NecroLeah

I edited my profile with Thomas’ Myspace Editor V3.6 !
artist/ photographer/ cartoonist/ occastional writer/ Wednesday 13 lover
i'm a strange girl.
I eat the crust first.
I drink everything with a straw.
I bite my lip too much.
I beleive a handshake isn't a greeting or goodbye. Hugs are mandatory.
I beleive being yourself is the most beautiful way you can be.
I beleive you can't control or choose your sexuality. (Savage Garden lyric insert)
I beleive very strongly in karma.
I think tears are beautiful.
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my little brother and father died in a plane crash August 1, 2004 RIP i love and miss you both more than words can describe
My beautiful baby, Justin. You are everything to me.
I have my own webcomic, check it out!
Here are a few of my writings.. please tell me what you think
Where Is My Renaissance?
I have no other place to write but this page. What free-flow thought can i rent to describe this hungry fullness that my heart hates but yearns for through beats of uncertainty and hope? This longing, this hungr, this confused or mixed blessing that asks the answers of I as if i were a prophet, a gypsie telling my own fortune. A gypsie i am not and nor would i want to be one. A compass in my heart should lead me to that place. The needle would spin, wobble, slightly, and promise me that happiness lies in the east. It hasnt worked for quite some time. East could be north or west and my mind wouldn't know the difference. A heavy heart makes for heavy veins and heartbeats. Today's earthquake the aftermath of what we like to call the sorrowful-heart fault. 18 dead, one survivor pleading to whatever force originally began this quake to answer. We all want answers. Reasons to feel how we do, explainations to why rain makes us breathe easier and sand can make the sorest foot unhurt. How children seemingly bearing the mark of perfection can oversee their beauty for a dirty saringe and a promise on the package, just below the skull and crossbones, that you will never be "it" unless you try something new. What about honesty? Try that on for size and see which initially brings the most joy. Michaelangelo can paint a picture of pure bliss and unending pleasure but it's the feeling onlookers get that makes them understand that not all things in life are hideous and happiness can be found in a single drop of dew grasping for dear life at the end of the hungry plant. There is a concept that few discover at a young age, if at all, that explains why everything is. A magnificent plane with a banner streaming behind, neon letters on a black flag could not spell out what it is to understand this concept. I could not explain with any gasping breath in me what it is to understand "it." I am no genius or fortune-teller or magician. I am but a girl with a wish that someday death won't hurt so much and beauty is everywhere. A wish however is nothing but that if nobody beleives it could really be true. Do you have faith that someday things will be better? Does technology spin your wheels and pry your mouth into a forced plastic smile? It's statistically shown that with each passing year, people are more and more miserable. Our lives are run on batteries, but not the ones they glamorize on television for that is just too much. Thank you wal-mart for our discount lives. You slashed the prices right into our hearts. Not everything technilogically advanced is wrong, mind you, but our minds and hearts and souls are rotting away to a new beat, no longer by drums, but digital beeps and pangs that make us dance to small arrows in our heads as we step right over the reddest rose known to man. We criticize mother nature, angered by her ever-changing weather that we surely do not desreve. I would flood you too. Men carve ice with axes and picks and call it beauty by nature as they snap off the gorgeously molded icicle hanging from the nose of the juggling teddy bear. Is that really the beauty you want from nature? Please don't think I am mocking you in any way, shape or form.. I am mocking america. Simply making an observation of sorts.
