Its been two days since she told me about him, and Im starting to get sick again. Head screaming, heart pounding, throat cut with razors and barbed wire, I can feel the blood dripping down my throat, but I cant stop poisoning myself for one day, one hour, one second. It cant stop this train to self destruction, full speed ahead and there will be no delays. There is no light now. I can feel my skin crawling, bugs, foraging under my skin, looking for sustenance in my emaciated frame. Ive lost 20 pounds in the last month and theyre still scavenging, gathering from the dumpster that is me. But theres nothing left, no hope and no food. I have golf balls in my throat, massive and swelling, pulsating, pumping, churning, oozing masses of disease through my ravaged carcass. Its only a matter of time before the vultures come. Im so goddamn cold, freezing in my sweat, wrapped in an invisible blanket that cant keep me warm. The smoke rolls from a cigarette that refuses to die, fighting, valiantly, for its last carcinogenic breath. It burns and smells like hell. Hes sitting next to me right now, staring, willing me to acknowledge him, screaming for attention. He has a smell now, I can feel his breath. Its perfumed with stale cigarettes and apathy. His voice echoes inside my head like a bad dream. Its sweet though, his voice, poisoned lilac, it reminds me of my grandmother. Growing like a cancer to my heart, infecting me, slowing my blood, embracing me with self loathing and doubt. Nothing can be real, Im fading. I still dont know his name. He wont tell it to me, he says itll give me too much power over him, and he reminds me that he has all the power. He caresses my shoulder assuring me of his absolute credulity. Hes the only who cares, the only one who knows me, because whether or not I like it, he is me, a part of me unfettered by emotional ties, free from obligations. He never sleeps and he never stops looking right through me. His eyes are beautiful though, evolving, never static, changing color and depth, theyre intoxicating. The kind of eyes that make you believe there is a god ... just like hers used to be, before they faded, before she changed and became ugly to me, before she broke my heart. His cologne is something indistinct, mottled by soap, aftershave, smoke and hate. I can see him becoming more defined, less hazy everyday. Hes becoming more real than I am. Maybe hes taking a pill to get rid of me instead of the other way around. Empty bars create the best atmosphere for thinking. The noise in my head fades to the background with Lou Rawls and his merry little Christmas. I can actually hear my heart skipping beats. Feel the blood in my veins slowing then speeding up again. Mom heard me talking to him today while I was doing laundry. She asked who I was talking to and I said no one. But I saw it in her eyes. I could feel her heart breaking, I know now that she must have been watching me for a while. I think people are more worried about how theyre gonna deal with me and how theyre gonna feel. Hes laughing now, that low smirk just above under your breath, that you do when you think of a snide comment and you want everyone to know but when youre asked you still say nothing. God this song makes me want to drowned puppies and kill unborn babies, jay-walk, litter, avoid jury duty, and steal wheelchairs. I want to leave.
It used to be so magical to watch her move. She was like a cloud dancing in some serene lake. Graceful but violent, like a dying leaf falling, but carrying a chainsaw. Screaming like a virtuoso. So savage in its purity. You cant hold on to something like that for too long, like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. Or maybe I was just blind. Shes even beautiful in her irritation, or at least I think she used to be.
She used to be everything to me but the more I watch the more I hate. And I cant stop thinking this is all her fault. I watch her move and all I can see now is him. Shes not mine anymore and I wonder if she ever truly was. Shes wearing all black how fitting soulless, uncaring and completely selfish. I used to love her so much. She looks at me and I know shes thinking of him, that Im just a memory an obstacle something that shell just get rid of soon. But I still smile, I cant let her know what Im thinking. I hate waiting for her I always have, this place makes me feel uncomfortable, one of those chain restaurants, with shit on the walls to make it look casually classy, old ads for cigarettes and long forgotten movie stars, coat racks, mirrors, and bad wood work. The lights are dimmed to hide the dirt and filth. I feel like Im five years old again and fifteen minutes has become an entire decade.
Its raining outside, that shitty slush rain it does this time of year, it makes every movement excruciating, I have no physical defenses left to the cold, and the fact that Im still sweating bullets doesnt help at all. Shes always in such a shitty mood after work even though she leaves laughing at something, maybe its me, she says its not, but its becoming harder to believe her. God I fucking hate that restaurant smell, like sweat and flour and oil, all the half finished meals that people pay for and leave behind, and all those odors are vying for my attention, choking my sickness. Shes staring out the window and he tells me shes thinking about him, but I already knew that, he just like to make me hurt. Every time I get behind the wheel I wonder about how fast Id have to go to kill myself purely from deceleration, how much speed would it take to just turn my insides to mush, I laugh to myself and hit a patch of ice.
