Katelyn's blog

i.
I appear to have an uncontrollable mental obsession with a nonexistent apple tree.

ii.
Just because it's purple doesn't mean it's non-toxic.

iii.
Chunks of gravel sink much more easily than you would expect.

iv.
I have a strange tendency to just up and disappear.

v.
I'd prefer a thousand kisses to a life of solitude.

vi.
Don't worry - world domination's only second on my list.

vii.
Apparently there's reason to fear for my life.

viii.
I've always wanted to be the antagonist.

ix.
The moment you realize your purpose is the moment you realize your death.

x.
Why do you think the good die young?

There's this one girl that I hate.

She always got the highest grades in French. Her science average never seemed to drop below 112%. She aced every single history test, and, get this, she was in honors. She got the best grade on the algebra exam, and has had a post-high school reading level since at least the fifth grade. I mean, come on. Not to mention she was in charge of the entire drama club in her eighth-grade year, and the teachers, all of them, just adored her. It was sickening.

She has blonde hair and wears glasses, and of course she uses those facts to glare down her nose at anyone who dares to make a joke about either of those things. Sense of humor, anybody? Nope.

She just sits there in all of her oh-so wonderful-ness feeling sorry for herself. Sorry! Give me a break. She has all this great stuff going for herself, and she just sees straight through it.

There's this one girl that I hate.

Her name's Katelyn.

If you find yourself sitting
under an apple tree,
the biggest, most beautiful
tree you could see,
perhaps you'd feel the
constant drops,
raining down
up from the top.
If this were so,
I'd tell you the truth,
the tale of the apple tree,
that big, beautiful tree over you.

Those drops are the tears
of one crying girl,
the one crying girl
who lost her world.
Constant apathy
led to her tragedy,
the tragedy of this girl,
this girl who lost her world.
Her life revolved
around a tree,
the biggest, most beautiful
tree you could see.
She found a soul
in that tree,
that big, beautiful
apple tree.
Perfection was all that
she sought, and so she
found her tree,
her big, beautiful
apple tree.
Perfection was
all she could see
when sitting in
her apple tree.

Every day
she journeyed there,
wandering,
without a care.
She travelled to her
apple tree,
every day,
so carefree.
Until one day
her apple tree,
the biggest, most beautiful
tree you could see,

Damsel in distress
this princess don't wanna
be saved -
She's been runnin'
with the rogues
and forgotten to behave

Power's out,
door's locked tight
Hold me here -
I won't be scared of light

Slamming herself
against castle walls
She's waiting for someone
to just let her fall
Facing death's a
hobby of hers
Life flashes by -
only a blur

Locked in this elevator,
we're all alone
trapped here together
Singing songs in my head -
more somber tones

Princess laughs;
she's got no friends -
Only makes her
want more the end

Grinding to a halt
the mechanisms scrape
screaming metal groans -
wailing out our fate

Princess grabs a mechanism
and laughs her grief out
to the world -
And the laughter echoes,
here in our elevator,
bouncing down the
castle halls

Runnin' with the rogues,
Princess spends her time
waiting to fall -
Fall down an elevator
and blow her brains
against the castle walls

Damsel in distress
no one's gonna save

Supply me with the properties
Of every single war
Or give me a loaded shotgun;
I'll never ask for more
Donate all your apathy
To angels of the dead
And blow this fucking bullet
Through my fucking head

Of course I'm not one you'd call
an "artist."
In fact, I refuse to even accept
such a title.
No, I'm just another sailboat on this
ridiculous sea,
painted a contradictory shade of orange.
I need to put in motion
the change to my brushstrokes;
the pattern I have
is far too redundant. My canvas
is crumbling and
I'm sinking to the bottom,
the pit of my
greatest fears to lose everything.
If all is lost
it really means I'm dying,
I'm falling apart.
I need to work on this, I need to
work this out,
(because if I don't, I'll sink for sure)
even if it means
falling to pieces just to rebuild myself
into something I
so obviously could never be.
I mean,
I did it before, why not again?
(Maybe because
all my tools are broken.)
Perhaps a new paintbrush is in order.
The colors of the sailboat,
the orange ship that is myself,
are fading, they're being
washed away
by the tides.
Maybe I'll just drift alone
on my sea,
painting pictures of my
oh-so broken soul.

I think that I'm trying to
let my wounds heal by
convincing myself there
really is something else,
someone else, to live for.
The problem is,
I'm not that persuasive.

My little brother almost caught himself on fire in Big Lots today.

