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Monday, December 4th, 2006
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An empty room can be so deafening,
The silence makes you wanna scream,
It drives you crazy.
I chased away the shadows of your name,
And burned the picture in a frame,
But it couldn't save me.
And how could we quit something
We never even tried?
Well, you still can't tell me why.
We built it up,
To watch it fall.
Like we meant nothing at all.
You're not the person who you used to be,
The one I want, who wanted me,
And that's a shame but,
There's only so many tears that you can cry,
Before it drains the light right from your eyes,
And I can't go on that way.
And so I'm letting go of everything we were,
It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.
We built it up, to watch it fall.
Like we meant nothing at all.
I gave and gave the best of me,
But couldn't give you what you need.
You walked away,
You stole my life,
Just to find what you're looking for.
But no matter how I try,
I can't hate you anymore.
Sometimes you hold so tight,
it slips right through your hands.
Will I ever understand?
I can't hate you anymore.
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Monday, November 27th, 2006
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[ So much to do, so exhausted, so lost. Driven delerious by 2 AM, I feel as though every friend I possess has someone else of greater merit in their lives. Everyone always leaves - I've known that for years, and quietly watched them prove it day by day. Everyone moves on, eventually. I'm out of touch, everything a bit more numb than it should be. And everything's empty again. I haven't felt this agonizingly alone since Ginny died. ]
***
I wanted to punch in her face.
"Congratulations."
As though I had tried to force an entire dictionary of meaning past my lips, the word almost choked me, eyes sliding toward Him. I could die saying that word, and it would somehow feel just, or correct, as though it was my rightfully earned end after all this time, all I had done to us both. My chest was tight; if I didn't find the room to breathe I was going to scream, or cry, or faint, or just run. I could already see myself sprinting the river's edge, trying to catch one of the launches to give myself just one more unattainable goal at whose task I was destined to fail. At some point my legs would eventually just give out, bitten and numbed by the coming winter frost, but it was a better embrace than friendship's arms right now. A friendship that had caught on fire, and it still burned ( for me alone, perhaps ). But I didn't want a friend. I wanted.
It was akin to observing the flickering images from an old-time movie reel, disjointed and surreal. I didn't want to believe, and didn't want it to be true, and my senses were making mauled piece-meal of the experience. At some point I had simply folded away, somewhere within, shaking my head in repetitive negation, over and over, No, no, no. It was like watching a little bit of heaven formed right beneath my nose, only to have it plucked away and settled on a shelf eternally out of reach of my grasp. I would never be tall enough - I would never be good enough, capable of expression, or worthy of notice. It was like dying a little bit, feeling my heart crinkle in husk-like fashion as they moved away, arm in arm, smiling as though the entire world had somehow done right by them.
Something crumbled, and I don't know why -- but I let the pieces fall out of reach.
And I miss you like sunrise.
I want to burn all your belongings that you left behind
To see if I get high off the fumes.
I want to tear up all the pictures where we look in love
To see if you feel it where you are.
I want to scratch out your existence in all my poems,
To see if the paper will bleed.
I want to slice open your chest and rip out your heart
To see if I can find myself inside.
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Tuesday, November 7th, 2006
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"I didn't say she was lonely," said Marsha, "I said she was solitary. Alone. There's a difference. A person can have a lot of friends, but no one who truly understands them. It takes someone special to do that. And it takes time." -Marsha, from The Juniper Game
******
I guess I'm due an update.
I've taken up the habit of taking percocet for my migraines, cramps, backaches -- everything. It worries me that I caught myself saying "I can stop anytime" the other day.
I've been caught in the depressive cycle of my bipolar for three weeks and four days. Everything is dark, angry, violent, depressive, pointless and cruel. I want it to end, or I want the world to leave me alone, and I no longer care which of the two happens first. I'm scared of my own moods, terrified of how easily and fiercely I'm disgusted with my closest friends and most precious relationships.
I've grown obsessed with the idea of death lately. More accurately, my own - the idea that time flies, that days all seem to feel the same, that everything bleeds together like a watercolor left in the rain. The details gone, the scene pointless, the outcome inevitably washed out and forgotten. I feel as though nothing I do has a goal any longer, cut loose from an anchor and just.. drifting.