My tires are bald so there isnt much I can do but spin and laugh, the inside of the car looks like a horrible disco from the flashing lights of oncoming cars, and all I can do is laugh, but all she can do is scream. I keep thinking how much I love this feeling, how being so close to death makes you feel alive, heart racing, full of super human strength, but you still have absolutely no control. Yet I find myself praying for a passenger side collision so I can watch her die and laugh in her face, ask her how it feels, and if she thinks she deserves this. The car rights itself and I just sit there for a minute, in the middle of the freeway, cars blazing past, horns screaming, I cant see anything through the window and when I look at her shes still crying, so I smile and start driving again.
Its the middle of the night and my chest is full, pressure building, infinitely dense, massive and painful like breathing cold water. Im shrinking inside my skin but remaining the same size, fluttering, skipping the beat, falling out of rhythm out of sync, the music is gone but the body remains. Hands cold and clammy shaking but not nervous just tired. There is a nail being driven into the back of my skull, piercing my memories, blurring images, losing time. My stomach is empty and burning. Shit inked skin and moss, breathing in algae thick soup. Air that doesnt matter because it gets lost on the way, like breathing cement dust, collecting becoming solid concrete living tissue turned cold and hard. I want to scream but shes still sleeping, this is not hers, and I dont think she can comfort me anymore, anyway. Shes lying right next to me but looks so far away, Im wondering if I should wake her, maybe I should just go to the hospital by myself, fuck her. It hurts to say that, because I love her so much, I need her but she doesnt need me anymore, I built this bed, it was a present for valentines day, our bed, and I cant stop wondering how long itll be before its theirs. She finally wakes up as Im putting on my shoes, that groggy half eyed look she does when shes been pretending to sleep.
Whats wrong?
Nothing, Im just gonna go for a walk, Ill be back in a little bit.
You, sure?
Yeah, go back to bed. but when I stand up my legs decide they dont want to help and I collapse, the room wont stop spinning and I swear I can feel my heart just stop. I think I should go to the hospital.
She looks at me and I wonder if shes genuinely concerned. Theres just something about her face that makes me doubt.
Do you want me to come? Im hoping she didnt ask it like that because she doesnt want to.
Only, if you want to. This power struggle sickens me, constantly seeking self affirmation through someone who doesnt really want me anymore. She stares at me for a minute and I can tell shes trying not to cry, but shes not moving either just staring. Please just come with me, I want to say it so bad but I dont. I want to hug her so bad but I dont. So I just stand there and wait.
Let me get dressed and well go. Shes feigning the exhaustion in her voice.
Fine, but please hurry. she takes forever to do anything.
God its cold outside, must be like twelve degrees and the car isnt much better. The drive is all a blur to me, like someone fast forwarding life and theres to much static to get a clear grasp of anything. The only thing Im sure of is that I exist and that this seat is exerting an equal and opposite reaction upon my person. My brain has become a carnival with so many sounds and voices that its impossible to focus on one thought, and they wont stop shouting.
The waiting area in the emergency room is dead, bad pun, the TV is playing an old Star Trek episode with bad special effects, and it smells like disease. The lady behind the bullet proof glass looks tired and worn. Her eyes show me that shes much younger than she looks, and that is her pain. Her name tag tells me her name is Suzanne, shes human now, and I suddenly have this overwhelming urge to embrace her but I dont, I remain cold and distant.
Whats your emergency? the faintest hint of concern, is quickly erased.
I... think Im.... having.... a heart.......... attack. its almost impossible to form a complete sentence now. My blood feels like ice. I need a cigarette.
Well, fill out this paper work and someone will be right with you. (Three hours from now), she smiles and hands me a clipboard. Just have a seat right over there.
I keep thinking to myself what a horrible place to die, indistinguishable stains covering the worn carpet, the smell of tears and echoes of anguish this place is hell. And I swear these chairs are designed to make you feel like something bad is about to happen, as if the discomfort they cause is the perfect foreshadowing.
Shes laying in my lap now but she still hasnt said a word since we left her apartment. Her eyes are closed but I doubt shes sleeping.
and then i get lost so thats the end for now...
It used to be so magical to watch her move. She was like a cloud dancing in some serene lake. Graceful but violent, like a dying leaf falling, but carrying a chainsaw. Screaming like a virtuoso. So savage in its purity. You cant hold on to something like that for too long, like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. Or maybe I was just blind. Shes even beautiful in her irritation, or at least I think she used to be.
She used to be everything to me but the more I watch the more I hate. And I cant stop thinking this is all her fault. I watch her move and all I can see now is him. Shes not mine anymore and I wonder if she ever truly was. Shes wearing all black how fitting soulless, uncaring and completely selfish. I used to love her so much. She looks at me and I know shes thinking of him, that Im just a memory an obstacle something that shell just get rid of soon. But I still smile, I cant let her know what Im thinking. I hate waiting for her I always have, this place makes me feel uncomfortable, one of those chain restaurants, with shit on the walls to make it look casually classy, old ads for cigarettes and long forgotten movie stars, coat racks, mirrors, and bad wood work. The lights are dimmed to hide the dirt and filth. I feel like Im five years old again and fifteen minutes has become an entire decade.
