when in rome...
.
wonder. If anyone can see this hell that I'm wading through. behind the dull ache of heartbreak, behind the curious freedom of betrayal of the body. Old habits die hard. they say.
I am in such peices, they only way to hold together is to freeze, to keep going.
'you'll cry. and keep going. always keep going. don't ever stop. if you stop, you'll start to think, and that will make the next step forward harder to take.'
Of course they don't. No one did the last time. I show up, blank faced save for a tired smirk and the baggage around my eyes that they wouldn't let me into an airport with. They shouldn't. There are knives and other violent peices hidden deep in there. Secrets, all the hurt a stranger can carry in clenched fists and vague tears. The baggage, the swollen tear ducts, irritated nasal passages and stomach pains. My shaky hands, these things could give me away.
'I am tired,' I will sweetly explain. 'I am not hungry and will never be. If I was, there would never be enough to fill me up.' My heart thundering in my chest. Perpetual self-destruction. A spiral that never hits.
If I ever hit bottom, you'll know it's what I wanted.
I grin, I laugh, and pray for encroaching darkness, light another cigarette, read another book, watch another movie. Drown myself.
Go ahead, ask, I may tell you. It won't make a difference. You cannot stop me. I'll do what I will. I'll do what I want. I'll kill it all away till there is nothing left.
The morning light will always shine bright. Pure as violence. The moon will always rise and work it's strange magic on our young hearts. Days and days and days.
I smell like death. I am sure of it. I smile, glad, that at least there is something physical about me that portrays the truth.
.
wonder. If anyone can see this hell that I'm wading through. behind the dull ache of heartbreak, behind the curious freedom of betrayal of the body. Old habits die hard. they say.
I am in such peices, they only way to hold together is to freeze, to keep going.
'you'll cry. and keep going. always keep going. don't ever stop. if you stop, you'll start to think, and that will make the next step forward harder to take.'
Of course they don't. No one did the last time. I show up, blank faced save for a tired smirk and the baggage around my eyes that they wouldn't let me into an airport with. They shouldn't. There are knives and other violent peices hidden deep in there. Secrets, all the hurt a stranger can carry in clenched fists and vague tears. The baggage, the swollen tear ducts, irritated nasal passages and stomach pains. My shaky hands, these things could give me away.
'I am tired,' I will sweetly explain. 'I am not hungry and will never be. If I was, there would never be enough to fill me up.' My heart thundering in my chest. Perpetual self-destruction. A spiral that never hits.
If I ever hit bottom, you'll know it's what I wanted.
I grin, I laugh, and pray for encroaching darkness, light another cigarette, read another book, watch another movie. Drown myself.
Go ahead, ask, I may tell you. It won't make a difference. You cannot stop me. I'll do what I will. I'll do what I want. I'll kill it all away till there is nothing left.
The morning light will always shine bright. Pure as violence. The moon will always rise and work it's strange magic on our young hearts. Days and days and days.
I smell like death. I am sure of it. I smile, glad, that at least there is something physical about me that portrays the truth.
.