I'm tired all the time. Not physically or psychologically, just.. emotionally. I care about a select few people so fiercely that lately I've just felt drained. I've been getting intensely possessive and jealous when I have no right to be, angry at neglect that is likely a product of my imagination, and depressed over the silence that hits every night like clockwork when I realize there's no one there.
I no longer remember why I want to go to graduate school, and I fail to see how I could possibly get in. It is a coupling of a strange sense of learned helplessness, and the realization that what I gain by remaining in Boston is equivalent to what I lose by not going elsewhere. I wish I had something to drive me.
The nightmares have been bad lately. These days, they always involve people I know - friends and family and enemies alike. They're the only part of my life that is still vivid, and it overwhelms me at times to realize that I can still remember a time when everything I was, and did, and loved, was colorful and vibrant and alive. I feel like an echo.
I exist like this, knowing that it's a cycle, and knowing that it's possible to break out of it. But no one notices it, or cares enough to stop it, or thinks they can. I probably killed their hope long before they went to look for it, and my own has been rotting for weeks.
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Thursday, November 2nd, 2006
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| Subject: | "When you feel like giving up on someone --- remember why you held on for so long." |
| Time: | 5:13 pm. |
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10 Firsts:
1. First Best Friend: Lauren Roth. She went depressive and suicidal and ended up hating me. Time is a strange conundrum.
2. First Screen Name: Selena13wf.
3. First Piercing: My ears.
4. First Crush: Chris Malec. I think that was his name. He pulled me off the monkey bars once while I was hanging upside down, on the playground. We're talking like, kindergarten. >>; Apparently even back then, I enjoyed abuse. ;_;
5. First Music: The Moody Blues.
6. First Car: 96 Burgandy ford Explorer, "Baby."
7. First love: Coffee.
8. First stuffed animal: A dark purple unicorn with little gossamer wings. Her name was Wind Whistler.
9. First concert: Rolling Stones with Ivan Mladenovic. o_o Jebus that was ages ago.
10. First DVD you bought: For myself? I've never bought one. ::Cheapskate::
9 Lasts:
1. Last Cigarette: The day before I came to Harvard.
2. Last alchoholic beverage: Yesterday night, at Temple Bar with Tomas, Ryan, Mariko, David and Julian. I think it was a Dark and Stormy.
3. Last Car Ride: O.o Claire driving me back to harvard after her lesson last night.
4. Last Movie Seen in theatres: Er. The Departed.
5. Last Phone Call: Tomas.
6. Last CD Played: Juanes. Mi Sangre.
7. Last bubble bath: My life would be a better place if I could answer this question.
8. Last time you cried: Yesterday morning, 'bout 5:45 AM.
9. Last kiss: Yesterday evening, when I said goodnight to Julian. I was upset with him, and then he got upset because I'd just kissed him on the cheek.
8 Have You Evers:
1. Have You Ever Dated One Of Your Best Friends: O.o Not "dated," no..
2. Have You Ever Been Arrested: Almost. Yay Gulliver Environmental Club!?!
3. Have You Ever Skinny Dipped: Yeeees. >3
4. Have You Ever Been on TV: Yup. Once with my dad for an environmental thing, another time for a new story on the Everglades.
5. Have You Ever Kissed Someone and Then Regretted It: No.
6. Have You Ever had a Suggestive Dream About Someone You Knew: Daily, my friend. Daily. ::Sigh.:: Why do I know so many attractive people?
7. Have you ever had sex: Oh, yes.
8. Have you ever cheated: Yeah.
7 Things You're Wearing:
1. From the bottom up.. gray and blue sneakers.
2. Fluffy pink, orange and white socks.
3. Stonewash bluejeans with zipper pockets.
4. Black lace underwear.
5. Matching push-up bra.
6. Victoria's Secret boucle sweater, ligonberry
7. Black tube necklace with a silver and gold glass star pendant.
6 Things You've Done Today:
1. Hit the snooze button after taking three advil and chugging a nalgene of water.
2. Sat in the rain waiting for a bus that never came.
3. Reprogramed three macros, fixed another idiot's mistake, and am currently giving our GSR software what-for (that's right, I'm the resident computer badass. How sad is that?)