Its raining outside, that shitty slush rain it does this time of year, it makes every movement excruciating, I have no physical defenses left to the cold, and the fact that Im still sweating bullets doesnt help at all. Shes always in such a shitty mood after work even though she leaves laughing at something, maybe its me, she says its not, but its becoming harder to believe her. God I fucking hate that restaurant smell, like sweat and flour and oil, all the half finished meals that people pay for and leave behind, and all those odors are vying for my attention, choking my sickness. Shes staring out the window and he tells me shes thinking about him, but I already knew that, he just like to make me hurt. Every time I get behind the wheel I wonder about how fast Id have to go to kill myself purely from deceleration, how much speed would it take to just turn my insides to mush, I laugh to myself and hit a patch of ice.
My tires are bald so there isnt much I can do but spin and laugh, the inside of the car looks like a horrible disco from the flashing lights of oncoming cars, and all I can do is laugh, but all she can do is scream. I keep thinking how much I love this feeling, how being so close to death makes you feel alive, heart racing, full of super human strength, but you still have absolutely no control. Yet I find myself praying for a passenger side collision so I can watch her die and laugh in her face, ask her how it feels, and if she thinks she deserves this. The car rights itself and I just sit there for a minute, in the middle of the freeway, cars blazing past, horns screaming, I cant see anything through the window and when I look at her shes still crying, so I smile and start driving again.
Its the middle of the night and my chest is full, pressure building, infinitely dense, massive and painful like breathing cold water. Im shrinking inside my skin but remaining the same size, fluttering, skipping the beat, falling out of rhythm out of sync, the music is gone but the body remains. Hands cold and clammy shaking but not nervous just tired. There is a nail being driven into the back of my skull, piercing my memories, blurring images, losing time. My stomach is empty and burning. Shit inked skin and moss, breathing in algae thick soup. Air that doesnt matter because it gets lost on the way, like breathing cement dust, collecting becoming solid concrete living tissue turned cold and hard. I want to scream but shes still sleeping, this is not hers, and I dont think she can comfort me anymore, anyway. Shes lying right next to me but looks so far away, Im wondering if I should wake her, maybe I should just go to the hospital by myself, fuck her. It hurts to say that, because I love her so much, I need her but she doesnt need me anymore, I built this bed, it was a present for valentines day, our bed, and I cant stop wondering how long itll be before its theirs. She finally wakes up as Im putting on my shoes, that groggy half eyed look she does when shes been pretending to sleep.
Whats wrong?
Nothing, Im just gonna go for a walk, Ill be back in a little bit.
You, sure?
Yeah, go back to bed. but when I stand up my legs decide they dont want to help and I collapse, the room wont stop spinning and I swear I can feel my heart just stop. I think I should go to the hospital.
She looks at me and I wonder if shes genuinely concerned. Theres just something about her face that makes me doubt.
Do you want me to come? Im hoping she didnt ask it like that because she doesnt want to.
Only, if you want to. This power struggle sickens me, constantly seeking self affirmation through someone who doesnt really want me anymore. She stares at me for a minute and I can tell shes trying not to cry, but shes not moving either just staring. Please just come with me, I want to say it so bad but I dont. I want to hug her so bad but I dont. So I just stand there and wait.
Let me get dressed and well go. Shes feigning the exhaustion in her voice.
Fine, but please hurry. she takes forever to do anything.
God its cold outside, must be like twelve degrees and the car isnt much better. The drive is all a blur to me, like someone fast forwarding life and theres to much static to get a clear grasp of anything. The only thing Im sure of is that I exist and that this seat is exerting an equal and opposite reaction upon my person. My brain has become a carnival with so many sounds and voices that its impossible to focus on one thought, and they wont stop shouting.
The waiting area in the emergency room is dead, bad pun, the TV is playing an old Star Trek episode with bad special effects, and it smells like disease. The lady behind the bullet proof glass looks tired and worn. Her eyes show me that shes much younger than she looks, and that is her pain. Her name tag tells me her name is Suzanne, shes human now, and I suddenly have this overwhelming urge to embrace her but I dont, I remain cold and distant.
Whats your emergency? the faintest hint of concern, is quickly erased.
I... think Im.... having.... a heart.......... attack. its almost impossible to form a complete sentence now. My blood feels like ice. I need a cigarette.
Well, fill out this paper work and someone will be right with you. (Three hours from now), she smiles and hands me a clipboard. Just have a seat right over there.
I keep thinking to myself what a horrible place to die, indistinguishable stains covering the worn carpet, the smell of tears and echoes of anguish this place is hell. And I swear these chairs are designed to make you feel like something bad is about to happen, as if the discomfort they cause is the perfect foreshadowing.
Shes laying in my lap now but she still hasnt said a word since we left her apartment. Her eyes are closed but I doubt shes sleeping.
and then i get lost so thats the end for now...