it’s nauseating to feel this way. when you miss someone that misses you too only a little less. let’s break the rules.
N.E.D.Awareness week. Happy for health and thankful for overcoming obstacles.
it’s nauseating to feel this way. when you miss someone that misses you too only a little less. let’s break the rules.
N.E.D.Awareness week. Happy for health and thankful for overcoming obstacles.
"If somebody says, ”I love you,” to me, I feel as though I had a pistol pointed at my head. What can anybody reply under such conditions but that which the pistol-holder requires? ”I love you, too."
- Vonnegut
I smoke for the scenery. Sometimes I think I could just blow it all over. Words spinning in my head in a flurry of sulfites and nicotine. Hobbies. Family. Love. Boundaries. Cross them. I smoke for the air. Stuck in four walls day in and day out. waiting for a call. someone to save me or erase me. duplicate me. desiccate me. manipulate me. torn in fifty seven directions and no one is watching. its 10, its 11, its 1130, its 3 in the fucking morning. no one is watching and i disappear.
at first i capitalized and then i fell
The floating heads of psychic love advice are everywhere…
shivers on my fingertips with nipples poking through cheap red lace and wine lips that whisper want me back.
i see my memories through rose-colored glasses. arguments over turkey meat and christmas wrapping seem petty. cinnamon buns in the oven and home-made deviled eggs at every barbeque seem magical. i wonder if i’ll ever form a new memory. one worth remembering. i can’t seem to remember anything that has happened in the past two years. i need something to remember before i forget how. released from all pressure and trapped in possibility. none of it seems to matter though, as none of it will be what it was. and no one is watching. just fucking watch.
i think i’m confused because there is a gap in time. a gap when i buried my head in a pile of weed and didn’t see straight. this time was enlightening and brutal. but, truth be told, your problems still exist. time doesn’t heal all things. time spent thinking… heals all things. i suck at bowling. i’ll never be able to do that crazy arm balance in yoga. my skin is pale. my hair lackluster. my hands callused. i can think of a milllion and one things wrong with me but not one right. a therapist once asked me to list four things i liked about myself and i stumbled over my words into a puddle of tears. have i not grown? how do i grow? i got fired from a shitty job. i struggle to make due dates. i struggle to remember to eat. to drink water. to breathe. i remember to smoke cigarettes. i remember my jacket and my headphones. i remember nothing. i fantasize about running into an open field where i can’t see anyone. and then i scream. at the top of my lungs. scream and take off my clothes and run and run and fucking run.