4. Tried and failed to log into the harvard library network to look up articles for grad school. Fuck me.
5. Begged someone to be my pseudo-editor for BM. No takers yet. I cry.
6. Decided that my room back home needs to be cleaned. I just never get around to it.
5 Things You Ate Today:
1. A small bag of peanut M&M's. Yay Halloween.
2. Big mug of hot chai tea in an effort to not freeze to death.
3. Sandwich.
4. A sugar cookie.
5. That's it. I skipped breakfast.
4 People You Can Tell [ALMOST] Anything to:
1. Sue
2. Larry
3. Kareem
4. Xin
3 Choices:
1. Black or White: black
2. Hot or Cold: Hot
3. Sun or Rain: Sun
2 Things You Want to Do Before you die:
1. Get something published.
2. Fall in love.
1 Thing you regret: I regret nothing I have ever done.
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The tears I feel today,
I'll wait to shed tomorrw,
Though I'll not sleep this night,
Nor find surcease from sorrow.
My eyes must keep their sight,
I dare not be tear blinded;
I must be free to talk,
Not choked with grief - clear minded.
My mouth cannot betray
The anguish that I know.
Yes, I'll keep my tears 'till later...
But my grief will never go.
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Written early the night before graduation.
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What is passion? Ask someone to define lust and desire, or love and devotion, and they’ll have a ready reply of some kind or another. But passion?
I habitually question things even when they seem to be going right. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it… and yet I perpetually break things otherwise in working order. My relationship with Julian is precious to me; I feel at peace when I’m with him, and I lied the day we broke up weeks ago, when I accepted that most of what I enjoy about him, I enjoy as a friend. It’s nuzzle kisses, it’s wrestling on the bed/floor, it’s watching Naruto with his head on my shoulder, or cracking a joke about stress-relief over Tomas’ head. The stupid insignificancies that most would overlook, but wouldn’t be acceptable, platonically.
But that isn’t passion. I want him, and I love him, but it’s as though the chemical reaction just isn’t there when he looks at me… which makes it feel temporary and, as earlier tonight, empty. It makes every one of his provocative jokes and insinuations echo hollow, creates an illusion of intimacy when the reality is simply a multitude of leaps from friendship to flirtation to lust and back again. But it’s the act without the fire behind it, as though he’s going through motions rather than feeling them, wanting them. I guess when it comes down to it, I don’t feel particularly wanted.
I masochistically listen to Trish or Fiona talk about their time with Julian, and I feel like he’s never matched, with me, the effort he put into pursuing them. I feel accepted, rather than attractive. Accessible, rather than sought. I guess no one likes being a sure thing, but I’ll never know if Sue was right, and he wanted me back because attempts with the prior two failed, somehow. A few weeks of freedom, only to fall back on second choice? Ironically, it all circles back to what I said to Xin, a few nights ago, on his troubles with Jamie: Women aren’t that hard to figure out. They just want to feel as though they’re special, in a relationship. That they have an effect, that they’re wanted. That they matter, and that it matters that it’s them, and not someone else. I guess I still don’t know how to fix something that isn’t really broken, though.
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And an hour later, we broke up. Very likely for good. I love happy endings, don't you?
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Wrote this two nights before I graduated.
It was Ginny that used to quote Poppy Brite to me, whenever we’d have our long talks in the early morning hours like this – I still know the quote by heart and, quite frankly, with her gone it’s not liable to slip my mind soon.
"I believe in whatever gets you through the night. Night is the hardest time to be alive. For me, anyway. It lasts so long, and four AM knows all my secrets. Four AM is when my dreams die." It’s from Lost Souls, and to an extent it’s true enough. I speak frequently to a friend here going through a rough patch on how night is invariably when the psychological immune system breaks down, when everything wellsprings unbidden to the surface. The doubts, the fears, the needs - at different hours for different individuals, but 4 AM is my usual Achilles heel. It’s when it bites the deepest. I’ve seen the hour so many times, in so many colors, if usually alone these days. It’s why I miss her. I knew, no matter how much of the world went to sleep, that there was always someone else awake during the devil’s hour that cared. I always seem to be awake, at 4 in the morning. But there’s no one to share it with these days, however much I want to.
Desire is a tricky topic, I suppose. You can believe so adamantly in a happy ending, trust so explicitly that you’ll get that forever happiness that fairytales are built on. There are moments when I feel like a foolish romantic, for believing. Faith and hope grow rare as time does its jading, and to speak to some of the students here is to experience a sense of utter estrangement – I can talk with those around me about relationships, and believe for a moment that I’m the only one with faith. And more than faith, with a desire to work for it. If half are jaded, another half of the remainder believe in true love, happy endings, movie finishes… but they don’t understand what it means to work for it. I can’t even be sure I do.
