The Beginning of the End

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The fluorescent light from the bathroom presses greys and blues into the shadows of the darkened room. I'm lacing our fingers under the duvet.
"Maybe two weeks." He says.
"You're kidding!" I react, "Please- tell me that you're kidding!"
"I'm joking," he laughs, "maybe three months- maybe more."
I smile at him. "I can't imagine sleeping with anyone else."
"Me neither."
I kiss his hand.
"I don't want to break up yet." His last word dominates the sentence. My stomach hurts.
"Me neither."
As we lie against one another I contemplate the shift that has occurred between us. For the first time in a long time I can feel the edges of myself. For the first time in my memory, I feel lonely.
"I love you." He says, it sounds different. For reasons I don't fully understand I want to cry. I can't see his face in the dark but I can feel his gaze, he's waiting.
"I love you, too."Is it me or does it sound lighter?
My cunt is still wet with his saliva.



In six months I will break up with you. And I will wait two weeks.  It will mean something. 

Promise

Don't forget to look up once in a while.

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Force yourself to.

fighterfighterfighter

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i have this humming in the back of my brain
to remind me i'm not dead

maybe if i etch it into each rib it will be true

Awake

I want things again.
Plural.
And I really want them, I care about them, I have enough energy to try and get them.
So this is about all the things I want, to remind me if I ever forget again.

I want to dye my hair hot pink

I want to appreciate people and personalities



I want to finish the HSC and do well, not because I need to but so I can be proud of myself

I want to kiss someone who I actually care about

and when I do I don't want to be numbed

I want to act

I want to read

I want to write

I want to travel

I want to meet people

I want to experience

I want to fight for who and what I believe in

even if that means breaking the rules sometimes

I really want to remember the inherent goodness of humanity

even if it's hard to see sometimes

And honestly, part of me

wants to go back

but not for a bit

And until then, I want to remind others about what I so easily forgot

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Thank you for everything

You all helped me a lot.

the seacret



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As a child, she already understood the concept of sacrifice, of having to give up things in order to hold onto yourself.
As a liberated five year-old she threw handfuls of sand into the ocean, thinking that's what the sea ate. She scared herself with the thought that, if she stopped throwing clumps of sand into the ocean, she would pay.
So she called out to it, reassured it, tried to calm it almost. This raging, out-of-control, passionate monster that constantly threatened to engulf her sandy self.
Sometimes, she thought it was fighting a never-ending battle with the shore, the quiet, passive shore. But mostly she thought it was just lonely, that it was really fighting itself -punishing itself for a deed so old it had forgotten all but the hatred.

not for a while now

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How do you feel?
-Tangible

Excerpt #7

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She hadn't eaten anything for breakfast. That's the first thing you need to know.
And she was sad, that's the second.
That morning she had looked into the speckled mirror. She had taken her eyeliner and -hypnotised- drawn a curved line beneath each eye. She had smudged them until they blended with the real shadows under her eyes, the soft ones. Until she looked as tired and as unwell as she felt. After that, she had smiled.

Later, she walked to the bus-stop. The air was cold, it slipped past her many layers, seeped into her chest. The wind streamed through her ribs, tore inside of her. She felt like she had no body. She felt insubstantial. She decided it was better than the other feelings.

After the novelty had worn off, she would tire of it. She always does.

then

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In my younger years I used to say hello a lot.
I would write it repeatedly on a piece of paper,
Speak it quietly when lying in bed at night,
Scream it when I was at an empty beach.
I wasn't waiting for someone to reply or
for someone to hear me
though sometimes I suppose I was.
It was more that I was revelling in the pointless beauty of the word.
It's complete lack of meaning.
I was proving to myself that although
we place so much importance in communication
it is so empty, it so empty.

tub

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my hands are limp,
mute and white.
they float
against my naked body
occasionally nudging the bleached tub
their bones, sharp,
peer out at the bleak room
through a thin layer of film
almost kissing the air
they are contrasted by the-
contrasted.
i imagine the day
they will be contrasted
and i will have no eyes to see it.

your story

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Watery sunlight leaks through your curtains, your eyelids.

It will become apparent to you, maybe wake you.
Gradually and then suddenly.
You will tug at your limbs, that lie dead against the thin, the white sheets.

It will be easier to give up.
To lie in half darkness, to let it wrap you up in it's consuming warmth. To let it smother you. To stay there all day, longer.
And so you will. You will lie and sleep and doze in a murky haze of reality.
You will lose track of time.
Family, then friends will worry. And -even though none of them are bright enough, and those that are will be too bright, too artificial- they will want you to wake up. But no, all the while you will drag your heavy curtians shut tighter.

You will choose darkness. Because there is a kind of comfort. A familiarity in it.

You will choose darkness. Because for as long as you can remember, that's how you knew it would be.

You will choose darkness. Because that's how the story goes.

crazy

Last night I had a dream.

I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.



Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.


In each scene I notic

I dreamt I was talking to people, but they weren't making any sense.

I was walking through a courtyard and I would keep speaking to people-my friends, they spoke english but it was worded so strangely that I didn't know what they meant.

At first I thought they might have a thought disorder, but as more and more people didn't make sense I realised I must have the thought disorder, I was the crazy one.

And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

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Who's to say that

dreams and nightmares

aren't as real as the

here and now?

-John Lennon

darker

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if i could sleep

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i could sleep
(in or out of my head)
for a thousand years
in a thousand places
and still couldn't face
the tears
i would shed
if i were to keep
going.

i could sleep
for a thousand years
all for love
for goodness' sake
and still wouldn't be
asleep enough
to awake
from this travesty
(my mind is slowing).

i could sleep
for a thousand years
i'd cling to it like
my oldest friend
though he
(the little tyke)
would not send
to me
any replies.

if i could sleep
for a thousand years
i'd be left uninspired
mouth gagged in slumber's scream
as hours minutes seconds end
time would blend
with a watery dream
before my tired
eyes.

save yourself.

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if it's a monster
put it down
before it hurts somebody or hurts itself
(monsters can be reckless, you know)
it probably won't survive much longer anyhow

song

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your words,
    curl underneath my fingertips.


 as if to say
 perhaps one day
 you'll feel the same.

missing.

Ordinary, said Aunt Lydia, is what you are used to. This may not seem ordinary to you now, but after a time it will. It will become ordinary.
-The handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood.


What do you do when you've lost ordinary.
Because i have and now i don't know what to do.
I thought it would turn up eventually but it has been two weeks and i can't find it.
And if i do find it, who's to say i'll want it back?
 
 
 
Two weeks ago I had a life changing experience.

apparently.



but now i'm back in this dreary city
living exactly like i did before
pretending that it didn't.

change me

And when i act like it did people don't like it because they want me to keep being the person i was, but i don't want to pretend and i don't want to hurt my friends.
why are they mutually exclusive?

i would never take back this experience, but it's hard. sometimes.
when i'm not the same how can i continue doing the things the other me did.?

With love,

Here I go again.

Why do i hide and run away and cower?

Why can't i be happy with who i am and with my life?

Why do i always want more?

Why does my life always have to revolve around me?