(no subject)
I got this published in some dumb ass creative writing magazine. I'm pissed cause it's not good. The teacher that published it is pissed cause they spelled her name wrong. ha.
So I wake up at 4 this morning from this god aweful dream and go downstairs to splash some cold water on my face. Of course the second I look in the mirror I get this nose bleed from hell. Around that time my mom wakes up and the only thing she says to me is "Jesus if you'd stop shoving things all sorts of drugs up there this wouldnt happen" and walks away. She did make tea for us at 5:30 tho. Guess she felt bad. "I shouldn't have just assumed." she mumbles. I just told her she was right and she got up and went to work. No more tea. I ended up sitting on my couch till 6 am holding ice to my face. For some reason it reminded me of that cabin up in Maine last summer. The way I stared at the plate. Watched drops of red from my nose hit the fluffy white piles. Swear I sat there for close to an hour, till Danielle stopped fucking that dealer kid and came over to pull me away. Ya know I've always liked blood on anything white. White shirts, snow, sheets, the side of a tub, and of course..crystal meth. But the best is white tile. If you watch you can see it decend in the cracks, turning and winding into the tiny grooves, till it comes to a door and you realize, "gosh, maybe this is a bit too much". I guess Inever know when to stop. Not with drugs, Not with myself. And certainly not with Renee. Her pretty little hands always looked so good covered in blood. The perfect white with that perfect splash of crimson. She never minded cause she felt she deserved it. For a long time I was too selfish to tell her she didnt. And one night it got carried away, and pretty little Renee with her pretty white hands held a butcher knife to her wrists and started carving away like you would a turkey on thankgiving. And I couldn't get the knife so I just yelled and screamed, but when she didnt stop I grabbed her by the throat. She still kept slashing so I squeezed harder and harder. I told the ambulance guys I didnt hear the knife hit the floor, but I'm saying it now, just so I can sleep at night..that I did. And im sorry renee. We never did talk after that. But I did come to see you, I actually visited you for a long time, till I couldn't handle it anymore. From what I hear your still in the institution. You always were a bit too suicidal, even for me. I dunno maybe I thought I could fix you or something. You said you thought you could be the one to "touch me". But you didnt want to be fixed and I didnt want to be touched. Sometimes I wish I could take it back. But then you wouldn't have dropped that knife. And then again, part of me wishes I had just squeezed harder, for a bit longer, then neither of us would have to be fascinated with the way the red looks when it touches porcelaine.
So I wake up at 4 this morning from this god aweful dream and go downstairs to splash some cold water on my face. Of course the second I look in the mirror I get this nose bleed from hell. Around that time my mom wakes up and the only thing she says to me is "Jesus if you'd stop shoving things all sorts of drugs up there this wouldnt happen" and walks away. She did make tea for us at 5:30 tho. Guess she felt bad. "I shouldn't have just assumed." she mumbles. I just told her she was right and she got up and went to work. No more tea. I ended up sitting on my couch till 6 am holding ice to my face. For some reason it reminded me of that cabin up in Maine last summer. The way I stared at the plate. Watched drops of red from my nose hit the fluffy white piles. Swear I sat there for close to an hour, till Danielle stopped fucking that dealer kid and came over to pull me away. Ya know I've always liked blood on anything white. White shirts, snow, sheets, the side of a tub, and of course..crystal meth. But the best is white tile. If you watch you can see it decend in the cracks, turning and winding into the tiny grooves, till it comes to a door and you realize, "gosh, maybe this is a bit too much". I guess Inever know when to stop. Not with drugs, Not with myself. And certainly not with Renee. Her pretty little hands always looked so good covered in blood. The perfect white with that perfect splash of crimson. She never minded cause she felt she deserved it. For a long time I was too selfish to tell her she didnt. And one night it got carried away, and pretty little Renee with her pretty white hands held a butcher knife to her wrists and started carving away like you would a turkey on thankgiving. And I couldn't get the knife so I just yelled and screamed, but when she didnt stop I grabbed her by the throat. She still kept slashing so I squeezed harder and harder. I told the ambulance guys I didnt hear the knife hit the floor, but I'm saying it now, just so I can sleep at night..that I did. And im sorry renee. We never did talk after that. But I did come to see you, I actually visited you for a long time, till I couldn't handle it anymore. From what I hear your still in the institution. You always were a bit too suicidal, even for me. I dunno maybe I thought I could fix you or something. You said you thought you could be the one to "touch me". But you didnt want to be fixed and I didnt want to be touched. Sometimes I wish I could take it back. But then you wouldn't have dropped that knife. And then again, part of me wishes I had just squeezed harder, for a bit longer, then neither of us would have to be fascinated with the way the red looks when it touches porcelaine.