the people all call her alaska.
eat, drink, sleep. repeat until I'm nauseous with the repetitive nature of my existence. this silence is overwhelming. I try desperately to mold my lips into something comprehensible, my words into something coherent. porcelain skin, obscene red lipstick, dramatic black clothing. my existence has been reduced to my appearance. endless amounts of blankets, I shuffle around the house like a ghost, I cannot get warm. I dissect and analyze my attachment to matt and find a breeding ground of insecurities and a lack of self worth, but love? I don't see it anymore. I needed him to choose me, even if my rational mind fought against that idea, because of it's impossibility. I needed to be enough for an insatiable man that reminded me too much of myself. I needed to know that the possibility of fulfillment exists for me. rumandcokeandchainsmokingdjarumsandentirelytoomuchweed. but it's not enough anymore either. matt compared the inner-workings of my mind to a pinball machine, once an emotion is touched on it changes directions and becomes something else. I tell him with a smile that I'm tortured by the emptiness of my words, once I speak them, they cease to have meaning. this is unbearable. this beauty, this overwhelming feeling, this aching echoing emptiness, this potential, this desire to destroy, this mess of contradictions that defines me. for someone who's so gorgeous, you sure are hard on yourself. No can see the ugliness that I'm struggling to show them, and yet when they catch a frightening glimpse of it, they convince themselves otherwise. I'm too pretty to be so cold-hearted, so chaotic, so cruel, such a fucking wreck. I see a prepubescent body masked by the curse of voluptuousness, comically sorrowful green eyes, an unsymmetrical face, a small body that exudes sexuality at an alarming rate. I look so hard that I see nothing. none of this belongs to me, it's all temporary. yet the impermanent things are what people will always see. my body always aches, I wake up, go to sleep, live, breathe, exist in constant pain. everyone repeats endlessly that I'm too young, to feel this, to do that, I want to tell them I feel like the oldest woman on earth.