They're playing love songs on the radio tonight.

Sunlight through the blinds.
I just want to hold him for hours. So tightly that all the anxiety comes out of every pore, releases into the room, clouding it for a quick moment, and is carried away into the aether by the angels he doesn't believe in.

Then there will be nothing filling his body except for love. My ruined arms aren't good for much, but that's one thing I know they're capable of doing.

Just squeezing until they hurt.

Every minute of every day is completely consumed by guilt. Of course there is the guilt associated with eating. I feel guilty for eating, I feel guilty for not eating. I feel guilty for feeling guilty and then the fight starts over the next meal. Its a never ending cycle that I recently realized flowed into every aspect of my life.

Feeling guilty has become who I am. I’m always apologizing, and some people around me hate it. Its always personal, it always weighs heavy. Even if it has nothing to do with me, I feel the pressure and just want to fix it. Do anything I can to make it better for them. I think that’s the root of my disorder. I feel so heavy sometimes. so tired. I just want to be light.

I want fairy wings.

partners in crime.
"i swear to you, gentleman, that to be overly conscious is a sickness. a real, thorough sickness." -fyodor dostoevsky

commonly uttered phrases
knee-high lace up boots
when clothes don't fit
for a minute there, i lost myself. that was close.
there is no such thing as love. somewhere, we will meet.
it's awkward to speak now out loud. don't trust myself.
i'm the king of the world.

quick pick-me-up pick up my heart rate like it's a race to get to the end a chance to look into a real mirror no more shiny windows no more shiny words no more gifts from the children of company mergers.

i've been a slow, stubborn child. no one can teach me anything. i've done it all twice.

this is where you start wishing that you were a star. a welcomed transportation to a spot in the night sky.
where problems cannot ever be solved, so no one ever tries. they all just sit there and shine.

you better lie low
maybe man really is evil.
so we'll smoke whatever we want to whenever we want to and even sometimes if we don't.
maybe it would be possible to stop talking about escaping and actually attempt it.

but there i go again.

so don't listen to a word i say until the morning i show up at your door and grin and make that "no, no, after you" gesture.

'cause i can charm the pants off anybody.
false what?

someone stop the clocks the ticking is making everyone nervous.
hopefully it will end we'll all calm down and come down maybe simultaneously

i guess i'll let you fall in love. i don't see why not,
we all breathe each other's air only some people deserve to and some people really don't

maybe from up here, bright eyes will travel through the clouds and land beside your ear while you sleep. and maybe it'll make your bed a little more comfortable. maybe it'll play like a self-help audiobook. that's what all good records amount to, anyway. some of them break you down, and the others build you back up. maybe one day i'll be the one crying, and you'll have to hold me.

the last time i really cried was at my uncle's funeral. he was like my second dad. He lived just across the street from our house while I was growing up.
recovered alcoholic, sober for 26 years the day he died, he stood by me through all the shit I went through, and never judged any of it, or me, for a second.

I got the call when I was at work that they didn't think he was going to make it much longer, and I had to leave in the middle of my shift to go catch a ferry and see him in the hospital a couple days before he passed. I did pretty well in front of him, smiling and holding his hand. When it came time to go, he told me he was proud of me, and he told me to pick hunter up and spin him around three times. I hugged him, and said I would.

then I walked out of his room, and out into the hallway of that hospital, and broke down. my brother came up behind me and hugged me from behind for what seemed like an hour while I cried.

At his funeral, the dancers hit their drums so loud, and they danced around his coffin, wailing and thumping, and I swear I could feel him finally leaving. And it was a beautiful, heartbreaking feeling.

When they buried him, I held my dad close and looked up at the sky while they started to pile the dirt on. Out of nowhere, a swarm of dragonflies came. they circled above us for a good, long while, until the shovels started patting the dirt down. one dragonfly stayed alone for awhile after that. I choose to believe that it was him.

Maybe, what I'm saying is that we always forget that we're connected to everything. There are no breaks in the circle, and there is no hierarchy.

After I got home, I took Hunter outside into the sunshine, and I picked him up and spun him around three times.

I'm only sick for half of the day.
Okay, let's do this then.

Those pills that make it so you don't have to sleep.
Struggling to find words.
Not ever finding the right words.
Knowing that you know I can't find the words.
Feeling everything all at once when a song played and you hadn't felt at all in about 10 years.
Messy brains and messier feelings.
Pale skin against tan skin.
How it should be.
Not ever having it be enough, but having it be just enough for now.
Doing what you can to shake it out.

Not used to this.
I've always been told that I'm so distant, and cold at times, that nothing seems to affect me.
Now I'm being driven to sighs and daydreams and these things that make me feel like I'm out of place in the world.

I fucking. Love love love love love. you.

And I find it really hard to accept that someone thinks I'm so great.

I think I'm still stuck where I'm comfortable: where people looked down on me and I was nothing more than an sad, anonymous eyesore in a bad neighbourhood. My hair was even messier back then I'm sure, if you can imagine that.

(I'll tell you something: the fog is really gone now. And the memories have been really flooding back the past couple weeks. They're starting to get to me and make me ache. But I'm okay.)

oh but hey we've got that forest, you know, and maybe treehouses will make a comeback.

