Monday, February 23, 2009

there's a better way to say certain things

but never the right amount of time.
holy shit have i forgotten how to type? has it been this long?
my fingers fumbling and me tripping balls on something he dropped into my mouth while i dyed my hair. was it that kind of night. maybe so. maybe the taste of vanilla coke made me ignore the consequences as i swallowed. the dye washes out and as with every attempt i'm new and changed refreshed in the high illogical mirror in my little bathroom. its foggy and i'm looking intently. scissors cross my mind, too much trouble. then my house is too small and cold an quiet and now i'm here in the warm loving arms of the interweb trying to find my footing. i couldn't stay there, left to pace and lay awake and pick at my couch.
nights are a challenge again. overwhelming and long. they aren't for sleeping. not to me. just stretches of dark time and nothing on the tv. books i've already read scattered and i haven't done my homework how could i focus at a time like this anyway.
the only thing i seem to do consistently is go to work. heres me, wired on shots of expresso and chocolate, staring. people flow in and out. control your children please. [yea right] heres me in a state, learning names of people ill never really know and making coffee coffee coffee coffee. its fun work, i should say. but repetitive in its actions. my hands flick off caps, shake water from things, hit the buttons.
[what was i even talking about before.]
cant keep track you see. this night, maybe im coming down. im losing energy fast. im confused. my friends send me cryptic texts, with words in the wrong order, theyre drunk somewhere, theyre lost, something about killing things then abrupt cut offs and stretches of silence. i need answers from certain people, but it doesnt seem as important to them. welcome back paranoia.
oof, these pills, what color were they? my body feels floaty.
the other night i went to a club, one of my old haunts you could say, from a different time. i drank until the lights swam and the boy i was with was dead meat. im an attacker lately. a destroyer? something. im something. its just unclear right now. in and out and me the next morning with that wonderful devastating feeling in my stomach. cant eat. too nervous, cant fight back, its funnier this way.
do you get it? i dont. i just miss the flow and bustle of the words and the truth that they imply. you wouldnt lie to me would you he asks me. i look back at him and almost cock my head in amusement. boys. they look at you funny when they think your not looking. personal questions and awkward touches. fun fun fun.

i should do this every night.

maybe then i could go back and edit for dramatic effect and get some goddamn sleep.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

i want to kill myself when i read your words... then i'm buoyed by something. there's still hope in the despair. you go on i go on. don't know why. maybe it's the moments when we can smother in hugs the stripper on drugs. we can sip coffee with someone so old they forgot why they drink coffee or when they started. we crave a cigarette out of reach of prying eyes and we do something we shouldn't and, if caught, it could be the end of something we hold dear. why do we risk all this? for a brief moment of arousal and welling emotion that is over when the seed is spilt and the shame starts? maybe i'm not asking but telling. radioisfree - still free.