Monday, 30 January 2012

055; I'm better without you.

You're gone and my heart feels lighter. I feel free.

Sometimes when you fall, you fly.

Maybe now I can finally begin a new life.
Time to do all the things I've always wanted to.

Saturday, 28 January 2012

054; Nail in my coffin.

You know what? Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you fuck, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you fuck.

Thursday, 26 January 2012

053; Hjartað stoppar, hreyfist ekki.

The cold winter creates little crystals on my window, a mountain landscape painted on glass, and if you look hard enough, or perhaps long enough, there's a star shining in the sky, and I wish I could express how beautiful it is.

Words aren't enough anymore.

I'm just so tired.

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

052; (Falling in love just makes me blue.)

Love is a universal migraine.

I. Tomorrow Is A Long Time, by Bob Dylan.
II. Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down), by Nancy Sinatra.
III. I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You, by Tom Waits.
IV. You Will Miss Me When I Burn, by Palace Brothers.
V. Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown), by The Beatles.
VI. Still Got The Blues, by Gary Moore.
VII. Since I've Been Loving You, by Led Zeppelin.
VIII. Love Her Madly, by The Doors.
IX. Hallelujah, by Leonard Cohen.
X. Ruby Tuesday, by The Rolling Stones.
XI. Kentucky Avenue, by Tom Waits.
XII. It Ain't Me, Babe, by Bob Dylan.
XIII. Say You Love Me, by Fleetwood Mac.
XIV. Wild World, by Cat Stevens.

(Fourteen songs because that's how old I was when I first fell for you.)

Monday, 23 January 2012

051; (There are no words.)

All I do is lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, at the walls, through the windows, watch the light change and disappear, until there is only darkness. A car or two would pass, some birds might sing, children cry, but all I hear is the dull thump of my heartbeat, reminding me that I am still alive. My eyes are swollen and my throat is rough, as if I had been crying, and though I feel like it, the tears never come. I drag myself out of bed once or twice, to drink some water, take some pills, nibble on some bread, go to the bathroom, and of course, to have a cigarette (or fifteen.) His words are ringing in my ears and I repeat everything over and over again in my head until I'm not really sure what was ever said. Breathing hurts. My body aches. When I stand, I feel as though I'll fall, and several times, I do. I have been awake for less than six hours and I think my head will explode if I stay awake any longer. I curl up underneath my blankets once again.

(Now it's 11:11 and I'm trying not to wish for you.)

Saturday, 21 January 2012

050; Anonymous poem.

There is a bottle of pills inside my stomach.
I should know; I put them there.
I put them there to make me die.
That way I won’t have to think.
About deadened silence.
And raging storms.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
Maybe the true answer lies buried,
hidden there,
amongst the things,
In the closet of my mind.

Full poem here.

Friday, 20 January 2012

049; Hold me, hold me tonight.

Lately I've been dreaming of being left behind--betrayed, abandoned, or simply just forgotten. I am easily forgettable. He hasn't been around lately; I'm alternating between hating him and needing him. Mostly I stay curled up in bed, crying and hitting the wall. My hand is covered in reds and blues and yellows and it's beautiful. I've also taken to smoking in my room again.. if mother finds out, she'll be furious. I burn incense to hide it. (I just want to escape.)

I'm eating less, but healthier. Today: a bowl of cereal (115) with milk (100), a handful of mixed nuts (116), one kiwi (46), two slices of rye bread (166) with butter (166 356), a diet shake (180) = 913 calories.

Songs I've been listening to a lot lately:
Broken Brights by Angus Stone
The Longest Day by Laura Gibson
Colorblind by Counting Crows
O' Sister by City & Colour
Dead Deer by Lovers

Tuesday, 17 January 2012

048; (just leave me in the mess I've made)

nononononononononono you're wrong, you can't trust yourself because you, you only ever betray yourself and it doesn't matter what anyone says, because no one could ever convince the ghosts living in your mind. this time i'm certain that something's hidden inside my skin, that i need to cut the shapes of little red stars into it, that i need protection, and where are you? (you're probably off doing something more important, you don't have time for me, why would you, i bet you finally decided i wasn't worth it, i swear i'm a mess that you don't wanna clean up) but no, don't listen, don't fucking listen to yourself because you are your own worst enemy, trust anyone but yourself, you're a fucking mess and you shouldn't be allowed to make any decisions when you're in this state, but then, whatthefuckamisupposedtodoshitshitshitshitshit, because you're not around, you're never around, and fuck, i really need you to fix me right now, keep me steady, keep me strong, because without you, i am n o t h i n g.

Friday, 13 January 2012

047; I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe.

As the new year continues on and on, I am coming undone; every day is a blur of nauseahungeranxietystrangeachesbingingandpurgingandbingingandpurging. It hurts to breathe, and I never want to leave my bed. I don't care what tomorrow might have to offer, I don't care about a future, I don't care if it ever gets any better. I am just so tired. All I want to do is cry and cry, but I'm afraid that if I start, I won't ever stop. For now, I will just hide underneath the covers.

Thursday, 12 January 2012

046; You make me break all my rules.

