wrenly-05x

[wrenly-05x]

some of my poems

body:

she didn’t want you for your body

she wanted you for your love

she reminded you of a toddy

while you remind her of a dove

she wished you wouldn’t use her

she wanted your love to run free

but this is hard

when you break her heart into shard

she’s like glass

she can break easier then you may imagine

she’s just your “lass”

i guess this had to happen

you’ve proven to her your js a boy

not a man

your just a playboy

was this your plan?

to break an innocent girls heart

she wanted to show you her art

but you didn’t care

she called you her “hug bear”

once you realised she wouldn’t give you her body

that she wouldn’t be your “toddy”

you left

you should be charged with theft

sexual assault:

its the sad thought of that one man

the man who cannot be named

as if he was named

you would be blamed

as a woman

the fear or a mans hands at night

his greedy finger tips

afraid that he may bite

afraid of the touchy bits

afraid that if you spoke up that you’d be blamed

as the man who cannot be named

said to them “but she was wearing”

what about her caring

what about her concent

the victim knows you did it with intent

yet you still deny it

you still deny the bit

where your fingers tips touched her body

remind yourself now, that she’s not your toddy

she’s not a toy

that your just a boy

not a man

as if you were a man,m

you would act as such

you wouldn’t have had to touch

her body is a fortress 

you’ve put her in distress

you’ve given her trauma and pain

why couldn’t you have just used your brain?

if you used your brain

she wouldn’t be in this strain

all it takes is one relapse:

relapsing every night 

he is not alright.

did anyone care at all

he felt so small

like anything could knock him down

he felt like a clown

all his confidence was lost

he went ghost

the blade was his only friend

somehow he managed to pretend

until he made a friend

and the friendship didn’t end

this time it was real

it was the real deal

him and his friend against the world

but soon he was feruled 

a relapse

and everything seemed to collapse

he couldn’t pretend anymore

it all came to an end.

gods son:

one pill, two pills, three pills

he can’t seem to play the bills

his heads messy

he gets called “stressy”

he downs the pills

school says he has no skills

he’s dyslexic

people say he’s sick

nobody understands his pain

and he doesn’t use Gods name in vein

he wants a girlfriend

who doesn’t expect him to “send”

he’s Gods little boy

he’s not going to want to be a toy

but there’s a problem 

he’s tired of the boredom

lonely, he’s mad

alone, he’s sad

wanted a hug from an angel:

she’s alone,

he’s above,

she’s wearing her clone,

he is her dove,

they long each other,

she needs another,

he’s dead,

she lies alone in her bed

missing him,

she’s slowly turning slim,

 jealousy:

she watches them post each other

she needs another

her heart is slowly breaking

she’s shaking

no pain can compare to her heartache

she remembers the lake

jumping over it with him

she’s dim

she doesn’t know what to do when she sees him in reality

no one will ever agree

but she loves him still

he went for the kill

all her friends say he’s “horrible”

but she still thinks he is and was adorable

love:

love, love, love,

he reminds her of a dove,

she looks at his green eyes,

when she sees him she becomes paralysed,

lost in his mind,

he is so kind,

she is his,

he is hers,

no love can compare to these two,

as they lay under the sky as it turns blue,

but there is a problem,

he has jealousy issues,

she has commitment issues,

she runs when she feels the need,

but she doesn’t mean to mislead,

he gets angry and cries when he’s jealous,

angry, he is overzealous.

they are just the typical love birds

poem:

i can’t be bothered to be the writer,

why can’t i be the one wrote about?

the soft love poems,

the deep heart felt messages,

i’m always the one with the pen,

but never the ink on the page,

my mum always told me i have a big heart,

but i think i’m just scared of being left behind,

because even though i want to be the poem,

i’m always the one writing the story.

Wanting to be loved:

in the depths of my soul,

in the parts i cannot control,

my inner child sits,

the loneliness hits,

longing for a loved one,

but i find every-time i love, i run,

afraid, i leave,

afraid i’ll have to grieve,

i have commitment issues.

