i face the walls in my room with the
lights off and i wish i could dream
happy dreams to erase these
nightmares that eat me alive every
single day this is my newfound
hope to wish that one day i will
awaken to a king's ransom of
happiness and away with this hell.
the minutes in between the storm panic me as i stand sober, holding myself up against waves of depression. my hands shake and i long for the elevation of artificial happiness brough forth by a cold drink. the taste means nothing, i only want to be inebriated and forget everything. all of this sorrow i fall to again everytime. the cloud slips from beneath me and i awaken with headaches and regret. i can't remember what i was like before this. before i lived my day only so i could go home and intoxicate myself. almost in a plea for pity. and i know this is wrong. this crutch has grabbed me by the throat and sent me on my way to hell. but it seems better this way. i like the feeling as my skin burns as opposed to the cold, clammy feeling of depression. so i continue this way without stopping. hoping to wake up from this nightmare before i lose myself to my new found addiction.
she keeps returning to my head and i pick up the phone to call her. i know i don't need her, but this alcohol isn't filling my void. the phone rings several times until she finally picks up. her voice shocks my ear and speeds up my heartbeat. she says "hello" several times and then hangs up. my voice froze and i could not say a thing. this cold electric shock is too much to take.
the scents that rummage around this room intoxicate me. hitting me, and knocking me on the ground as if i've had one too many to drink. the smell of people. the smell of chalk. the smell of a dusty old carpet that has laid inanimate since the room was first erected. the smell of people is my favorite scene that i have found here. especially that of the opposite gender. their perfumes and lotions flow through my nose lik my hand petting the fur of a small cat. something seems so mysterious about this smell. something about the way it appears then disappears then reappears all over again as the different drafts of air flow through the room. often the smell can be very repulsive. as is the case of the boy who sits in front of me. its not an incredibly terrible thing, but he reeks of that gym locker room smell that invades your nose like an unwanted beast. ripping through your clothes and soaking through you. i leaves you defenseless untill you show again later in the day.
i think i've spent too much time worrying about lips i will never again kiss. hands i will never again hold. i worked for the first time in three months today. i wandered around the bagel scented store. with every memory i took in i felt like throwing up. i hyperventilated as if nervous, but i was really only alone. i found out today that i will never again stare into those perfect eyes.
i walked to the back of the store. i remembered the times we wrestled there. like little kids. there was something so wonderful about those days. they seem like an eternity ago, though it was only several months. her scent still floats here, stiffening the hairs on my neck.
i stood in front of the refrigerator and remembered the first time i ever touched her. i remember the first time i met her. the first time we kissed. i remember everything about the relationship. about here. everything. i remember the way she walked and the perfect shape of her body, though imperfect in its own unique way.
i stutter when i talk and look at the door everytime it opens, hoping she'll be there. i tell myself i don't need her, not one bit. i tell myself so many things, yet i'm still not listening. i know i'm only causing myself pain. but how can i forget when i stand in the spot where we first met? the spot where i found out for the first time that she had a crush on me.
i'm standing in the front door of the building where i used to work. she still works here, but i've only just now returned. and we will never be here together again. its all gone.
may 31st.1999.maybe this is right. maybe i'm supposed to be happy this way. i got drunk last night. it had been years since i touched the stuff. i completely opened up to everyone and i was so much more vulnerable to an attack at my heart. i awoke this morning with a feeling of guilt, yet a feeling of new found hope in the actions i could not previously control. and now i look at her picture and stare at her eyes and know that if i try my hardest, then one day everything will come back in line and everything will be how it was. but how was it? i've forgotten the times, it seems, though they were memories etched in my mind forever. such a minute fraction of a life seventeen years long. what's a few months? i think i could count the hours we spent on my two hardenced hands. but it was enough for me fall head over heels. i should have never pushed away my inhibitions. atleast now i know how i feel as i begin to heal. i know my love for her has faded, yet there is still an attachment. a strong feeling of care and something. yet more than a crush. and i know why and if you asked i could give you an hour long speech on life. three weeks minus communication. two months minus a loving touch. forever alone with my memories. but i've come to know myself. rely on myself. strengthened relationships with friends that have needed mending for a long time. i never thought i could know myself so well or feel this way about myself. and maybe i should thank her for dropping me on the side of the raod. now i must ask myself should i go the other way or continue on after her? should i try to make something of this again? i think the answer will create itself. now i must find a way to make eyes that hear...
may 30th.1999.so i'm standing here again
once more. (and again). lets see: i'm lost. and i swear that everytime i figure this out another idea is torn in two. (everytime). fate seems so far off but this is destiny. ;to be alone; i swear. so move along and don't stare so hard. i'm not really hear. you might burn your eyes. (on my beating red heart).
hey lady: you look like
one those crazy african
women i seen in a magazine
once. oh but you're white as
the day. yeah; i see now;
the dog collar. studded and
spiked. wow. (crazy).
sparkling like a rippling creek
under the sun. (which of
course shines brightly).
i study the texture of the board until my eyes hurt. the white spots shatter my brain into a thousand pieces. the silver chalk tray is lined with cum colored paint drops as if a man masturbated over this simple creation of art. (this is not really art). the design is abstract. onl thought could find its beauty. (i've thought too much). the wall below has been marred with pen and pencil marks. "i love jane doe" etched in blue without much thought and too much concentration. the lines wiggling as the boy who left his mark must have been making sure the teacher didn't watch. the cream colored paint even peels in places to show the gray of the hidden stone. i lie below this piece of architecture. i lie here in a panic. soaking the carpet with tears. all of the other students look at me funny. the wall is odd now. nothing is coming out clearly. the blackness of the board, the cum stained silver chalk tray, the stone wall. i scream and realize the teacher is still in front of the classroom and all of the other students are watching her and not me.
i decided to write in red. blood colored ink that flows with no clots. i feel awake. the brightness is burning a hole in me. oh, but i can't feel it. i can't feel any of this. these slashes on my wrists. the rope around my neck. ;this is not real; these sleepless nights strangle me. the waiting involvexs me with the horror of life. (of light). this color is my blood. i'm bleeding onto this paper. (i'm screaming). it has nothing to do with you. (lies, lies, lies...it has everything to do with you). i'm sitting in class screaming my head off. no one is listening, still. everyone watches the teacher. i have nothing. (my heart is gone). my mind is swollen with sickness. (with frustration). confusion runs rampant. (confusion=frustration). ;drip drop; the words are smearing on my paper now. yet my tears still fall on wet hands. (my heart). ;broken;