingers up and breathing out. You know that thing? Funny when you're like. Seven.
    "GET A JOB, MERLIN," their land-lord yelled from inside his apartment.
    "...Who was he yelling at?"
    "No idea," Klara responded, eyes wide.
    "Isn't Merlin the name of his..cat?"
    "Yep."
    "He's fucking insane."
    "You're fucking insane."
    "What?! I'm insane? He's yelling at his CAT."
     "Shut the fuck up, it's late."
    "Bitch."
    "Ass."

    Silas unlocked the door and Klara simultaneously heaved into the door with all of her onehundred and twenty pounds of strength to open the door. Silas threw the keys onto the counter of their kitchenette, and Klara fell face down onto the couch.
    "Where are the Twizzlers?" Her response was muted by pillows.
    "What?"
    "With my iced tea." Silas sat on her legs to make her move her mass into a more friendly, couch sharing position.
    "So how was work?"
    "I met a woman who said she was waiting on her lover from Paris to meet her. She was wearing like every single piece of jewlerey she owned. STRINGS of necklaces, rings on every finger. Her coat was moth eaten. She had soup."
    "Did you steal that from Titanic?"
    "...Not the soup bit." Silas laughed and mysteriously pulled a Twizzler from his pocket. 
    "How would you even know that was from Titanic?"
    "It came on right before Scrubs one day."
     "Bullshit, that bit where he's describing the picture of Madame Moth is like an hour into the movie."
    "He said 'Madame Moth' in French."
    "..."
    "What?"
    "I cannot believe you watched that movie."
    "Mom made us watch it alot."
    "And Poirot."
    "And Sherlock Holmes."
    "And Columbo."
    "Columbo was cool."
    "I loved his dog."
    "And his car."
    "I fucking hate detective shows now."
    "Amen."
    "Better then those teenage dramas you used to watch," Silas accused.
    "Hey! That channel was originally a very innocent children's channel. It just evolved into a teenage soap opera channel about highschool with herpes break outs and drug dealers and gang wars."
    "I can't believe you watched that shit."
    "You listen to the Beach Boys."
    "So?"
    "So you're lame."
    "Bitch."
    "Ass."

    Klara looked at the clock on the digital display of the TV.
   "Go to sleep. Let me sleep. Work tomorrow."
   "I don't have work tomorrow," Silas whined.
    "Then go hang out with a friend. Or sleep. Or go to a bar."
    "Fine."

-end-


Just a short little bit of fun. Their conversations are alot like those of mine and my brother's. It was fun to write. Anyway..that's all. 
-EmmeKai