[wrenly-05x]

One of my fave OCS!

Full Name: Enid Vivienne

Nicknames: Eddy, Veve, Envie

Age: 15

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Straight

Role: Runaway, Main character.

Hight: 5’3

Build/Weight: She has thin-arms due to her eating disorder, and her ribs tend to show through her skin. She is quite slim, like a narrow doorway.

Hair Colour: She has thick brown hair with a hot pink coloured fringe that’s grown out a lot.

Hair Type: She has thick hair, surprisingly, and it’s covered in dead ends and an overgrown piece of hot pink fringe.

Eye Colour: She has a fiery brown glare.

Skin Tone: Pale

Race: White

Predominant Features: She has a large scar running down her wrinkled forehead and a strangely pretty chin.

Face Shape: She has quite a small facial figure with a chin that stands out — not in a bad way.

Other: Her eyes have wrinkles when she smiles, and her eyebrows are in need of a pluck — her hair is strangely brushed, and gorgeous, almost completely healthy other then the dead-ends eating themselves off her hair like maggots in a dead animals corpse.

Favourite/Skills: Her favourite part of the day is combing through her hair with her fingers, feeling it against her fingertips gives her relief — like a coping mechanism. She is great at combat.

Occupation/Hobby: Training — she enjoys to throw her hands out into a ‘shadow-boxing’ way, and does non-machinery exercises. She does it to stay ‘fit’, or loose non-excitant ‘calories’.

Fears/Flaws: Her body — she’s afraid of being ugly, forcing herself to think down about herself. It’s like a cycle, a never-ending fear turning into a mental illness.

Dislikes: Having no time for training — however she tends to do double the next day or do it late at night when she’s meant to be sleeping — only if she’s eaten that day.

Character’s Keywords: “They can’t know i’m ugly beneath these curtains of hair — i can’t let them see. They’ll abandon me like mother for my ugliness. — i must, i WILL prove myself!”

Personality: She is a non-bashful character, making her rash-mouth make up for her never-ending insecurity. She doesn’t like to be looked at as weak, and so puts on a ‘tough guy’ act. She can be very aggressive towards people she gets a bad vibe from and her personality makes her seem impossible to be around — though that’s not true. She tends to wear her heart on her sleeve, and is easily manipulated. To not show this, she tries desperately to stop people getting close to her, afraid of pain from more ruined friendships and relationships — her attempts fail miserably. Her inability to cope with the feeling of not being accepted forces her to become overly-attached to someone she has only known a few moments in her life. She is careless when it comes to her loved one, and would go to any measure to protect them — or do as they ask to be praised. She is constantly judging herself. However, all of that aside she is a very sweet girl whom has a hard time pretending she can’t love — though in reality she can love too much.

Appearance: She is a scrawny character, with paper-thin arms and legs, needle-like fingers erupting into fists most days. She wears a baggy white t-shirt with her favourite artist printed on it, someone her mother would listen to as she was a kid — before she ran — Pink. She has also gathered baggy black trousers. She only wears baggy clothes when people can see her — afraid her ‘unique’ pale and tauntingly-thin body will make them fear her. She has beautiful brown hair which falls down to her elbows. It’s thick, but full of dead-ends and has a big layer of hot-pink dye that no longer comes from her roots, making it look like it DESPERATELY needs to be re-done. Though, she’s grown to like it. Her skin is a ghostly-pale, and she has wrinkles that cover over her eyes as she smiles her toothy, ear-to-ear smile. She has a pre-dominant scar that runs over her — also wrinkled — forehead. It’s thick, and sticks out like a sore thumb. It is purple around but white in the middle, sticking out from her head as it scarred strangely.

Birthday: 23rd March 2009

Zodiac: Pisces.

Future: Character development will hit her hard and she will finally come to terms with her natural beauty — however that may take some time. She will struggle with friendships, relationships and hardships during her time with the runaways, however will feel accepted once she finally accepted herself; stopping her never-ending search for praise.