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This was the closing post to Taiko from Sabryn. Saby's a Sidhe, fell in love with Taiko (a master, who keeps a number of other women), and he fell in love with her back. But his pets got pissy and agitated, caused trouble, and Taiko finally was forced to choose between his House and Bryn. Sabryn made the decision simpler by backing out on her own, and this was her parting epitaph.
Fin
The fey had accepted the stern tone, accepted it as she had so much ( too much ) over the last few minutes. He was correct - either through sympathy, or simply an inordinately keen eye for judging the fey's unusually sterile behavior, it was finally seeping in, striking deep and burrowing for the marrow, the soul. As though to leave now, tonight, she would need to wrench away and leave bits of her soul behind, like gnawing through a paw to be released from a steel trap. She could not escape unscathed, and she remained heavy and bitterly lethargic with the knowledge that she was once again to be punished for the crimes she did not commit. It would have been easier, if Eden and Mayati's claims and insults were true - easier, if she had played the part they painted for her, if her heart was as clandestine and careless as a succubus'.
But she was fey, Sidhe; everything they did, all they said, was performed with passion. An energy and aesthetic force that rivaled the heavens for brilliance, rivaled a tsunami for force. Her loyalties would linger like a backdraft long after she departed, her concerns stalk his shadow, watchful and wistful, for months or years. She was a creature that time could neither corrupt nor grace - she had all the time in the world to look on. To watch and memorize a happiness that would never be her own - a carousel she would mount a hundred times. Had one asked her, she would not have guessed she possessed so many shredded bits of soul as recompense, but the results were the same. Always. Perhaps she had been a fool to believe otherwise would come of it.. but it had been real, while it had lasted. Pure, burning, surreal and fulfilling. She would leave as a shell, and only time - bitter, lengthy time - would spill sustenance within her once more.
"Do not promise her you will never see me again. I will leave, Taiko, and I will leave without causing any more ripples of disturbance than I already have. But make no oaths about my absence. Instead, I would ask a promise of you." Steel eyes lifted, grazing his features, following lines she had memorized in adoration, in passion, in friendship. "That if you need me.. if you simply need a calm voice on an especially dark night, a candle by which to weather whatever storms may find you in the future.. you will find me. Be it for a word, for advice, for the assurance that there will always be someone here, no matter your hurdles or trespasses... seek me out."
Her gaze held his own, delving for a response, for some sign of concession. "We are immortals, you and I. Time has no hold upon our ilk, but it will wither and wear upon your pet, and it can also change much. Just promise me that, if you need me, you will not hesitate. I will always be a call away, Taiko. I always have been." Her hands lifted, moving to the back of her throat, to remove the catch of the dark chain that held his ring at her throat. Instead of letting the ring glide off it, she extended it - chain and all - toward him. It had been in her possession long enough for her to forge her own link to the unlikely artifact. It would suffice to summon her.. and, despite the pain, she managed a wane farce of a smile.
"Place it on your finger once more, if you ever desire to find me. Otherwise, I will keep my distance, and continue on with my life, and my Debt. As best I can." The final statement, the admittance that held the most weight - the comprehension, utter and complete, of what she was losing. Of what, indeed, she had already lost.
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I'm sick of dial tones, of empty words and emptier smiles. Sick of feeling as though my every breath is numbing my world further, draining it of color, creating for myself a watered down and grayscale hell. I'm sick of living a life in denial. Pretending that dry ashes and weak flame are a sufficient hearth for passion.
I'm sick of those who pretend they care.
I've been feeling violent, of late. The sensation is foreign and hot, something ticking like a timer in my blood, beating out the countdown to the pace of my pulse. Tick, tick, tick --- it's still going, regrettably consistent, voraciously building toward a climax I wouldn't inflict on my worst enemy. I've never felt this possessed by my mania, never this destructive and volatile. I look for excuses to set fire to the fuse, and I lash out at those that might comfort.
I crave their pain, because I hurt. Because deep inside, beneath the fangs and the claws, beyond the barriers I reconstruct with every day that bleeds past, I want what I cannot have. I desire, I need, I crave. And I suffer.
