A slow burn down my throat
Toxins warming my chest
Darkness
Music
Two eyes melting into the half-life of whatever went down the hatch
The entire face of the night wears a droopy demon, angry against the grain of the medicine
An red-hot blade sears into the leftover muscle used to drive it in
Nodding a lazy head along to whatever shuffles on the speaker
Watching the clock in anticipation for the rest to kick in
Losing control of limbs, just as planned
Pulsing pain everywhere
It all can't be felt in your head if you dig it into your skin, your muscles, your veins.
Over and over and over and over
back and forth and back and forth
then the strange rapture of bleeding out
Relief...
Nothing.
Black.
Silence.
Oblivion.
Solice.
Death.
A new year's eve
Driving at night with the windows down and heater on, it's 4 degrees out. I'd gotten better and better at driving with the weight of nicotine in my lip. I remembered I didn't have a curfew, and that going to bed on time hinged on having to wake up for something but I don't have anything to wake up for.
I don't have anything to wake up for.
So I'll sleep until 4 and wake to texts I don't want to read or reply to.
My hands tremor at how much I'd rather be fucked up on something.
Just to forget for another moment.
Forget I have a body.
Forget that it's winter.
Forget the grip of vice.
Forget the looming pressure of expectation.
Forget that I'm living in a van not by choice anymore.
Help me forget for a while.
Forget I have a body.
Forget that it's winter.
Forget the grip of vice.
Forget the looming pressure of expectation.
Forget that I'm living in a van not by choice anymore.
Help me forget for a while.
I look around me and see absolute suffering.
My family and friends suffering absolutely.
I've watched my father become an old man.
Someday I'll see my mother become an old maid.
In this juxtaposition in life, I'm found wanting someone that has been so toxic to me.
Now I'm drifting away...
In this existential prison, I see "god will give me justice" traced over in a ritual insanity.
That's what I am now, a prisoner to my own mortality.
Reminded that nothing will go away unless you're fucked up or dead.
Drifting away...
New years eve I'll spend alone, watching my journey come to an end by the bottom of whatever glass I wash away my pain with.
Cheers.
Reminded that nothing will go away unless you're fucked up or dead.
Drifting away...
New years eve I'll spend alone, watching my journey come to an end by the bottom of whatever glass I wash away my pain with.
Cheers.
Vice Grip.
A slum of a home I've built.
Remembering that what awaits me is the pt. 2 of my isolation.
Remembering that what's inside of me is angry.
A feeling I threw into my left arm which I can only vaguely recall.
Something is tired inside of me and wishes to sleep.
My heart is bruised and beaten at how many times you've dropped it.
At how many times I've dropped it.
I'm cheap.
Love was in Pandora's box.
To which when opened unleashed exactly what I knew to be inside: Mistrust
I've lost my mind to a vice grip.
I'm certain it'll kill me one way or another, a time in short order.
Van-Lagged
I have regularly been awake till 5 am every night since coming home. It's like having altitude sickness, the way I can't sleep in a regular bed. My body is used to 5 degrees. I haven't much seen the sun in a long while. To some extent, this vacation is exhausting. I've come home to see people who won't make time for me. I want to be back in the cold, so much so that I'm considering not signing a housing contract for the winter.
Tomorrow I'm going to leave cell service, somewhere I'll need to dig out of to leave. Somewhere nobody could reach me, even if they tried, however unlikely. I'm going to sit on my chair outside the van and let the cold reach my bones the way I've come to know all too well. I'll cuss at my predicament in the cold and fall asleep at a decent time. I'll see my breath curl above me and I'll shrink to conserve my heat.
I've become van-lagged. I've raised my expectations of others..... I expect them to have missed me to the same extent that I've missed them--spending so many hours talking to myself. We've lived in separate worlds where they're trained to expect conversation every time they round a corner. So when I ask for an hour of their time I watch their eyes dart for excuses, often shown rather only by their "read receipt" by text.
This is the second break I've come home and wanted again to be alone and braving the ice in the van. I have been institutionalized by this life I chose. These people don't understand what it means to have company, always being so quick to excuse themselves with priorities. As self-obsessed as this will seem-- they are all taking me for granted, and tomorrow will take me back into the cold.
Sincerely,
The one who wouldn't ever let you down.
.
Tomorrow I'm going to leave cell service, somewhere I'll need to dig out of to leave. Somewhere nobody could reach me, even if they tried, however unlikely. I'm going to sit on my chair outside the van and let the cold reach my bones the way I've come to know all too well. I'll cuss at my predicament in the cold and fall asleep at a decent time. I'll see my breath curl above me and I'll shrink to conserve my heat.
I've become van-lagged. I've raised my expectations of others..... I expect them to have missed me to the same extent that I've missed them--spending so many hours talking to myself. We've lived in separate worlds where they're trained to expect conversation every time they round a corner. So when I ask for an hour of their time I watch their eyes dart for excuses, often shown rather only by their "read receipt" by text.
This is the second break I've come home and wanted again to be alone and braving the ice in the van. I have been institutionalized by this life I chose. These people don't understand what it means to have company, always being so quick to excuse themselves with priorities. As self-obsessed as this will seem-- they are all taking me for granted, and tomorrow will take me back into the cold.
Sincerely,
The one who wouldn't ever let you down.
.
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