Back Story: She grew close to her mother, never sharing any bond with her alcoholic father. However, no matter how much it hurt she would always love him. She grew up knowing him, knowing who he was but he never cared enough to show her he loved her or made any effort to talk to her and sober up for her. So, after a while she gave up in her search for HIS praise — not knowing how much that would affect her future. Her and her mother would always jam in the car to ‘Pink’, as the artist tended to be somewhat comfortable for them to listen to together. Her mother would always try to cheer her up — however they grew up poor so it was difficult. And, being poor made her hunger lessen and lessen each day, meaning her appetite would come in waves — hunger, and never wanting to eat. It turned into a bad habit — then turning into a mental illness. She knew her mother would do anything for her, but she couldn’t help but distance after her mother began to drink. Her mother would slowly become more and more violent towards her — forcing her to be afraid of both, her father and her mother. She would question herself, was this all her fault? The money left for her school fees was all used by the end of the month for drugs, her mother’s addictions forcing them into dept. After a while, she got fed up; she was thirteen when she finally stood her ground, got up and then runaway. She did not look back — though sometimes she did wonder if she was in the wrong, she knew her mother was hurting, but she didn’t know what from. She wondered if she had left her mother vulnerable in her darkest place.

Recents: She recently fled her hometown into a forrest, only coming back to the shop in the white t-shirt and black trousers she had taken that day when she runaway. She reeked, making her presence known. Stares — they made her feel uneasy. She would never have money, meaning she had to steal. She hadn’t been caught, by the police at least. She had been chased away by shopkeepers and starved a few times. And then, very recently she had gone further into the forest — the sounds of children her age forcing her to be curious and ending up in becoming lost within the dense tree-growth.

Voice/Speech: She has a deep voice for a girl — however still clearly a girl voice. She also has a stereotypical ‘British farmer’ accent. She often raises her voice accidentally when feeling strong amounts of emotions.

Details/Extra: All stated above, this may be edited.

[wrenly-05x]

Small story samples!

He stood at the end of my bed like a statue. his silhouette was slim and he had slender fingers which curled rigidly around my shoulder. his thin hands are cold to my skin; an afraid whimper dribbled between my gritted teeth. | my pale blue hues widen with pure terror, and i can feel my ugly, mangled hair stick to my cheeks; sweat dampened my skin into a disgusting, wet, uncomfortable feel and i just laid there, still in it. i watch as he heaves his shadowed-corpse from where he had sat, watching me with that nasty glare, and i can almost feel what he is thinking. disgusting, she’s disgusting.

I feel his warm hands cup around the cuff of my chin, his fingertips tracing up towards my chest, under my shirt. i feel a greedy sensation wrap it’s way around me; his breathe presses against my neck and it makes me want to beg for him.

𝒫𝓁ℯ𝒶𝓈ℯ 𝒹ℴ𝓃𝓉 𝓁ℯ𝒶𝓋ℯ．

i want to cry, to wail as his hands depart from my scarred corpse-like body. my figure feels cold as his body moves away slowly. i cower back into the warm bed that he left.

“flocks of birds fly together!” he chirped, but i was no bird. i was simply a worm crawling beneath the normal, waiting for the rain that will never come to drag my worthless body towards the surface.

[wrenly-05x]

Blood.

the hair on my forearm stands on end as the edge of the cold metal blade is placed against it. i let a gasp slip through my lips as relaxation makes my widened hues slither; the  metal seeps down my skin, deep inside me. i let myself falter, stopping to watch the blood fall and rise, bits of bubble-like shapes of the red liquid stains my fingers as i swipe them away. it drags a sizzling, dry pain into the cuts as they are left heaving blood back into them. was this really what i was going to do after someone didn’t like me? fuck. i open my jaw, and my body jolts at the movement, i don’t say anything, moving my fingers up and down the bumpy red lines i had created; my head rolls back, my crown forcing my dull-shaded eyes to glimpse at the wall. a deep hole presses my stomach, my heart pacing quickly as i clasp a hand over my mouth to muffle the cries. i push my spine against the wall, feeling the cold cover around me; a blanket of pain wrapping itself around my entire body. a bashful squeal slips through my parted mouth as i release my hand from my lips; the blade being flung down to the floor; clatter. I feel emptiness wriggle itself around my neck, up and down my body; suffocating me. it makes my bottom lip quiver — my body trembled as i feel an urge to crouch down and seize my hands over the sharpener, to start the cutting again. i don’t and it makes everything feel worse — feel real. feeling real, feeling fake, it was all the same feeling; each worse than each-other. i clutch my trembling fingertips around the neck of my shirt, eyes pouring with rain, tears, the clear liquid dampened my cheeks. 