I need a better constitution
I need a higher resolution
Just to find
A better place to fall

Murd'rous eyes stare from
Empty souls
Hungry for someone
To hurt
The only ones to recognize
What I'm truly worth
They pass me by,
Unnoticed for another night

I need a better reason
Don't wanna fight the treason
I'll follow all the screamin' to
A better place to fall

Go fight the revolution
I'll drown in convulution
Still waiting for
A better place to fall

Drink the words
And spill the blood
How much death
Is enough?
Leave a path
Of roses black
Recognize the pain
Twist the fiction
Into fact
And see it's all in vain

I'll close my eyes
And say goodbye
Until I find
A better place to fall

Go on, try
Try to find
A better place to fall

Tired fingers scamper across reluctant keys, spelling out hopes for the worst.

i.
The pain is all that is
shown in her eyes.
She literally has
no escape,
no exit,
literally
because he
won't leave
her mind.

ii.
She's sick and tired
of the poetry,
of the topic
she's written about
for so long.

iii.
She wants to
extend
her horizons,
not crush them together
until there is
only the narrow tunnel
that doesn't allow
for depth.
There's no end in sight
though there is an end,
she doesn't know which
path to take. Pick a memory,
any one is fine,
they're all suitably painful.

iv.
She shouldn't have the right
to use the words to
meld reality,
to break it down and
create something
out of nothing. One day they'll come,
come for her, and she won't object.

v.
They've come
to take away her
poetic license.
She cries 'cause it's
all she's got left.

vi.
She tried to find
the key to his heart
and in the process
lost her own.
The only copy usable
to forge another
is in his hands.
He won't let go.

vii.

"Fuck you," I muttered at the owner of the Stantler that had just Stomped my Teddiursa into the ground. Angrily, I instructed my newly-evolved Ampharos to use a Thunderpunch on its opponent. It eagerly obliged. The Stantler collapsed and its trainer, a mere grunt, recalled it. He sent out a Bellossom, a stupid smile pasted on his untrained face. I smirked and called back my Ampharos, preferring to use my pride-and-joy. I sent out my Houndoom, cackling maniacally. Heh. That'll wipe the grin off of that idiot... I ordered my Houndoom to use a Flamethrower. Instant knock-out. "That's how it's supposed to be," I whispered to myself, rejoicing in the victory. The grunt bowed his head and fell over oh-so dramatically. I snorted. This was absolutely ridiculous. I moved on, over the floor and up the stairs. This wasn't challenging at all.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

There's a group of people runnin' around
Claimin' they saw Elvis
Sittin' at the top of an apple tree
I shake my head at what's been said
I know they're lyin' or they've all gone crazy

'Cause in the minds of the deceived
There's not much room to make believe
They're already all too busy believin'
Anything that anyone has ever told them
But come on, there's got to be a reason, yeah
That gullibility is treason

Watchin' all the others hope and dream
Unbelievers don't believe in impossibilities
Unbelievers don't have time to dream

The believers live off of conspiracy theories
And drink until the sun comes up
Face it, their lives aren't much more than
Role-plays made without intelligent thought

Watchin' all the others hope and dream
Unbelievers don't believe in impossibilities
Unbelievers don't have time to dream

I was sittin' in my apple tree late one night
Watchin' the stars rise from the clouds
I looked over to my left and
Was unsurprised to see

I never said I'd be a good little girl, now did I?
Nah, don't believe a word that comes from my mouth -
it's probably too much for you anyway.
Who told you happiness was possible,
that if you tried your best you'd succeed?
A parent, a teacher perhaps.
You know what?
They never met me.

You want the truth?
Don't ask me.
No, don't ask me.
Me, of all people...
Who'd want the opinion of a fool?

I'm not extraordinary,
no, of course not.
The trouble is,
I'm not extra-ordinary
either. Problematic?
Possibly. Plausibly.

This darkened figure stalks my thoughts
revealing what I meant to hide from all
of course I'm left a broken shard;
I'm always left to fall

Who could say why he's got my attention
the monstrous being that is me craves
everything it shouldn't want, shouldn't need
however, who's to hold back the depraved?

To Hell with whatever romance there never was
a subverted shell needs no love, true?
Obviously the hideous one you'd prefer
only reflects what it is inside of you

Don't hesitate with your response,
please spin a lie instead
I really don't know what you want,
what goes on in your head

Unbalanced thoughts roam free in this wasteland
that you so cruelly left in dust
Eternity's my only friend,
and that hardly is enough

To Hell with whatever romance there never was
a subverted shell needs no love, true?
Obviously the perfect one you'd prefer
only deflects what it was inside of you