Are you happy?

Thank you, it's nice to feel witnessed.

Silence really does hurt.

Let me tell you about heartache.

I can't see you.

When the Devil offers the chance for revenge… you take it.

Keep running.

Numb lips. The cat is awake and I'm still sat here drinking, thinking. I let myself slip, daring to over-reach. Life is likely better without me, that’s understandable but I guess it hurts still. These jumbled letters spell out a tale of a night poorly spent; I was supposed to be drawing. More skeletons. A thinly veiled disguise for myself. I slip out of my skin and wreak revenge on the world, it's a dumb little story that no one will ever read. I'm okay with that. I don't think I’m destined for anything but disappointment. I tell myself that it's okay; that it's the world that's broken but I guess it's me. Give up on the dream, you can draw a little, sure... but you'll never be more than this. You won't be the first to seek a life less ordinary and you won't be the last to fail. My Buddy paws at my hand, no claws; just the velvet touch of a tiny miracle. A faint trill, head bumping at the door. I let him slip out. I'd love to make out that I was better but I know I'm far from perfect, the people close to me deserve more. I've gotten better at hiding it, is that the same? I thought it was when I reached out, the fool. Scratching at the doorframe. I should've been asleep hours ago. Scratching in my mind. Push it down deeper, it will be better when I wake. I wish you the best.

Once upon a time you wrote me a story. A girl, a grave, a boy and a bolt of lightning. With hindsight, the tale wasn’t what I had imagined, There was a girl, wandering alone through a storm, drawn to a grave where she sat and wept But the boy who struck the stone that night shattered what is sacred. That flash once meant the world to me, however in reality I was far from a friend. I failed.

I see you occasionally, usually in the slightest mannerisms of strangers or a double take in a busy street, there have been less of those these days. Today I saw you in a movie and all I wonder was about the life after the credits roll. When I started this all of those years ago I had some kind of goal, to make some kind of an impression, I suppose. I wanted to be noticed. I wanted to a lot of things that I am glad I never got. The strange paths we’ve been down and I still come back here. I know I always read in the hope that I might find a crumb left for me, still wishing to be noticed I suppose. We were friends once. I remember. I still think of you as a friend. I have a joke you would enjoy.  You may remember the differences I have maintained with organised religion for some time? Well, I am betrothed to a follower of Joseph Smith. Interesting considering the history but perhaps it is some form of growth. I wonder about your life after our credits rolled, where life has taken you and where it will go. I might not ever know but I will always dream for you.

Kettle.

I often write about my mental health and my deeply self-indulgent fixation with self-destructive behaviour. I still deal with my issues poorly. I’m working on that. I hope I have grown; I hope I am capable of not breaking the life of someone else I care about. I was an asshole for a long time, which looking back I can see very clearly; I know I have a long way still to go before I even approach being a decent person, but I am thankful I am in a position where I can see some degree of an improvement. Knowing how harmful I have been to my friends, seeing exactly how my actions were not just harmful but insidiously so, in an attempt to undermine their own identity and project my own interpretation onto them instead, that makes me very aware that I have a huge capacity to dehumanise and damage others. It also highlights the importance of growth in my own life. Am I capable of moving forward? Worthy of it, or ready to allow someone close enough again, perhaps I’ve not learned enough? The moment seems to have gone… the chattering has returned. Candles are dimming and I doubt my integrity again. I’m still chasing ghosts. Heart and head. Grey daylight is creeping up the vague horizon and the stormy night sky is pouring its heart out. My clouds are pretty heavy too, and yet my dirt is dry as a bone.