then, just as i began to fall to my knees, began to search like a homeless person begging for drugs, for the knife that made everything go away, bristle walked in. he gasped, his pale green optics widened and the colour from his skin drained. puddles of blood, puddles of pain, puddles of me drained down beneath me; it dropped down from the red river my arm began to make. bristle quickly heaved his body back into the real world, dragging his feet towards me. he scooped his arms around me, bringing me tight; a hug. the blanket of pain turned into his warm arms around me. i could feel his gentle breathe press against my neck. 

i freeze. 

he cups his hands around the cuff of my chin, dragging my watery gaze to watch his eyes. his eyes; they held mine like a painting of the ocean swaying, waves pushing into each-other, mean, cold, glares; someone drowning and the waves just laughed a pitiful laugh — avoiding the situation to get the feeling they desired, the feeling of death, the feeling of love, the feeling of the embodiment of feeling like they was helping itself. i shake my head, to signal no. to say i wasn’t ready without saying it. 

but, he doesn’t listen. i can see in his stare that he knows what i tried to say, but he just doesn’t want to listen. he is the ocean, i am the drowning human within its shadowed rapids, within it cold, selfish reefs. he presses his lips against my forehead and i grimace. no. “darling, what happened?” he asks. 

that, the question i had dreaded. i scrunch my nose up as i sniffle, pressing my face into his white shirt, straining it with my tears. wails push through my body and i grit my teeth; crying, sobbing, screaming into him. but, even then, all he does is press his gentle hands around me, lifting me up from the ground.

[wrenly-05x]

Angry.

You switch your body onto your side, shuffling your hips backwards as a groan seeps through your parted lips. You’ve moved out of the warm spot in your bed, and the cold air is soaking into your body,  You can’t help but loosen a whine from your tight throat, loosen a token of pain from your vocal-box. Thick black circles form inside the back of your throat, that horrible feeling when you’re about to cry dangles in the air around you. Feet aid each other as you rub the heat from them onto the back of you scarred calves, trying to warm you back up. You drag your silky, thick blanket over your head, stroking the fabric with your delicate fingertips; your hands are wobbly, tired. Clouds pattern back at you as try to open your eyes, and so you stay frozen, clamped into the comfort of you’re bed, of you’re room, of you’re house.

Fuck. A headache sweeps it’s banging-pain against you; it’s harsh-nature forcing your eyes open, pulling you into more agony. A fucking hangover. Sickness swells up like acid and you feel a burning, tingling sensation work its way up your stomach.

You shove your legs over the side of your bed, letting them dangle for a moment, just a moment. You then shove your hands up, against the warm quilt that covers your body, forcefully punching it so hard that it flies into the air. 

Cold air consumes you constantly, and your left curled up into a pathetic ball of scarred-skin and alcoholic breath. You jolt upward at the soft vocals of a teenage boy, eyes widened. Were you that drunk? You felt like a whore, like your body was being stalked; crept up on like you were a tiny, worthless piece of prey that a lion would demolish.

A whistle brushes itself through the air, carefully; it made you settle, your rear end shuffling into your bed as you sit up. You stare out into your room, towards the door and your eyes skim the mess of broken, dirty alcohol bottles, ripped pieces of paper and torn-up, dirty, forgotten toys that pile on the floor.

You were like a forgotten toy, shoved down to the bottom of the pile that just seems to grow larger by the day. You grunt, you know damn well that no one would give a shit enough to stay after a one night stand, and so you finally heave to your feet.