And this morning, at 5:45 AM, I stood alone on a bridge blocks from my adopted home, and cried my heart into the Charles as the sun broke the horizon. Burning the heavens in fire - in blood and gold.
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"...
Journal Entry #1 ... date unknown
I get lost when I follow shadows.
The shadows came and beckoned me. If I didn't follow them they'd leave me behind. And I'd be alone. I know when I left reality. I know when I learned I couldn't go back. So now I am here - where you cannot die. Where you cannot bleed.
Here the rain falls backwards, from the soil to the sky. Here the clocks tock before they tick. Here spiders wander about to unweave webs of unknown origin. Here the demons roam the light and the blessed the dark.
Here your inhales drain things to black and white, and your exhale colors them again. Here voices are caused by echoes. Here your tears burn. Here screaming the loudest you can makes the silence stronger, deafening.
Here is the dead end. I'll never die, but I'll never live. Because of them. Because I watched them dance, I listened to them call, I yearned to be someone wanted and welcomed. And I went with them.
Don't follow shadows.
Journal Entry #2 ... date unknown
I found a way back to reality.
My time there is limited. But I can return to people, return to the sanity. The shadows follow me, like kidnappers behind a child waiting for it to stray too far from the parents. They do not stop me from going, but they make me come back.
Here in reality things feel different. I see people, I know now they are people. These people were born, like me. Each of them had a mother, a father. While I walk this way, they walk the other in their busy life. Succeeding and failing. Like me.
How many do not know when they get home their parent has died today? That their friend has been beaten and raped? How many remember that those bodies around them are real. That these people have homes too, emotions, love, losses ...
Why has it taken me this long to notice people? All of them have thoughts! Desires! They're so real, so different . . . It's all so much sometimes that I can't take it.
So sometimes I follow shadows again.
..."
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See me.
I am not where you think.
As I walk among you,
You hunger, and know not why.
I'm your inexplicability.
Want me.
I am not forbidden to your caress.
Your eyes enfold me as your hands cannot,
Until,
You drag me close.
Command me.
But it is not I whom you touch.
Call me Desire,
And know I will fill for you
Only your most secret needs.
Fear me.
For I am not what you see.
Ecstasy will meld your body to mine.
The taste of your skin,
the scent of your blood,
the texture of your flesh in my mouth
fulfills me;
sates me.
We tangle in passion's threads.
We are what we hunger for.
Poem's dedicated to a new rp character. A Vila. A link to her site, for the curious.
http://www.freewebs.com/sly_aesthetic/silent_reverie/index.html
All the writing's mine. The slavic myth ties were bare bones that I ran with, so if you're familiar with the original concept of the vila, don't expect much to have survived. o_o
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There’s something in your gaze
That blinds. My eyes drink through prisms.
I want to hold you, your heart in hand,
And let the sleeves be, for now.
These briars and thorns that keep at bay
Every gentler thought
That paws and slinks in desperation
-- In vain search for an inlet -
Demand the errant use of mind
Or machete.
Hack and harm, until their roots curl
And wither, bleeding black,
Despairing of their crimes and yielding
Before a seraph’s tentative touch.
Be what my eyes know of you,
And let me swallow you down like
Icicle tears, drunk on the morning sunrise.
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I’ve dug fingers marrow deep
Into your dirty past,
Letting the masochist breathe out
With plumes of silk and smog.
If I press my ear to wooden floors
And steal myself against the frost
I hear her voice
And find her bold footsteps in the dust.
If I waded through the hamper
And collapsed in filthy garments
--- Would I find her perfume?
The scent would sicken,
As though I can already taste it
Acrid and Gloating on your skin.
It smirks and simpers without
A sound.
I desire deafness, claw my ears and
Twist my tongue on carmine accusations.
It bleeds, and the copper tastes
Like resignation.
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Wednesday, May 17th, 2006
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[ So, excerpt from Absinthe's journal. I know I used to drop one here every so often, but got out of the habit once the SL got back in full swing. Now that Larry has the Unseen up and running again, she's been pacing my thoughts like a hawk. Whenever it's silent too long, I can see steel eyes in my head, hear the whisper of her movements. It's eerie, to have an assassin living in your scull, I promise.
