The Crunk Is Not Unseldom Drastic, And Must Be Hindered By Elastic
Irony spits in your face, as talk of suicide while surrounded by friends is some kind of cosmic Magic 8 Ball, Reply hazy, try again, and you are now the lowest common denominator. The inability to form words is cause for some to be concerned. For others, an invitation to trivialize everything that is wrong by suggesting that the silence is from the absence of the intrawebs.
Point the arrow and pull the lever and the See 'n Say declares Don't even attempt to surmise that you have the first fucking clue as to the depth of my grievance.
I tried to ask you, wanted to talk to you, but voice mail is a fucking cop-out and I won't bother to presume that it would have mattered.
Would that it weren't living for others, for there is no desire to inflict so much sadness and grief on the ones who bore you into this world. Can't imagine the sorrow on the face of she who has already suffered far too much loss in her life, or the one who has taken your hand. Ironically taken till death do you part, but there are no stipulations as to the methodology. And who would tell Monster what a beautiful tail he has, woo him for his silken soft fur, or give Meeks his Respiratory Aid when his cough starts up?
Where is there to go from the point when you know that the only option is to take another breath?
You go down on the kitchen floor, curl into yourself, and you let the breakdown happen. Sobbing like a child who lost her favorite toy, uncomfortably conscious that the ceramic tile needs a good once-over with the Swiffer Wet Mop, his hands stroking your hair as he kneels beside you with words of apology and devotion.
A cathartic cleansing of the turmoil and distaste for your own skin, or maybe not so much. Eyes weak and stinging, hands damp and saline-sticky, Spazz looking confused and uneasy, and the baseboards need to be washed as well.
And here is the world, overcast and brisk, still turning and breathing and lit up like a string of electric luminarias leading you to the punch bowl and the cranberry sauce. The secret surprise is cactus leaves. Care to have a taste?
Or have another drink, F5 your flist, roll your barely legal door-girl in some Moonshine and sin, bake some cupcakes and remember that it takes a long time, but God dies too...
~
Point the arrow and pull the lever and the See 'n Say declares Don't even attempt to surmise that you have the first fucking clue as to the depth of my grievance.
I tried to ask you, wanted to talk to you, but voice mail is a fucking cop-out and I won't bother to presume that it would have mattered.
Would that it weren't living for others, for there is no desire to inflict so much sadness and grief on the ones who bore you into this world. Can't imagine the sorrow on the face of she who has already suffered far too much loss in her life, or the one who has taken your hand. Ironically taken till death do you part, but there are no stipulations as to the methodology. And who would tell Monster what a beautiful tail he has, woo him for his silken soft fur, or give Meeks his Respiratory Aid when his cough starts up?
Where is there to go from the point when you know that the only option is to take another breath?
You go down on the kitchen floor, curl into yourself, and you let the breakdown happen. Sobbing like a child who lost her favorite toy, uncomfortably conscious that the ceramic tile needs a good once-over with the Swiffer Wet Mop, his hands stroking your hair as he kneels beside you with words of apology and devotion.
A cathartic cleansing of the turmoil and distaste for your own skin, or maybe not so much. Eyes weak and stinging, hands damp and saline-sticky, Spazz looking confused and uneasy, and the baseboards need to be washed as well.
And here is the world, overcast and brisk, still turning and breathing and lit up like a string of electric luminarias leading you to the punch bowl and the cranberry sauce. The secret surprise is cactus leaves. Care to have a taste?
Or have another drink, F5 your flist, roll your barely legal door-girl in some Moonshine and sin, bake some cupcakes and remember that it takes a long time, but God dies too...
~