As you edge near the cold door, you ready your hands to feel against the cold metal, the shock it will send through your spine. The hair on your forearms that will stand on end.

As suspected, the feeling of the freezer-like sensation forced hair to stand up on your arms, running like beans to stand straight. You groan again, not bothering to force your vocals to a louder tone any longer.

Selective-mutism, they tried to say.

It wasn’t fuck, it was just you not giving one stupid shit about how you live life. Selective mutism? You knew how to talk. Anger; it curled up inside you, watching for its time to unravel and scream out all the pain you’d been clasping onto in the worst possible time. Because that was your life, that is your life, just a worthless ball of angry that will consume you and then raise its voice when it’s eaten everything it can and it feels like it’ll explode if it eats anymore.

[wrenly-05x]

The run.

The dark room had an eerie feel to it; the black curtains hung low and he wardrobe had a face if it’s own. It was as though the greedy glare of the wardrobe was watching me. My tan hands quiver slightly and i pull myself out of my - rather sultry - bed. My eyes trailed back to this back of my head and i tremble slightly, yet manage to grab the side of my chilly, metal door handle. I yanked myself back to my feet. My chuck-hazel optics scanned my bleak room and my heart began to sink further down my chest. My pupils dilated so i could see better. Suspense gripped me with dread. I sauntered out my small, square room; enders grabbed their slender around my ankles and howled silently, beckoning me back to that dark room. I immediately felt the needle-like sensation and a pessimistic thought, i was being creeped on. I tensed fists into round balls, fists, but carried on my swift amble down the shadow-haunted and creaky hallway towards my brothers room. I walked to his bedside table and clutch my warm palms rigidly against it. I was safer here, right? I curled up into a small round position besides him for solace, like a sleeping cat. I felt like eyes were burning into the back of my eyes; i wasn’t able to shake the discomforting feeling. Even the walls had eyes for me tonight, watching me; stalking me. My breathe would pump out into the air, making a gentle swish of noise. That was the only thing i could hear - even my brothers room was dejected tonight. The scorching temperature made me feel suffocated, caved in. Trapped.

My eyelids began to droop, quivering closed before a siren shirked and screamed - waking me straight back up. I shot back onto my feet, and sieved my brothers bed-stand. My whole physique tensed. Pain shot through my hand, forcing me to stand at an awkward angle as i clutched the mot painful part, wincing with anguish. My vision faded into a blue; i squinted to be able to see. My fingernails dug into the skin of my mitt out of unsettlement - disquieted. I twitched as my agitated brother grunted and groaned. His legs flung over the side of the bed. He slowly hoisted himself up. I perceived, Takai wailing hysterically in the other room - her cries of discomfort made my heart beat at my chest. Above all the clamour and tumult, i could hear my fathers roused voice raise as he adherently tried to stay placid for my younger sister.

“Get away from here!” i heard my fathers aghast tone reverberate through out thin-walked house. The words returned me to the place of confusion; murk. My cheeks felt wet as i pulled a smooth forearm up, erasing a tear that managed to escape my auburn hue. A flowery scent followed the aroma of wood and mushy grass; mothers perfume, but she was dead. Mum? I would touch her balmy green glance with my two dirty orange orbs and let a gasp wriggle through my parted lips. The illusion of her mollifying skin made my tawny glimpse plunder to its demise - tears drowning against my damp cheek-skin. All i could hear was her impulsive laugh, mine following short afterwards; it was as if the memory forced my grief into a soft chuckle. We shared our memory - a collective remembrance we often did together. Blacked out, frozen in her place against the damp, wooden floorboards, i reminisce the trees crying as i pushed through its weeping green hands. The rain splattered harshly, banging against the rotten, soggy forest floor. The wind howled as of it was enraged by my presence. The feeling of being unreal stroked the hair on my forearms; droplets of rain clasped onto my moist skin. Was the forest trying to say something? It gave me a feeling as if it was trying to pull me away - ruin the dream i had been desiring. Mama? Would she let me leave; let the forest take me?