This entry took place a "year" ago, right when she abandoned the Unseen in Validon and chose to leave Artemis behind. Eventually I'll update it with the most recent events (their reunion) but not yet.]
Fire knows the flickering deep in my bones,
Nothing to keep me from moving on -
This gypsy soul, this gypsy soul.
A butterfly over misty seas,
Always wandering and never settling,
This gypsy soul, this gypsy soul.
Only the winding road that I come from,
And a cold rain pouring for so long.
Still yearing for that lost place - the home where I belong.
There is something in the desert mirage that beckons me home. It has been nigh a year since last I let my eyes dawdle over these dunes, and I cannot help but hear voices in the wind, playing out my past in a symphony of words, faces, screams. Rather than fight the tide, I allow it to break over me, through me, frothing until it can drag back to sea the pain that bubbles to the surface from old wounds long cauterized by time. The voices evade familiarity, and the faces have been blurred by isolation - as though my canvas has lost color in my time away from this kaleidescopic chaos of a city.
Calimport. The name dwindles like a dream lost in the waking hours, replaced by a reality far removed.
I do not know why I choose to take up pen once more, to write of what has transpired since last I chose to divulge the secret world I inhabit by twilight. Validon seems foreign to me, now - I departed its shores wordlessly, a hired blade on a merchant ship bound for the mainlands that called to me like a Siren out at sea. When my sights once again befell the city of the Blackjack, I could feel restoration replaced by a conciliatory resignation, and knew better than to allow the quicksand politics to bog me long. I might never learn to breathe again. It was with Xavier that I had chosen to entrust Nightshade's care and livelihood, and my mount's elation was perhaps the sole vestige of hope on a long, black horizon.
A normal person would wake in cold sweat, from the dreams that haunt my nocturnal rest. Any gifted with sanity would cringe and cower, would be blind to anything but the blood that eternally soaks my hands - deafened by screams and pleas that my graphite heart dismissed. Yet I sleep soundly, enshrouded in a calm better reserved to the psychotic or the dead. My body, numb and overridden by disconnect, only dimly understands itself not to be of the latter category, yet my mind remains sharp and cold, calculating. Surely, insanity has not claimed it yet, either? But ultimately I knew that I could not fall into habit once more - not when demons watched from the darkness, when my angels had long forsaken the road I chose to walk. Nicoli understood what Xavier could not, on the day I vanished from their world. It was he who blocked my path as I allowed my Friesian to spirit me away into the lethal hours of gloaming, a launch for freedom. Nightshade wheeled, refusing to charge the stranger as he revealed himself familiar to me.
So painfully familiar, in a manner that a rare few are. Every line of his body, every graceful curve and hard, muscular angle, is one I could retrace from memory. An Adonis, deadly as curare and brilliant as the setting sun, he was the light to my darkness, the well-wielded sword by noon to my dagger in the night.
"Flying from us so soon, Nightingale?"
His voice was a blade sheathed in velvet - it made you shiver, but it would have required little effort for it to cut bone-deep. Nightshade pawed his impatience, and my explanation remained terse. Eventually, for the price of my pride, he permitted me my just escape. And it was into the early dawn that I vanished, without a direction to my name. No contracts would I take, no marks and hits or payment. For a year from this day, I would follow a road alone, and seek the single thing that eluded all.
Myself.
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I woke with the sunrise and found the sheets were cold,
Scrawled with apologies countless hours old
Bitter with the semblance of what we can't possess,
A "never" in the twilight that words cannot confess.
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Wednesday, April 26th, 2006
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If all the clocks whose hands I stopped
Adorned my walls and mantle,
And time (thus bended) held suspended
Through home and heart unfickle;
Were cursèd calendars left strung
No matter month, nor year,
And diaries left hangman-hung
On dates no longer near;
If naught of lofty import
Was deigned on night or day,
This carousel of black and rain
Might still to where it may.
Thus, never moving toward
Anything, in future, cast,
I’ll cease to yet move forward so you’ll never be my past.
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Esta vida no me importa. Los días iban como un reloj, con una fuerza patética.
I feel torn between two lives. There are two people I want to be, two visions I need to slip into like a second skin, to fill and fulfil for a sake that is never my own.