I'm tired; of the past I can't leave behind, of all this back and forth, of the way you act, of how you make me feel, of my insecurities and my sudden mood swings (one day I'm afraid I'll give myself whiplash.) All I want is to lay in your arms, your body surrounding me--a safe haven, somewhere to rest, and for you to whisper in my ear that you care, you care and you love me, that you won't let anything harm me (not even myself), that I need to stay with you or you'll die, that I'm too good for this, that you want to keep me safe. Keep me in your arms, and in your heart.
If I could have this, then maybe nothing else would matter. Maybe the self-hatred would simply fall away, fall off the edge of the world, like the sun beyond the horizon. Maybe you could heal these scars with your fingers and lips. Maybe your embrace would keep my nightmares away. Maybe your voice could still my demons. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

(Maybe I'll never stop hating myself for feeling this way.)

Tuesday, 10 January 2012

045; I am too pure for you or anyone.

If all I have to do to keep you is to say yes then I will say it again and again and again, if it means you will hold me together, if it means you'll stay in my life, if it means that when you sing, you sing for me, then yes. Believe me when I tell you that I will never say no to you, I will do anything to keep you, and I will let you unwrap me like a present, revealing layer after layer, until I am all bare, all porcelain skin and Japanese paper, underneath your roughened hands.

A sacrifice.

044; Like little flowers.

I want nebulae and little flowers on my skin, poison in my veins, aurora-like sleep, beautiful disaster, but there are no more "you're too good for that" and "promise you won't" and I think it's driving me off the edge, far off, I'm free-falling, can't you see? no one's there to catch me and I hope that the waves will carry me away and let me become a part of nature, those dull blues and grays, I dissolve into the air like a rain cloud. (from an old journal)

I don't want to sleep alone any more.

043; I'm not the best thing for you.

Two nosebleeds, a hospital, and lots of Tom Waits.
The taste of blood makes me hungry (but I can't keep anything down.)

Saturday, 7 January 2012

042; We're like fire and gasoline.

when you play, I search for clues
in the way you move your fingers across the strings
or the way you close your eyes
when you hit certain notes
and I wish I could see inside, but
you're a mystery to me

when you play, I can feel my heart
breaking inside my chest
and I find myself wondering if your heart is
breaking too (is it?)
and I wish you would
tell me
in my ear)

when you play, I want to
close my fingers around your wrist
to count your pulse and see if it matches the melody
that you're playing (are you playing for me?)
and I can only wish
that your fingers were tracing my spine
vertebrae by vertebrae

and when your lips mouth along
to the lines of a song,
I wish I could feel them moving against mine
across every single bone in my body
and I wish that you knew
that I'm really no good for you
(I know I'm no good for you)

(I will only ever let you down)

Friday, 6 January 2012

041; It's really bursting at the seams.

I'll take a rusty nail and scratch your initials on my arm.

I'm falling apart and you're not here to hold me together, though you've told me you're constantly afraid I'll hurt myself, that you'll wake up one day and I'll be dead, and if you'd just lay with me and whisper that in my ear for the rest of my life, I would probably be content, but you're not here and I'm not there, and the bottle's only an arm's length away, the knife in my pocket, the pills in my bag, and it's so easy to just forget for a while; forget the fear, the anxiety, the emotions, the highs and lows, the fall and rise (if only it was the fall and rise of your chest), and my fingers are growing numb, the wine blacks my lips while the smoke blacks my insides, wash away my sins, wash away my sorrows, and tomorrow might be better though I know it won't be, it never is, and I know I'm not doing myself any favours, only making it worse, only making it harder, but I don't want to listen, because this is easy, cutyourselftakethepillsdrinkandrepeat and oh, will you still be here to be the one to save me from myself?

Tuesday, 3 January 2012

040; A promise of a new year.

“I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain; and never shut myself up in a numb core of non-feeling, or stop questioning and criticizing life and take the easy way out. To learn and think: to think and live; to live and learn: this always, with new insight, new understanding, and new love.”
—Sylvia Plath

It's a new year and I am not going to fool myself into thinking it's a fresh start because nothing ever is, because the past will always still be there, and there is nothing you can do about it. This past year was a year of self-discovery, of broken glass, of strength, of hopelessness, of dreams, of escape. There were more bad days than good, but without the darkness the light wouldn't have been nearly as bright. I travelled, I met new people and saw new places, and though I always returned, I went somewhere. It might not be much, but it was enough then.

There was a moment when I was in Camden, London and I was sitting down with a couple of friends when this beautiful stranger walked past and I was captivated; I couldn't look away. The stranger noticed, smiled and blew me a kiss, and for a moment, everything was beautiful. It wasn't love or lust or anything; I was just completely floored by the radiance of this person. It felt like I could see their heart glowing. I keep this moment in a box that stays in my secret drawer; a wooden box carved with flowers and words, a box meant only to contain the brightest of things. So far, it doesn't contain much. (Another thing I keep in it is the way I light up whenever he calls me 'jerk'.)

But this I take with me from two-thousand and eleven; that strangers are beautiful, that you should cherish fleeting moments and try not to hold on too long, that if a person makes you smile they are worth keeping around, that it's okay to make mistakes, that it might not be your year but that doesn't mean it's all bad, and that you have to learn to accept yourself, and not try to be someone you're not. Be true to yourself. Trust your heart, and never give up hope.

List of desires:
† Be more myself, and to be okay with that.
† To be open, to show myself vulnerable, to let new light in.
† To lose weight and work out.
† To be happy with myself, if I can.
† A pair of Doc Martens.
† To hang out (and go to Gothenburg) with Layla.
† To dye my hair lilac.
† To read new books, see new places and make new friends.
† To do something, even if it's not much.
† To exist in the best terms I can.
† To dream, to hope, to let go.
† To be in his arms.

(It was also the end of an era.)