a lot of mixed up (written 1/20/09)
I'm in the Rush Rhees library.
It's 12:29 AM and I have no intention of leaving any time soon.
It's snowing.
This means less to me than normally.
I want to hit things and feel pain.
The natural slipperiness of the world is astounding and comfortable.
One moment I laugh and the next I am in tears.
And the next I am bitter.
And the next I am nothing at all.
The mementos of the future fill only my back seat and trunk.
I was surprised by how many bags it took to fill so little space.
I am surprised to be breathing.
I am surprised to have continued smiling in spurts.
I do not see myself in the mirror.
My face is too warm and my eyes too selfish.
I cannot stop writing and sleep does not come.
I see the sun rising before I can even lie down.
The dark is too knowing.
It pushes me to silence and solitude.
It screams of wrongness and hurt and decay and because of it I burn.
I writhe and ache and burn to soot that matches.
And I wake in the clearness and wonder why.
It's 12:29 AM and I have no intention of leaving any time soon.
It's snowing.
This means less to me than normally.
I want to hit things and feel pain.
The natural slipperiness of the world is astounding and comfortable.
One moment I laugh and the next I am in tears.
And the next I am bitter.
And the next I am nothing at all.
The mementos of the future fill only my back seat and trunk.
I was surprised by how many bags it took to fill so little space.
I am surprised to be breathing.
I am surprised to have continued smiling in spurts.
I do not see myself in the mirror.
My face is too warm and my eyes too selfish.
I cannot stop writing and sleep does not come.
I see the sun rising before I can even lie down.
The dark is too knowing.
It pushes me to silence and solitude.
It screams of wrongness and hurt and decay and because of it I burn.
I writhe and ache and burn to soot that matches.
And I wake in the clearness and wonder why.