i smell like violets and razor blades.
but i did clean the large drops of blood off the bathroom floor. i am clean but not relaxed.
i'm swallowed all my pills that just don't work any more. i need to up them. all of them. and am chasing those with a bit too much wine, i'd say.
ah well. i have to work tomorrow. i have to sleep somehow.
been seeing things. surprise. letters in the carpets at work. saying. "please." and that is all.
just. seeing things. my mania is up and going strong. up, up, up and then down. very down. terribly.down.
i moved here, above this embalming room, to get a piece of myself back. just a fraction, for now. just a bit. and i've been dreaming. of jules. some good. some. grotesque.
i wake up to the noise from the post office across the street. and stare at the ceiling until i can manage to take back what is mine.
rest.
still. i may be seeing things, but not the ones i necessarily wish. i feel jules but little else. i feel the lack of her. it's defeaning.
but. she makes me think of others. my beautiful carla shae with that shining, soft smile and fangs. the natural sort. i wake up some times and know that she is with me- unable to sleep and thinking of me as i am thinking of her. at night. dead hours. you know. there are many, many moments i would give any thing to be back in her bed, animals and all.
my fantastically mad soulmate, my rusted russ, with her tangled hair and irresistable mouth. when i am near her, my skin crawls with WANT. the want that means razor blades and butterfly needles and tubes. the one i'd let hang me from the ceiling and fuck me till i scream my voice away.
my baby bat, in dallas and wishing i could see him and lick his head.
i miss things. i miss many things. i have an entirely new life here and i hate it. it is small. and confined. and i can hardly breathe. but. perhaps another short year. or what's left of this one. i will sit it out. and then go. go with beck. go to russ. go back to texas. new orleans.
any where. just go.
i wish i could hear their voices. i wish i could hear hers. jules. you are the only picture on the dead wall, thus far. and you stare at me with expectancy.
i just wait to disappoint you, some how. still, though. i listen to your songs.
but i did clean the large drops of blood off the bathroom floor. i am clean but not relaxed.
i'm swallowed all my pills that just don't work any more. i need to up them. all of them. and am chasing those with a bit too much wine, i'd say.
ah well. i have to work tomorrow. i have to sleep somehow.
been seeing things. surprise. letters in the carpets at work. saying. "please." and that is all.
just. seeing things. my mania is up and going strong. up, up, up and then down. very down. terribly.down.
i moved here, above this embalming room, to get a piece of myself back. just a fraction, for now. just a bit. and i've been dreaming. of jules. some good. some. grotesque.
i wake up to the noise from the post office across the street. and stare at the ceiling until i can manage to take back what is mine.
rest.
still. i may be seeing things, but not the ones i necessarily wish. i feel jules but little else. i feel the lack of her. it's defeaning.
but. she makes me think of others. my beautiful carla shae with that shining, soft smile and fangs. the natural sort. i wake up some times and know that she is with me- unable to sleep and thinking of me as i am thinking of her. at night. dead hours. you know. there are many, many moments i would give any thing to be back in her bed, animals and all.
my fantastically mad soulmate, my rusted russ, with her tangled hair and irresistable mouth. when i am near her, my skin crawls with WANT. the want that means razor blades and butterfly needles and tubes. the one i'd let hang me from the ceiling and fuck me till i scream my voice away.
my baby bat, in dallas and wishing i could see him and lick his head.
i miss things. i miss many things. i have an entirely new life here and i hate it. it is small. and confined. and i can hardly breathe. but. perhaps another short year. or what's left of this one. i will sit it out. and then go. go with beck. go to russ. go back to texas. new orleans.
any where. just go.
i wish i could hear their voices. i wish i could hear hers. jules. you are the only picture on the dead wall, thus far. and you stare at me with expectancy.
i just wait to disappoint you, some how. still, though. i listen to your songs.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
i just. need a better schedule. i need to transfer homes. and then i need to come to lexington and have a motherfucking shot of some thing, or ten. cause justin, babe. i can't drink beer. it. tastes weird. but you can guzzle as many as you like!
i have to go back to work... sigh. so tired. headache for the fourth day in a row. yay. and. i need a part time job. i just don't know where with all the shit in my face.
hum.
any how. LOVELY OF YOU TO POST FOR ME. i like notes. they entertain me. and. make me think i exist, some times.
snicker. <3