à l'eau de rose

october, 2018; walls, a city of them, around me. not spinning; only looming. 

september, 2018; i have no emotions, how can I? i saw you dead. you didn’t wake up. i still had things left to tell you. why did you leave? why did they kill you?

august, 2018; no cemeteries. ghosts do not exist, or you’d have haunted me by now. you’d have come to talk to me. no cemeteries, the sense of an ending lingers there. 

july, 2018; a needle buzzes, a tattoo heals. snake on my hip, growth on my mind... a sense of a new beginning, i want it to develop, but it’s stagnant. my calendar still reminds me of your birthday. 

june, 2018; depression. resignation. i didn’t think of you, but i thought of an inevitably depressing future instead. 

may, 2018; may is slow. nothing. 

april, march, february, january, 2018; a drunken, busy haze. a spanish dilemma. an uncomfortable girl stuck in an overweight body.

december, 2017; you’re not there. it’s not the same. but i feel no guilt, no semblance of longing for your presence... but it’s not freedom, it’s only a distinct and shocking unfamiliarity. 

november, 2017; i don’t remember; i was probably theorising on the most perfect way to be silent. 

october, 2017; probably numbness. it’s where i started to close myself off. 

september, 2017; depression augments. 

august, 2017; you’re not here. i visit you at the cemetery, but all i can think about is your decaying corpse... and how long it will take for your skeleton to become dust. 

july, 2017; your birthday month... for once, i remembered. but you weren’t here. 

june, 2017; numbness starts. 

may, 2017; depression augments. anger issues take a back seat - hatred for humanity rages. 

april, 2017; a month already?