white rose tea

everything is an ache. my body aches and my mind aches. my mother is abusive. i am collecting dust and work is a daily reminder that i will die trying to gain a dollar. the future is bleak. trump is president, and women still cannot get basic access to birth control or abortions.

everyday i wear my favorite clothes and rack up debt to fill voids with material goods. my mother yells about tea cups being left on the coffee table and about how i am a terrible person. my mother also wonders why i keep my distance and stay quiet most of the time. my mother voted for trump, so there is no sense only carefully orchestrated violence.

i am drinking white tea rose. what a saturday.
sex has been a wonderful release so far. i am surprised i still have the capacity to perform in any way. what a shit-show.

bedtime stories,

thought,

so how do i carry on a conversation with someone who keeps tugging at my gut. that feeling of something isn't quite right. yet. that feeling when you're restarting an interaction with a man who completely tore you apart effortlessly and yet, here you are, trying to be-friend and catch up on life like nothing happened. that feeling of, i want us to work out, but you're still making me feel uneasy.

where do i start, and how do i start it.
knowing his constant need to retreat the moment his fragility gets brought out into the open.

i feel
i feel
i feel
to analyzing degrees
of hell.

i can be at my most charismatic to charm the pants (literally - figuratively if you want it PG) of someone i want, but do i even want to set myself in this trap again. my weariness comes as no shock, as time and time again i have been burned by this human being whose words float aimlessly in the air with nothing to grasp to.

is it an air of mystique to him that clouds me, or is this smoke and mirrors to watch out for. this interpersonal dance of irregularity and wonder. knot muddling aches in the stomach as though i am trying to untangle wires. i have a lot of energy to spare, and while most of it is focused on work matters, i would like to spend the rest of it with people who compliment my life goals, not compete by thwarting me into a constant flux of worry, assessments of 'what are we', and inaccessibility.

i am walking on coals.

currently;

i am feeling light.
body light, mind light, love light, life light.
like I can breathe easier.
and though I know my madness will begin right when the moment to recuperate gives its pleasure, i can hold on to this feeling in the future.

at least until i empty out my burdens in a pile next to the kitchen once i'm feeling like I've had enough sleep and set it on fire.

men should really quit giving me roses.

i do not care for roses. 

roses are the poor mans poetry.

haven't we used them enough. no i am not seduced

by their aroma, and no i do not care

for their thorns. i've got my own.

disaster zone.

Drugged.

lullabies in my head, never again, i am so gone. lullabies don't take me back, save me. not here yet, i am. sweet seclusion calls, not here yet. i'm not sure what smells right, but not the same. don't let them take me, not, no. i feel it in me, it's pulling its strings. and what are those metal noises conjoining? i almost died. so sweet when they told me. why lullabies. i had them with me. we were fine. i'm going to bed, there's here to find.

Reasons you should not drink and smoke

(the crazies are on full swing. read with caution. as with all)

well my mind is nice and revengeful tonight. oh spiteful. i hate everything and it's eating at my flesh. how decadent. when will it stop. when will i stop. my swings of fine to psychotic has me running to the edge of the balcony to gain some strength and gasp for air...though i know it can't hold me for very long. control me.... i wish it had the power to. so i light up. i light up and i light up some more until i am flat, and on the floor with my head towards the moon looking for forgiveness, for a savior. i am sorry. i am not well. i am trying. i taste floral on the tongue, cotton candy and i am 8 years old again. what is this taste? sugar cubes dance in my mouth. springing right and left, leaving behind sprinkles of dew. i close my eyes and right next to me is a man i want to cover every inch of. he has no face, but i can fill one on him. i just have to grab my crayons. i'll give him a purple face. amethyst. he will be precious. oh we will fall in love and he will mend me. or maybe not. my body is filling with water and my thoughts are spilling. i am laying in a filth of my own pollution. floating, through the city on a death trip - somehow this feels like home. home is where you make it. oh i forgot, i'm not quite there yet. we are strangers these roads. no matter how many times i walk - no matter how many times i get lost - i never quite remember where i'm supposed to go and how i got there in the first place.

i am going to light up some more. and more....and then some more until i light myself.

log in.

it occurred to a few weeks back when my internet went out that I am wandering this weird, tacky, disease infested jungle - tying myself with wires and avatar pictures. Clinging to anonymous people and 140 replies from strangers all over the world. And once I exit - I exit.

• There are traces of who I am, 
• What I think, 
• What I believe and what I ate last night, 

if I died tomorrow how would any of the people I talk with online even know about it? Who would inform them?

where does it go from here? what do any of these 'relationships' we develop online mean. sure some of them transpire into something more, but often it dangles on friendly detachment strings. nice enough to talk about your day, distant enough that you don't know the person's last name. it is cold and often patronizing.

Mad, mad little one.

What love I gave you formed from simple hello’s,
And what magic binded me to see what really
Lies behind those liar eyes.
Whose blessings did I count before I turned back around?
When time blew through me straight like an arrow, whose lips did i think of
Minutes before my end?
What love crossed my mind?

Black velvet succumbs you.
The hands that would protect
From deceit, those same hands cursing wildly,
Dangling your heart in the air.
My hands they are.
Rattling to bones your faith.

Thoughts of women present. Amour.
Envy strikes an avid psyche;
Sweet, the revenge I will take out on you.
Sweet are those lies you fed me full,
Down the drain with my gold.
Whose words will you speak of?
Just wait, You’ll watch me unfold.

Bodies on bodies like skeletons they pile.
Deadly roots drip from poisonous flora.
And when you bite, temptation will hold you.
And when you cry, I’ll run to your carcass
To mend and to protect.

What’s mine will always be mine.
Who else would kill just to receive you back?
Whose lips would kiss just to feel you quiver?
Not those prior, not those after.