me and november 16. 2014

and maybe i am rewriting my life from before.

you, reflection.

you are dreadful.

and just how i try to hide from your eyes and always find myself wanting to cry and being scared of being alone today.

do you remember how this goes?

this depression? this bipolar or whatever they call it?

do you remember what it feels like right now?

do you know that my mystery is probably just volumes of undiscovered happiness – unread, slow smiles and wet discovery w/each day and nights i spent swinging in imaginary patio hammock while the world ate itself around me – and it’s these times that are special. i promise you. i’ve told you a million times. you just have to trust me.

i can buy you something light on this highway – a ticket and a treasure and a small imagination that makes it worth it.

i’m here, my name is sean, and i am scared that i have quit making memories lovely for everybody.

 

bear with me, please.

 

is home just an unfamiliar whirlpool – a fucking evil disaster? explosions never meant to be seen or sat through?

some distortion on my brain? a dribbling addiction to love, frequencies, weird waste, booze, imagination, cocaine and obscenities, shit piles hidden behind the tables, death, songs, you and you and you and

the ol’ souls.

the ol’ temptations.

the warped trampolines and macaroni breakfasts and my razor blades that have been saddened down by months of cutting my upper legs and rusty from blood and i don’t need someone to save me or who i could die with and hold hands swap stories and bones and fevers with and sharing october and eleven other absurd months for years and years and now i am melting these sheets and somebody must be showing me how humiliating this is.

these are colors. starship trumpet sex phones tossed dead to the ground after orgasm explosion party and i am coming down off the old school huddled in corner closets – got them scary fuck factory blues and hiding wherever i can and whenever i can.

and buried beneath everything and all i can hear is the shifting of skin trying so hard to rest uncomfortably on uneven bones.

waste. oh, fucking god i wish it ended tonight like the flat screen heart monitor left picturing the freckles and unanswered blank lines and i am sorry that it all becomes something i have come to expect.

when i close my eyes i imagine your eyes old with insomnia and your smile the same beautiful after so many years.

and maybe i will sleep tonight, because right now it is 7:00 p.m. and i am scared and don’t know what to do with myself.

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~ by alltheavenueslookugly on 2014/11/16.

2 Responses to “me and november 16. 2014”

  1. Only post of yours I have read so far and I am definitely connected to it – your words express feelings I have not been able to identify for so long. Beautiful writing. Please keep posting things like this so that I don’t have to feel so shitty going through this piss on my own.

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