The past couple of nights I have done something really stupid. I take this drug, Ambien, to get to bed. It used to make me giddy and write really amazing psychedelic stuff. Now it makes me go online and talk to people. About things no one should ever hear. In the morning (more like mid-afternoon amirite?) I hardly remember saying any of the things I said. I read over my conversations and I am horrified.
Two nights ago I confessed to the boy that I was feeling a little suicidal. Ugh, no one should ever deal with that crap except the blog and the therapist. But I was indeed thinking about my scarves, and where I could hang them from. You know, logistics. But there are no poles in my house. 7 stories, blood on the carpet. Everyone knows I do it for the attention everyone knows I don't really mean it, right?
I also shared an idea I had for a video essay, which at that moment sounded like the most ground-breaking idea ever. It was something about writing fake suicide notes every night and recording the process for about a week and taking drugs, or some shit. How self-centered is THAT? Says the girl writing a personal blog.
I got two job interviews in the next two days. I have friends. I'm not pregnant. My belly is not full of hot air and sadness like those children's from those dusty countries. I conserve all my teeth and there are two computers in the house. Still today all I ever did was restrain myself from carving my heart out with rusty scissors. I stopped once it started stinging.
Tomorrow I am going to wake up early and feel better. Tomorrow I am going to wake up early and feel better. Tomorrow I am going to wake up early and feel better. Tomorrow I am going to wake up early and feel better. Tomorrow I am going to feel better. Tomorrow I am going to feel better. Tomorrow I am going to feel better.
crime scene
at first, when i am full, through my salty eyelashes
there is promise of a big finish
and our bodies found inside a black, charred room
but then i am a coward
and my skin won't break
and i don't say a word
my body isn't mine any more
the firemen and police won't know
that i dug and you buckled
but the blood never came
no autopsy will show the scars
my legs flicker while you turn back
Two nights ago I confessed to the boy that I was feeling a little suicidal. Ugh, no one should ever deal with that crap except the blog and the therapist. But I was indeed thinking about my scarves, and where I could hang them from. You know, logistics. But there are no poles in my house. 7 stories, blood on the carpet. Everyone knows I do it for the attention everyone knows I don't really mean it, right?
I also shared an idea I had for a video essay, which at that moment sounded like the most ground-breaking idea ever. It was something about writing fake suicide notes every night and recording the process for about a week and taking drugs, or some shit. How self-centered is THAT? Says the girl writing a personal blog.
I got two job interviews in the next two days. I have friends. I'm not pregnant. My belly is not full of hot air and sadness like those children's from those dusty countries. I conserve all my teeth and there are two computers in the house. Still today all I ever did was restrain myself from carving my heart out with rusty scissors. I stopped once it started stinging.
Tomorrow I am going to wake up early and feel better. Tomorrow I am going to wake up early and feel better. Tomorrow I am going to wake up early and feel better. Tomorrow I am going to wake up early and feel better. Tomorrow I am going to feel better. Tomorrow I am going to feel better. Tomorrow I am going to feel better.
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| pretty much the exact opposite of this: |
crime scene
at first, when i am full, through my salty eyelashes
there is promise of a big finish
and our bodies found inside a black, charred room
but then i am a coward
and my skin won't break
and i don't say a word
my body isn't mine any more
the firemen and police won't know
that i dug and you buckled
but the blood never came
no autopsy will show the scars
my legs flicker while you turn back
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