My new job
It's so repetitive. It's the same thing over and over and over again. It drives me up the wall and sucks my will to live. I haven't felt like writing anything, or doing anything. I've been in a pissy mood all week. But now... Now it's alright. I pretty much know what I'm doing, but still. The fact that it's not that bad anymore makes me nervous. Could it be my spirit is already gone? How easily complacency somes.
The games are all over, the pieces have been swept up. There;s nothing to cut herself on, nothing to tear her skin, nothing to tear her heart to ribbons. So they say. So they say, so they say, but who the fuck are they? These invisible, ubiquitous They, they say a lot of things, and they tell you what's right and what's wrong and they say a lot of things. She doesn't like Them.
She feels like she is their slave, like her destiny is not her own to shape, but theirs. She feels lost, always lost, always wandering. She feels like she needs to cry, but the tears never come. Her stomach is in knots and none of their medications make her feel better. She wonders if they're even supposed to. She doesn't think they want her to feel better.
She wants to be a world-shaker, someone with ideas. INstead, she feels as if she's standing on the shoulders of generations past, leaving all the good ideas to someone else. SHe knows she can be more, oh so much more, but she doesn't know where to start. There is something for her, somewhere, somehow, but she doesn't know how she'll ever find it.
So she spends one more night, too much booze and too much drugs, maybe too many boys or girls. She spends one more night wishing for it all to be over, and chasing away her demons, drowning them and covereing them in white powder and green dried leaves. She covered them in flowers and in unshed tears.
SHe covers them, and they drown. In her dreams, she drowns them.
Then she spends one more long day doing just what they want. Another day, andother night. Another day, another night. She wonders when it will stop.