Can you please hold me down.
"I took the needle out of my arm about a year ago today
And every day since then I've been taking the needle out of my brain
So when I'm staring down at my hands, I can't explain just what it is that I'm thinking of
Except thank god that all my veins have to pump is my blood"

I need a voice to calm me down.
The ol' disease #2 is acting up again.

like when you don't get to come up from the mine at the end of the day, and you have to watch everybody else leave to go home while the dust starts to cover you.

So I'm getting better, my friends, but please don't hold your breath.

the aforementioned dust is making me sit outside and chain smoke and type type type type type while i TRY not to go vomit or cry or both.

I'd give anything to be walking over a bridge right now.
Anything to burn off the past 2 months.

I'm not comfortable again and doesn't this always happen, the catch up that's always twice as hard as the damage that you do and when you do it you're in another universe where tomorrow doesn't exist.

When something so stupid consumes every inch of your brain and you know just how crazy you sound and how crazy you're thinking and the crazy things you're doing but hey. maybe you like it better that way.

But maybe you wish that you could be normal, too.
Nobody would ever guess, hey.
Family Feud style and the truth of things wouldn't ever make the fucking board.

Every day you reset, and every night you lie awake and tell yourself that you fucking failed, again, and tomorrow's gonna be different, dontchaknow.

a lobotomy. if my skin was any thinner I wouldn't be able to make it. but you can always wish that the wind might erode you just a little bit more. just a little bit more and everything will straighten out. you'll see.

you'll see what can happen with a little breeze and 10,000 years.


Old Dreams.
Let's bring out the kids that we were before any of this happened.
Let's play doctor.
We'll buy some shitty bicycles and hang out in the woods for a few days.

You know, honey, there's a reason that I can't fall asleep without something talking or singing into my ears.

There have been only two occasions where I haven't done so:
the first was in rehab (one of many), they didn't let us have music.
So I stared at the ceiling there and wondered why I wasn't dead, and some of my friends were.

The second was the weekend of January 11th.

Maybe your parents pick you apart,
and, maybe I grew up with a drunk for a father.
It made me wonder why I wasn't enough. Enough to make him stop.

But then you realize, it has nothing to do with you; it never did.

It never did.

Everybody's just trying to get over their things, you know?

So if everything works out, one glorious night will come when you'll be impressed by the soul that comes from your own fingers on guitar strings, and I'll put down the headphones before bed.

And also, I should probably let you know that I daydream about taking a cab to her house, pulling her behind said house and beating the living shit out of her, until somebody hears and tears me off of her.

And then I spit on her, and tell her that I hope one day before she dies she realizes that I'll get you to let it go, but that I never will.

That's probably not healthy, but, I never was one for conventionality.

I hope your sun rises before I do.

I'm a nazi and I wanna break your neck
I left my kids with their mom in San Francisco
They haven’t heard from me in ten years
I left my sweetheart for a bartender
I see the devil laughing at me in my beer
I left home when I was just a baby for a life of adventure and sex
Be careful what the hell you wish for, you just might get it
Well I feel lost, I feel abused
I feel lonely, black and blue
I feel worn out, ain’t a kid no more
I’m just a burned out, tired old whore

I ease my pain, with lots of medication
Another loser, and scared of the truth
I left my baby crying in new york city
I nodded out and I missed my youth

And losin’ comes so very easy to me

If you’re losin’, some lose elegantly

Well methadone clinics, they’re lonely at Christmas

The same feeling as when your daddy dies
You can always tell a dog that’s been beaten
There’s a sparkle missing from its eyes

I got scars on my arms and my conscience
Dying in your sleep is your best bet

Well I feel lost, I feel abused I feel lonely, black and blue
I feel worn out, ain’t a kid no more

I’m looking but I can’t find the lord

5:46 AM
It’s the hurry up and wait; that’s what I hate about travelling. Not the idea of travelling, but the process of it. You know, I really can’t imagine what life would be like without Wi-Fi and Starbucks and headphones and fucking Instagram. Even wandering around with the most perfect love I’ve ever known, I wanted to share it with people on the Internet. It’s the “shout it from the rooftops” of 2013. Maybe shouting is better than posting. When you shout, you don’t need an electrical outlet or a fully charged battery.
But I do love the idea that someone who was just an image on a screen and sweet words in my heart is indeed alive and breathing. Without an Internet connection our love wouldn’t exist. The most hate-filled kind of EHarmony matched us.

Every time he coughed I panicked.
Every time we walked together I felt like I needed to make sure he was okay. Leaving his side made me want to leave the city and the mountains and the rivers and the trees that I love so much, and just live it out in that terrible country without ever thinking of anyone outside of us, or anyone who would be born after us. It was a terrifying feeling. Probably just me being selfish about the whole thing.

I have this necklace and a single cigarette of his, and when I looked at it this morning I thought of his little twitches as he was dozing off and I thought for a minute that that was what life was all about.
I hope I mentioned that this is all terrifying.
Can I see myself doing this for the next twelve years?
But I will end up doing it anyway.
Because any kisses that I could receive from any boy in British Columbia wouldn’t ever be as good as the ones from the man in New York State.
And the way this all went down, the mess that’s been created by it- the long, rough road that I’ll have to stumble blindly down- well, it seems to be worth hearing him sing in the shower and smiling. Long months of my life lived to see one day with him.
So, thank God for Wi-Fi and Starbucks and headphones.

And pyjamas.


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