I don't understand who I'm living for, anymore. I cry almost daily, until the emptiness finds something to fill it, until I feel dry and dehydrated -- it's as though each tear was a confession I hadn't the guts to speak aloud to any but an empty room. I don't understand how I hold the smiles. I have no personal esteem, no ego but the false one I favor, yet I can impress myself with my own acting. It's never flawless, but it never has to be. The smile holds as though carved from marble, even if I have permission to be human.
I just wish I had permission to give up. That, just for a day, I might learn what it means to worry only about myself: my health, my pain, my thoughts ---- my dreams.
And the sacrifice is always for nothing, because - of all the things that are broken around me, of all the people nursing their own wounds -- I can't save a single one. I just offer them a smile, transitory, anesthesia that - like all things - eventually fades.
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Tuesday, March 28th, 2006
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Don't flinch when innocents are dancing with the flame -
If they wanted to live, they'd learn to play the game.
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Thursday, March 23rd, 2006
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They lie, when they say the darkest night ends in dawn.
The sun came up, but it was cold and unwelcoming. My throat was still dry, the glass of water at my bedside still as full as when I had turned in for sleep at some obscene, early hour of Wednesday morning. And now it was still Wednesday, and I realized that dawn matters little when the day is the same. The pain returned: the alcohol had been a temporary lethe at best.
The day dragged by like unoiled clockwork, all hard edges and painful creaks and cranks. I feel deflated, dizzy with a disinterest that claws at my muse and kills my dreams by daylight and darkness both. It hunts them, calculated and cold, more methodical than my highest capacities can brag of.
I find myself staring at my cell phone periodically, wishing for the call that will awaken me. I eat alone, for sustenance rather than enjoyment. Everything is bland and unremarkable, my surroundings bleeding gray and drab beneath the critical indifference of my regard. I called up David for dinner, because I couldn't tolerate another puppeted meal with Julian and Xin, smiling as though something isn't already dead between us, its rotting stench curdling in my nose the longer I hold the front. I barely ate half of a quesadilla I usually devour like a last meal for the doomed, hardly tasting the guava soda before discarding both. He leaves for lab, and I stray into The Garage, sitting at a corner table and once again turning my phone over in my hand. It's a lifeline I don't particularly deserve, putting faith in something that has little respect for instabilities, emotion or circumstance. I call Sue, but her phone is off, and I let silence drag and record on her voicemail before hanging up without a word. Kareem was busy, and I didn't press. Something in the day had taken out the fight, robbed me of usually hard-won persistence to leave something tired and deprecated in its wake. I caved, and called Julian's room, but there is no answer - when I didn't return as promised, they went to dinner without me.
I flipped through my phonebook as those of questionable faith must flip through the Bible, searching for the reassurance they crave. I called George, poignantly lethargic for some semblance of a home I no longer even consider mine. We talk for half an hour, and I eat up the forgetfulness he offers like something heaven sent. But he has to leave, eventually. I call up Shan, and another forty five minutes leak away as I struggle with my own demons, even as I play therapist to hers. I escape in the problems of others, of late. I moved Sue to tears, in a random hallway of a random dorm when she came to me with problems, and I offered her a new way of finding light in the thick of nightfall.
But I cannot carry my own lantern. I have matches to offer around, but I have nothing to strike my own on. Nothing with which to draw the sparks I need like oxygen.
I gave up on the phone as the heretic eventually forsakes religion. It was vacuous, and offered nothing but empty promises. I curled away, because I could do nothing else. I stopped reaching out, because I realized - blindly, miserably - that no one wanted to reach back. Somewhere beneath the skin, a pulsepoint froze, and ceased. I don't know what it led to, or what I've lost, but I'm blinded by the ache - the darkness - it has left in its place.
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I feel ravaged by circumstance.
I watch you, eat you alive
In your ignorance.
The shadows between us make a mockery
Of our borders,
Melding and mating, lewd and overlooked.
I'm devastated by silence.
I'm wishing your lips would
Form the words I need to hear,
(morphene for these wounds)
Or allow me to make them all the
More impossible and irrelevant
(why waste the breath we've so little of.)
I want to drag you to a world
Where languange is cumbersome,
Tongues more gifted in
Idleness than speech.
Where you'll recognize,
Like lightning loosed,
Or rich and consuming wildfire,
That the one thing you might miss
In your life
Is that which you're hastening to
abandon,
And that it's possible to say goodbye
Without ever saying a
Word.
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prurient_muse's journal
cynical.
cold.
quixotic.