i crave the longest night
grazing of the knife in the deep.
to cut? to win? to what road of indulgence begins.
i'm not together, just yet.
the splitting of tongues -
to love and hate?
the loudest of mars can't hold me

i have done it.

in a drunken haze i have never felt more clear and crisp and real than i do now. i am shedding old skin, sewing together new from the rags sprawled out in front of me. from each day and each month, each year i have let myself down - i am sewing with vigor and going off on a tangent i hoped would come. here it is. yes. 

i will not be used for validation.

i will not allow anyone to gut me with their words,
because i write, i should know just how empty an adjective can be.

Whenever I'm at work - (I hardly ever work)

drug induced rants, plaid shirts, stripper heels, frilly panties, hardcore nights, badass bitches. escapades w/ boys, particularly angry drummers. aimless road trips around the block. Sex, obsessive water drinking, vintage shopping extravaganzas, photography. slutting on the weekends.

i used to. i was. i could. i should. i will again.

i have an incredible urge to discontinue my existence in the physical form. pour me out on linen sheets. twist my archaic little bones into shadow puppets. let me free into the stars where they will bow with belated breath. the sound of vessels popping, teeth chattering, eyes slipping out of their boudoirs. i can taste crimson pulsating up my throat - making its way into the mouth where i have little space to store it. there it goes - overflowing, breaking from the innards of my flesh. convulsing, heaving - splattering graffiti onto the sheets. one shade of red, one shade of ice blue. destination to a wasted presence. i am there. and soon the haunted will become the huntress.

live to :

I’m going to be a good woman.
I will drink my tea, quietly on the edge of the bed
And I will stick by my man, if I ever get one to hold
Onto his hand and tell him the world is a validation he’s already granted.
When he makes yet another mistake, drags me down
With his despair.
I’m going to be a good woman, I swear.
I will cook, and I will clean, and I might go to church.

I will pray on my knees to gather his love
With the same mouth that never dares to disobey.
I’m going to be a good woman.
Any and every woman.

A quiet woman. A sad woman. A woman you fear,
A woman you love, one you might hate, and one you will fuck.
A woman you kiss, and a woman who bleeds.
One who will scream
And one who will sing.
I want to be my mother, my grandmother, her mother, and the mothers before.
I just want to be any woman.

L

His name was shy of just 3 little letters
Missing
From the ceiling my legs on a bed
Of razors
Through the head on the other side, pop the weasel
Goes the needle
Speakers blow through the cracks

Took a mirror and applied some dust
Breathed in the senses broke out of delight
Eyes through a camera lens flashed
Flickered on my skin
Candle burns a 3rd degree
The way his love would ignite
A vision,
He wasn’t one to sacrifice
So I told myself to tread carefully with love understated
Not required to give back

His hands would almost fissure my body if I
Didn’t hold on tighter
A ghost of past
Slick presents on my holy throne,
Jesus he was laudable
Like no other from a page I’d written with half
Empty ink
Carved precision
Such fulfillment
Anything to get a little piece
Of heaven that is him.

So fine and outlined on my lips his tips
Went searching a map of lines
He was good with his hands
No race against time
His eyes like water
Purified with just one smile
No grammar to correct my mistakes
If I said the wrong thing the alphabet he would erase

Hid himself deep inside my essence
I tried to extricate between
This fabrication
But forgery felt good on my body so I let him
Desecrate and outrage
Provide me with suffrage so I can have
A character worthy of a challenge to dissipate

(I will never get tired of reading this. And as cliche it might be, (everything I do and say and write is) it still holds me. I was 18, and I was wise.)

moving.

I thought about swallowing bleach - but that is a rookie move. It won't kill me so much as it will cleanse me.

+ + + + + + + + + + +  + + + + + + + + + +  + + + + + + + + + + +  + + + + + + + + + + +

Ready to feat upon new fears, and meet again old cretins. Rat sewers, 70's carpet, Russian kitsch. The blinding flickering of the building, in my pupils, the home I lost my mind in. What a home! What years! And now to leave my nest and sip on the finest of life. The best kind. Few crutches, no more handcuffs. Free to think all the thoughts I tidy everyday. Free to run loose. In my dreams, free to act on all the words I battle with.

Fizzing out on crack. I am not alive right now. Zombie mode on extreme. 24 hours awake. And we're not counting the off sleep schedule I usually have. Go to bed at 3, wake up at 9, run through the day on ambition (or something like it) - start all over the next day. If you're wondering why I look confused / out of it / slightly dazed / - it's because I am. I should give up smoking. I should give up a lot of things.

tuesday roundup

I spring back to life like nothing happened and I am queen of the world again. Destruction is down the road and I'm obsessed with finding it. A girl thrives on some misery. But no, don't be fooled - I don't need company. I work better alone. Infecting those around me. I said earlier today that it might be difficult for me to bring a person down physically, what with my size & weight, but emotionally it's a breeze.

I am hollow, pained, confused, happy, euphoric, sleep deprived, anxious, in love, jealous, cocky, and everything else you'll find in the dictionary. maybe not everything. 

My brain is leaking.
It's all repetitive shit.
I'm thinking of seeing a therapist again.
But then I think of how they'll probe too deep and I will be too open for comfort.
Should?
Or should not?