PAIN, in short
Why is loneliness such a complicated emotion? What is it, really, to be alone? Do you know when you're alone or is it a sick joke played on your emotions, feeding off of everything gone wrong, eclipsing the good things in life that bring out that smile? There's an overwhelming feeling I try time and again to figure out. I'm not alone. Not completely. But why do I feel this way? These woulds in my heart give way to cavities in my soul, spreading like an infection to every corner of my being. What do my tears symbolize? As I lie there drenching my pillow, I try so hard to imagine what it is to make me feel so empty. Nobody understands how their actions affect the world around them. The itch has returned. The nagging maggot under my skin that reminds me of how beautiful the blade looked dripping in pain-born crimson, of where that razor sits in the markered paper envelope. Paper and electrical tape, all that keeps me from giving in to the weakness. I claw at my arms mercilessly, shout "stop it" over and over again, to the air, to my emotions, to the itch, to anyone that will hear my cry and misenterpret it into a plea for help. There is no hero. As a child I was always safe. Santa Claus was watching me, the tooth fairy showed me it was okay to bleed, the easter bunny covered the dying birds inside those shells so that their certain deaths were masked by pastel and vinegar. The policeman is here to help. Tell him where you live and he'll take you home nice and safe. Just make sure you're at the right place at the right time, and dress like every other clone you see. You'd hate to look suspicious. Alone. Children are lied to most of their lives and are expected to grow up honest and true. Alone they realize that playing house is hell, alone they realize the monopoly man is against them. I don't want to hear it anymore. The lies, the complaints, the excuses the rejecting, the changing of plans, the deceit, why can't it stop? I feel so damn alone and even more so not knowing the exact reason I feel this way. Kiss me, love me, hold me, hit me, lie to me, leave me. I hate trends. We're all so fucking trendy. For once can't it be different? I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of hurting, short of breath from the deep pains within my breast. It'll end someday. Better soon than later, better later than never. I'm finished with this game. With a heavy heart, I resign.
Sick
sick, sick, sick, sick. im so fucking sick. in my heart, in my mind, in my soul, in my veins, pulsating with reminders of why i feel the way i do. i'm human. but what is this 21st century curse cast upon me? Is it something I asked for? Ist it something i deserve? shove another pill down my throat so those thoughs will sink right back down to my stomach. nobody knows what to think anymore. follow your heart, your mind, your "gut feeling." my gut's a malnutritioned medicated knot feeding off of confusion and pain. how does one follow that? why try so hard to be such a good person when it's obvoius that others don't care? what's self-gratification if nobody notices you ever changed? sick, sick, sick. the disease in my heart is spreading to my mind, poisoning everything i've worked for as if it were a board game, a simple toy messed with simply for amusement, only to be put right back on its shelf. i'm sick of this shelf. there's a spider on this shelf, slowly weaving its web before my eyes. it's hard to look away when there's nothing else to see. a joyous life is a childhood fairytale told by the spider himself. life goes on. how many of us really want it to? i know that one day i'll look back and be thankful i never reached that web but sometimes i wonder if anyone will even care. will you see me when my weary eyes begin to cry? will you see me when my wings refuse to fly? will you see me when my veins begin to dry? will you even care as before you my heart begins to die? the loudest cries for help are never heard but felt by something deep within yourself. humans are beginning to be immune to this deepened sense. when selfishness takes over, there's no more room for sympathy. sick. everything begins to make sense when you realize that everything dies someday. too bad this sickness wont. stab my stomach with a few more pills, choke my lungs with a bit more smoke, anything to hide how i really feel. after all, isn't that what human nature is all about?
Lovescar
Can I float here with you forever? Intertwine your fingers with mine, lock your heart in every crease of your palm, hold it there tightly and we can run away together. Unbinded by the laws of mankind, we will raise above the ignorance and complicatoins of life. Mesh your heart beat into mine and our faux fairydust can make us fly. The puzzle peices of our bodies will form our ship, launching with pulsating passion into the stars of our dreams, that place that glimmers deep within our hearts. Dance with me in your eyes, to the beat of our hearts, we can't go wrong. When you set off your fireworks in my veins, I can fly as far as my imagination will take me, but only if you stay with me, right by my side, through the rings of saturn, through the aisles of Atlantis, in the glimmering nebulas of a world without pain. Hold my hand tightly for I fear that my imagination is fading. Don't let it go. I want to stay here. Smile at me as your fingers slide apart from mine. The lights are fading and reality begins to haunt my heart like a cancer. You turn away from across the room and remind me that it's all in my mind, in my thoughts, but sometimes i wonder when I see that star glimmer in your eyes, did you visit that place with me?
One
How is it so that one word could set me sailing through a universe of hatred or beauty depending on which way the wind spins the rusty rooster weather vane? Your skin, a rich mixture of undefined colors seen not by the eyes for the illusion of glowing is simply the way one percieves the lightness of a color forming a luminous halo, fringed around the edges of something that could i n all actuality represent everything dark in life. Through the simple and natural magic that makes your vocal chords vibrate, a noise that could possibly be made by any creature, yet yours vibrate in a way that forms a song with the pumping of emotions through my soul, singing to my visible or invisible aura and cradling my heart with an underlying message that home could be found anywhere these vibrations can flow. The sensation of touch is a feeling often overlooked by touchers that know not the power in the tips of their fingers as they graze the surface of one's body, a touch felt as nothing by some but when the planets align and the touch is of you, every folicle could dance in the name of the goose to the power transfered by the pattern of your fingerprint. I know not when this caged bird will fly but it builds its strength with every passing moment, nursing every incho of its colorful feathers to perfect the power held in that simple machine of flight. I know not when, but this time will come, we will float to a shrillest high and dankest low but none of it will matter for you're by my side, together. We are one.
