LosingMary

Rickety pith, solemn's slid

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Livin' On A Prayer by LosingMary, literature

Literature

Livin' On A Prayer

On rare nights such as this, Dean would drive out on the open road and think about his father. He would wonder how long they could keep doing this before the credit card shams were traced, before someone got arrested. Some nights he prayed to God it was him. Dean would never stay out too late, though he wanted to. God, he wanted to drive until the Impala just quit or he drove over a cliff somewhere. He might’ve felt less ready to be in the driver’s seat if that were an option. But John needed a second driver in case something happened. As far as Dean was concerned, too many things had happened. But he’d trai

There, The Eyes by LosingMary, literature

Literature

There, The Eyes

Somehow it always comes back to the same three things: "Here we go round the prickly pear, prickly pear, prickly pear," -You -The gun -The end of the world "Here we go round the prickly pear at five o clock in the morning." I was stopped by the train tracks the day they found us. They stopped me and they asked me, Name, age, language? I told them my age, they laughed. I told them my name, they laughed. I politely answered - in my native language - the tongue I preferred. They told me to get off the drugs And gave me a gun. Between the idea [FAST-FORWARD]: The gun. The gun, the bullet, the brains. I blew out my brains at the train tra

Guthrie's Sons by LosingMary, literature

Literature

Guthrie's Sons

Guthrie's sons had both forgotten he was a father and/or fellow human being when they reached Junior High. They treated him with no more mercy than the dirt roads on which they tread to school. Harry and Greg would sneer at Guthrie and scrunch up their ugly little faces and tell him he was stupid. "You're not my father," they'd say. "You're just a stupid old man." But then Guthrie's sons grew up and went to college and married pretty girls that decided they were artists or singers or so and sos and had ugly little babies of their own. They'd send Guthrie post cards and write letters, but rarely had time to visit him in the first blissful ye

The Secret Thoughts Of Annabel Lee by LosingMary, literature

Literature

The Secret Thoughts Of Annabel Lee

Gaily bedight, A gallant knight In sunshine and in shadow Had journeyed long Singing a song In search of Eldorado Take this kiss upon the brow And in parting from you now, Thus much, let me avow That my days have been a dream Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream? For you were a child and I was a child In this kingdom by the sea. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand And he dances, and he yells Keeping time in a runic rhyme Oh, the future, how it tells Of the rapture that impels For the dews that drip all over Into seas without a shore Seas

Kite Lines by LosingMary, literature

Literature

Kite Lines

Silence is not quiet Mine is an affliction of the mind A kingdom of conflict; A stain from the past Like blood on a white sheet Came a haven for the twisted, The cowardly, and the weak of heart Come into my home And I'll protect you from the world I'll love you For the misfit that you are Until your time runs out And your heart bursts Like a stop watch That's set too many records We'll weep when you die And turn your eyes skyward So that when we bury you Out in the garden, You'll see a crack in the old shoe box And if you feel the need to, You'll crawl out to see the stars And then, Slowly but surely Our paths will m

The Most Beautiful Thing by LosingMary, literature

Apathetic Therapy by LosingMary, literature

Literature

Apathetic Therapy

"How are you doing?" I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and squeezed the stress ball. "Fine." Of course I'm fine. I've been fine for three and a half years. Nobody seems to remember that. "The last time you were here, you mentioned a fog. Can you tell me more about that?" No. "It's not an actual fog. It's more me being inside my head." Like I said. It's a fog. "And what is that like?" "...like a fog." Obviously. "Would you describe yourself as lacking in empathy?" No. Go away. "I would describe it like... like, I'm watching a TV. I'm not actually here. Like, I'm here, just not... HERE here." She scribbled something down on her

The Truth Is, by LosingMary, literature

Letters To Jullian by LosingMary, literature

Literature

Letters To Jullian

Dear Jullian, I wanted to tell you that I am deeply sorry for all of the things that I have done to you. It doesn't take a genius to know that you were in pain and the bullying definitely made things a lot worse. I know it won't mean anything, but I had no idea what you had to go home to. We (and by we, I speak for myself and all the other boys who beat you up behind the dumpsters) never could have known what you were going through. No. Wait. I think I had a pretty good idea. It was seven months ago. Just us around back. You didn't even fight anymore. That was brutal - do you remember that day, Jullian? I landed hit after hit to your shoul

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About LosingMary

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Artist // Student // Literature

Apr 23

United States
Deviant for 14 years
She / Her

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My Bio

I bite my lips, I chew my nails, I drive myself utterly up-the-wrong-end-of-the-wall with assuring myself that I do indeed perform my select few adored activities to their most professional caliber. I currently reside on the planet Earth, tumbling madly in an impossible, wonderful, fluent orbit around the sun in this funny little galaxy beneath the stars. I prose, I poetry, I write, I read, I critique art like I actually-know-what-the-hell-it-is-I-am-talking-about, but I don't, it's all horrid intuition. I'm an amateur abstract ink pen artist.

I am other people (-and most people are). My opinions are someone else's, my life a mimicry, my passions a quotation. But if you're asking me, which of course you are, if you're eyeing this suspiciously like the malevolent creeper you know you are, I would say that I have a very cozy sweater.

You want my sweater (and you know it).
See the cotton, taste the cotton.

Favourite Movies

Black Hawk Down, The Prestige, The Dark Knight, Sherlock Holmes (RDJ),

Favourite TV Shows

Sherlock, Doctor Who

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Mahler, Mozart, Beirut, Hungry Ghosts (instrumentalists), Damien Rice, Regina Spektor

Favourite Books

Slaughterhouse Five (Kurt Vonnegut), Redwall (Brian Jacques), The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho), Catcher In The Rye (J.D. Salinger), A Study In Scarlet (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)

Favourite Writers

Dr. Seuss, Lemony Snicket, Shel Silverstein, Edgar Allan Poe, Kurt Vonnegut, F. Scott. Fitzgerald, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Oscar Wilde

Tools of the Trade

Just keep swimming.

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LosingMary

Jan 18, 2015

Welp. Depression'll lose five years just like that, I guess. Hi there.

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LosingMary

Dec 3, 2012

So it's been a while.

0 min read

Hey guys, what's up? So, so, so much has happened. How's it going/stuff?

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LosingMary

Jul 30, 2012

I'm pulling a blank.

0 min read

[help?] ---> whatistheairspeedvelocityofanunladenswallow I've got about seven days of music camp left. And I've got this studio class next week where I'm supposed to play my piece. "Talented," she says. "Feedback, you need, young padawan." Joshin, I wish she were a star wars fan. I'm also playing Borodin with three other people this Thursday, a humble sort of set up known as a quartet. Who would ever be so silly? I've been journaling. Not really. I've been "I want to write three pages a day"-ing and then throwing random shiite into it every couple of weeks. Nothing really happens at bandcamp. Well. Things happen. They just aren't really