Excerpt #10

There is anger in her.

The kind that's been held for too long, and it is now spilling out of her.
There she is, kneeling on the wooden floor of her bedroom, rifling through a dark, wooden box. She keeps opening pieces of paper, reading them and then tearing them into confetti. Occasionally she burns things. One time she does both. She's trying to rid herself of all the things that have been destroying her.
Photos, quotes, poems, writing, ideas, plans and pills, bandaids, lyrics, memories.
She has a soundtrack playing loudly so she doesn't need to think. She keeps going until there are only three things left in the box. A neatly folded piece of paper. A photo. And a now-blank notepad.
She puts everything else into a glass jar. The jar is filled with paper and water and ash and ink. She thinks she is free.

In a few days she'll realise the jar is still in her room, she'll want to get rid of it, but she won't.

photos.

I don't know what happens next.

curiousity killed the cat, repeatedly

If insanity is the fire then drinking is the match.
And in my eagerness to see the room I'm standing in, I keep believing I will be able to light a candle.
Even though all I can smell is gas.

Fuck.

Waking



photo.   

The thing is, she had realised she was asleep. After more than 6 months, by an almost-year, she had realised and often consoled herself with the fact that all sleeping things must wake (and if not it is said to be the best way to go, dying in your sleep). And I know that when you realise it is a dream you are meant to be able to control what happens, and she tried -I swear she did- but she found the dream slowly fell into a nightmare around her. And a part of her relished the fact that she was slowly losing faith, that she had lost control. So she dreamt.
She dreamt she was running from something she couldn't escape
                               suffocating                              
                               being torn apart
                               lost in the wind                              
                               and the whole time falling, falling, falling,
and then, just before she hit the ground, she woke up.
                              
                         

Possession

photo.  

it envelops her once more
tucking her up
neat and trapped
inside its suffocating fragile embrace
a frosted gaze
unnoticed glazed
look betrays her
as her heavy mind catches alight
dangerous rampant sparks
tease the blackening white
of her papery cage
the corners furl
forgotten smoke pressing on her
she reaches out
now she's burning those near
and fear takes hold
of her frayed reins
soon she'll have no control
she's running in and out of ways
to make this right
she'd try to warn
anyone who tries to stay
but she's lost hold
her mind's ablaze

nights



photo.  

Moments flicker
twist
jump
into and out of one another
you are at a party
by the bonfire
at the sink
talking to bella
fallon
peter
on the phone
you are
refusing
giving in
failing to hold yesterday's convictions
by yourself
quiet
still laughing
looking in the mirror at someone else's life
buttery fingers try to hold on to awareness
it slips away again
in a car
walking
talking
trying to act
how you normally act
talking too quietly in an attempt
to ease suspicion
you are sneaking back in to your house
trying not to trip
you are in bed
trying to fall asleep
you are sneaking back in again
at the party again
looking at your blood-shot eyes again
wondering what you're doing, again.
You get the feeling
that you are skipping through moments that are grouped together
-moments that are happening always-
as you try and fail
to stay in the present.

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.

photo.  

Who's to say that

dreams and nightmares

aren't as real as the

here and now?

-John Lennon

let it go

  dont worry about what it is or if it means anything
dont you get it?
the best things mean nothing
the happiest people dont think
they dont know
dont care

dont you get it?
Madame de Stael was wrong
The greatest happiness isn't to transform one's feelings into action.


the greatest happiness is to stop feeling
stop thinking
but keep acting

IGNORANCE IS BLISS
people are lonely
the world is fucked up
you will never be happy not really

and if you really think, really feel, it will be too much
you will lose yourself
(and if you don't lose yourself you aren't doing it right. if you don't lose yourself you're already doing this, subconsciously)

but if you act without thinking
without considering
others

you might catch a glimpse of happiness

because someone's always going to be unhappy
someone's always dying or crying
someone's always laughing
but it doesn't concern you

let it go
because empathy can squeeze your throat so tight you suffocate

and noone wants that

not really

photo.   

Ignore it, I dare you:

this is your future.

Bad dreams.

photo.   

photo.  

“You’re all tangled up in other people. Their expectations have become the expectations you have for yourself. Their worries have become your worries. Their dreams are slowly becoming your nightmares. you are not other people.”   —deafeningsilence