Fate
Rabid roller coaster writhing with riveting falls and reclusive crawls, gripping the rain-soaked track as the rusty gears agonizingly turn to propel magically mamothly motorized machines on a twisted path meticulously chosen by a thought to be higher force armed with what one needs to feed this hunger to play God. Gently stroke my pain-wrinkled face as you gaze into my fearful hopeful crystalized cells that form this pathway into my soul coupled with another not-so-perfect eye as your lips gently graze the nervously chewed skin of my own, victims of my unsure thoughts of where this roller coaster is taking me, although your voodoo voice promises me that these gears know with ancient knowledge where they are to spin this machine toward. As I slowly slide my emotion-soaked palm away from yours, something remains, this invisible faux fantasmic cosmic aura that lingers shapelessly although the form in my mind, the only thing it could ever be, a crisp key floating in the vacinity of my sweaty palm. There's no need to speak when you see the puzzlement deep within the rich browns of my stare, for your words can often be better conveyed through the two centimeter twitch of your lips and the slight shift in your understanding expression. I know what I must do and I reach this key deep within myself, roll my eyes back and transport myself into a world of nirvana, clearing my thoughts of the fears that cloud the path to the locked ivy-covered door that conceals my assurance, hiding it with weeds of doubt. Unlocking this door is like diving into clear waters of a purest blue that even God himself would blush at, feeling the currents surrounding me and move me through this liquid to that light of the lustful luminescent lagoon of what it is to truly breathe. Returning to the warmth and comfort of your touch, I know now that it was I who had this key all along, but you, the renegade reaper of my heart, that allowed me to withdraw it from myself, whispering those Hallmark trademarked words into your ear, this doorway of reassurance now opened lets in whatever angels or demons you choose to expell into it, but the faith of a pureness possessed only by you gives me faith to put this key away and leave this doorway open to all that is you. We will ride this roller coaster together for that is what, I now know, is truly meant to be.
Home
Like a fungus, this feeling spreads, changing from a question to a guarantee that I don't belong here. What is it, Martha, that makes a home? Home is not here. Home is no longer a family I once belonged to. Shoved out of this nest, wings not yet ready to fly, I'm dropped somewhere else. Oh, how I yearn to get out. I can't make it over these walls, through these vines that bind my mind and hurt my heart and drain my brain and mame my veins and hollow my soul. I miss home. The lifeline being thrown to me is too short to reach. My muscles relax and I sink back into this hole, this dark cavern that refuses to let me go. My nails have chipped away from clawing these walls, my stringy hair smearing hurt across my face. This putrid place. Maybe someday my tears will float me out. Wash me away from this prison and let the tide carry me away. I will battle my way through this yellow quicksand road. Don't give up on me yet, fate. Though stripped down to a bare sole and heart, I'll be there. One day I'll be home.
Sink or Fly
Master and commander, emotions all but hardened away, raising his hand with magnificent power over Earth's final army holds power enough to blow the leaves of a tree in a breeze compared to the power of the simple way the tone of your voice may sway when you say, from day to day, the reason you may stay or leave this cay where we hold eachother's hearts at bay. Conversation is a pleasurable passtime shared bya plethora of plebians from which all walk away with a warped wondering mindfuck of whether or not those words shall be remembered for minutes to come. Tell me something lacking any artificial amount of importance and every vibration that forms the sound of your impecable voice will tattoo themselves into the center of the emotional firework stand that controls the way I function from day to day. Words are simply words made of letters carved with flowing lines from whatever tool of trade takes refuge in the fingers that expell your thoughts and ideas, but words can have more strength for or against my heart than a bludgeoning knife twisting through a bloody torso. Upon accepting yourself into the heart of mine, control over my emotions has been partially revoked to the words you may say, from day to day, so say you'll stay, together with me through the grey, forever this way, only you can make me sink or fly.
I took this picture and it's copyrighted so don't steal it or I may need to murder your family, kthnx.
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