Light, Darkness & Grey Matter

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Arlyn's Writings
Arlyn's Writings

    © Copyright 1999 Tree Publications. All Rights Reserved

Arlyn Maria Beal was Born January 25, 1978 and Died August 7th, 1996 from a self-inflicted gun shot wound.

After her death, her mother searched her room and turned up hundreds of pages of writings that Arlyn had been composing for years. Many of these writings have been collected in the book "Arlyn's Writings", now available in paperback.

"Arlyn's Writings" reads like a diary in poetic form, revealing many of Arlyn's innermost thoughts, torments, loves and grievences. In it's pages you will get to know how this brilliant teenager struggled with manic despression, suicide, drugs, and a society which didn't and couldn't understand her. Whether you agree with what Arlyn is saying or not, you will certainly get a sense of the depth of her emotions and thoughts and her intense love/hate relationship with life.

Proceeds from the sales of Arlyn's writings go to helping those in distress. By ordering you will not only be receiving valuable insight into how the teenage troubled mind works, but you will also be contributing to helping other such teens who are in distress, perhaps considering suicide themselves. So please order your copy by clicking below.

Samples Of Arlyn's Writing

1. Tease - A Poem In Prose

2. Break Through - A Song

3. Blue Python - A Poem


You. You walk around dancing, singing. You flirt with those who, you know, do not want you like I do. Those of us who crave you, of course, we only get teased. We watch as others undulate in your intense presence, falling at your knees, lifeless.

You and your erotic strut madden me. Knowing that this is sheer torture, you enjoy the game. Jacking up your price, you spread yourself around, but never near me.

And if I approached you and failed, then you would relish in the consequential torture I would endure; damn your ego.

Before my eyes, you swim like a butterfly, begging to be caught, or to not catch me, but you won't. No, not yet. Not until I grow tired of the unrelenting satisfaction. I ache for you, and you know --- no, enjoy --- it. If only your sweet kisses would touch my lips --- take my breath away; fall on y breast and still my heart; if only you would simply enter me, you know my ecstasy would please you, but you only tease.

You won't come to me because I worship you too much --- I wonder if you could handle my passion. But I am beginning to understand your game. You know how much I want you in every cell of my body, so you wait, patiently, just watching me watch you go to everybody else; that is, everybody except the others like me who desire your caressing essence.

When we grow tired of your flirting, though, and our eyes dull a bit; when our passionate infatuation with you begins to shrivel, you tease us even more, with a harder force than ever; you glide in and out of my mind until I am insane, which I am.

You keep it up, teasing and then leaving, until I get worn out. You wait until I disown you, until I don't want you at all, until I hate you and try to drop you stone cold. But only then, Death, do you rape me, come inside me, drop me stone cold. And then all the others like me see you possess me after I have sworn you off; with voyeuristic eyes they watch you penetrate me after I don't want you any more; you use me to tease them, to torture them, just like you did me.

But I won't have it any more --- I am through with you, Death; your charming smile does not entice me like it used to. Go find a new victim. (Or have you?)



Break Through

Chorus: Layers between, blockade unseen
            And you break through
            Torn apart, new start
            For you break through

Moonlight breath, asphalt bed
Starving eyes, stomach fed
Strong stare, fear dead
Let out passion fled.


Sizzle with silver touch
Swirl and stay in the clutch
Stand tall, no crutch
Little things mean so much.


Be still my flame, I ask no name,
Just stay the same with me.
Be still my boy, cannot annoy
Just send me joy freely.


Blue Python

Blue Python, lying on the green
Two eyes (one contains a face,
The cheese of immortality
The other, eternal yoke)
Forced reproduction of this dead
Decorated, spakely snake
Utilitarian serpent,
With worm-like bridged swollen throats,
Of the nematode
Shards of glass scattered around
Are the stars immersing
The choking pendulum-home
Suffocated by the asphalt python
And its maker

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