December 2010
6 posts
it was my birthday yesterday. not fun.
the notepad next to my desk is littered with scribble. my scrawl is weirdly formed, starting off small and then large and in between. i try to put notes from my dreams down, waking up and hashing. i even dream up word structures sometimes. most of it is gibberish, distorted english, but thats what i like the most.
i have fallen asleep, but my eyelids yet weigh heavy. the doctor’s varied needles pinprick my skin, but no blood will rise and meet the glass’ wounds.sleep is my cure, and we are hopeful, he says, his thin veined hand shaking. my lips are forced open, teeth knocked back, as he pours medicine laced opium, a slippery concoction, down my shattered throat. don’t notice the ruin, the...
“ripping my heart was so easy, so easy”
you;re a doll. you;re a princess, a filth splattered, babyheart shattered, lost soul dancing in grey.
i like gaps. more than anything that i could touch. i like pieces. tiny, little shreds of nothing special that think well of me. my eyes. my mouth. my hands are dead mice unable to put thoughts into squeals. squeaks, and rosy-red cheeks. drowning is this structure, and pointless. my loss is a weave stitch on your diamond, scalpel-like tongue. i like forgetting. me.