Norskkk

Brianna

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A Description of the Unspoken by Norskkk, literature

Literature

A Description of the Unspoken

With every event, every negative experience in my life, I wish for it to manifest itself into something greater—a story to tell, a constructive learning experience, everything and anything other than what it truly is or has already been. This is one of many. I’m heading nowhere, inundated with convoluted and disturbing thoughts of destruction. I’m trying to make sense of what would strike anyone of any sort of normalcy as something trivial and fruitless. I’m imagining this in sheer retrospection to only a few moments past. Tears swell in my eyes, and I forcefully bite my lower lip and fight them back. I can’t cry.

A Relatively Short Blurb by Norskkk, literature

Literature

A Relatively Short Blurb

It’s like one of those hazy moments when you peer at your own reflection in the mirror, completely overtaken by the obscurity and illusiveness of looking into your own eyes. You’re unable to distinguish between your own reflection and yourself, and suddenly, indescribable incongruity envelopes you and you find yourself in a different place. I can sit on my bathroom counter and look into the mirror for what seems forever, paying particular attention to my eyes. Even as I write this now, I can reflect on the many times I’ve experienced this same feeling. I never know what it is that I’m searching for, but I do know that I

His Angel by Norskkk, literature

Literature

His Angel

In solitude, he sits in a sheltered place; A single light cascades a mellow luminosity Upon his whitened face. Sapphire eyes are drained of tears And permanently hollowed by the merciless years. The ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance breaks The frozen dejection of his internal pain, Chasing away the bitter hindrance of a lingering past Like the ardent charm of the seas that fade. His lips have yet to utter words in weeks, Love not having entered his heart in years. And yet he remains; back arched and fingers trembling The darkness yearns for hope, as pain erupts in the depths of his chest. The pale yellowness of ligh

Sr. Project- Research Paper by Norskkk, literature

Literature

Sr. Project- Research Paper

Beckman 1 Brianna Beckman Mr. Feraco-Eberle SFHP 12, Period 3 18 April 2008 A Positive Transgression Idealizing the poster child psychologist, the first image that typically comes to mind is a Freudian-like male with a gray beard and glasses, a pen and paper in hand, and a couch on the opposite end of the room where patients cradle their head in their hands, confessing their most internal afflictions and uncertainties. Most people are not given the opportunity to witness what transpires behind the protection of closed doors—however, I have. Not only have I seen it, I have also been there. After nearly four years of self-loathing an

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Reassurance by Norskkk, literature

My Apologies by Norskkk, literature

Literature

My Apologies

Dear Mr. Perfection, Last night I dreamt of you, but it wasn't the dream I ordinarily have. It was different, contrasting, and moving. You were sitting in your seat, with an indescribable expression on your face that rang empty. You lifted your handsome arm and the sleeve of your red sweater sank upwards. I couldn't help but savor every moment of it. I looked carefully and saw a few distinct scars running across your wrist. At that moment, a sense of chaos, relief, sadness, and comfort all at once aroused my senses. Three or four faint reddish lines, thick and beautiful, stained your ivory skin from one side of your wrist to the other. You

Untitled by Norskkk, literature

Literature

Untitled

Life is relatively new, Love ripe and shamefully undiscovered I'd prefer to believe that I should not live life in pity But the grim reaper drenched in cynicism awaits my delayed arrival My sentence will not be eased, for I am self-destructive My shallow casket ready-made I am but a sorrowful excuse; I am but self-made How I manage to survive is deemed perplex My story-line complex; my accomplishments so trifling God Himself has relinquished me now, Unlatching the gates to my own delicate Hell I swim in flames of envy and regret Surfacing occasionally, but more or less drowning in resent

Stick Figure by Norskkk, literature

Literature

Stick Figure

"Sticks and stones may break her bones" They so ignorantly claim Yet they cannot recall how it feels To have their skin permanently stained They whisper and glare and gasp in disgust, The ridges of her hallow bones Protrude through her paper skin "Why must she do this to herself?" they question "And oh, how her hair is growing thin" Mealtime approaches, she grows nervous The blood coursing through her veins runs cold Her bony fingers shake in uneasiness Oh Lord, how this sadistic cycle is growing old They place her plate in front of her So gently and expectantly, In reluctance, her gaunt face turns the other way "Why must she

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About Norskkk

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United States
Deviant for 17 years
She / Her

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My Bio

Favourite style of art: Anything reflective, inspirational, and beautiful.

Favourite Writers

At the moment, Elizabeth Wurtzel.

Other Interests

Art, literature, weight loss, vitamin water, diet coke and sleep.

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Norskkk

Apr 18, 2007

Devious Journal Entry

0 min read

I'm one of those people who walk between the lines; I rarely make any sense, and I have a tendency to ramble about everything that's trivial for nights on end. Life is tolerable; days present psychological agony and nights provide ease and salvation. I've learned to disregard the opinions of those who don't matter, and while this may give the impression of my being highly cynical, understand that this thought process is merely a survival strategy. To exercise pretentiousness is idiotic; I utterly despise idiocy. I shall have you know that I'm probably the biggest hypocrite you'll ever encounter. I'm the procrastinator from hell, and I put for