Narcissim in the Form of Self Deprication

i have lots of faces floating around in my head, pieces of angles of parts of your face, sliver of your hairline and brow, looming figure standing over me, “just give me 5 minutes” and i’ll blow your mind. justin. lengthy cat along my bed, pops up in my dream, princess junkie trace every line i would have let myself go let things go loosen your shoulders you cold fish; i dont see the point in many things, i have words your words all over ill never read again i cannot muster that kind of strength it’s hard to feel a soul connection a fire lit burned for enough time to know it could last all time, confidant and alien partner, not my lover but can he hold me for comfort big arms big chest, 

i love you. i love how you only care about your own shit. no, really.  i cannot imagine how freeing that is; to stop finally caring about all the shit of which both concerns you and doesn’t. how fucking exhausting. what does it mean to relax? to throw your head back, close your eyes, and forget about time and shoulds. I listen to this music that I wish to crawl away into, all four limbs working forward, over hills of wavelengths. Remember rolling down grandma’s grassy hill as children, taylor? By the way, I hope more than anyone, that you find ways to truly embrace and love life. You have the greatest potential for kindness and joy out of the four of us. Why would God grant dimples to a shallow human?  I thought Madonna was black. I was confused when I found out she wasn’t. We’re so similar, you and I. You may look at difference as wrong and scary. I understand the fear, being unable to relate to something is foreign and awkward. Complete darkness with opportunity to grasp the truth. Dive into your sternum and embrace your heart, it’s so full, it feels like mine. I only want to know and love you - how could I not? How can you turn away from empathy when you know every human has felt a unique pain, that first break in the heart when you know you aren’t perfect and neither is anyone else. we’re all knuckles fucking deep on a muddy climb to the top, where we’re hoping we one day breathe in and become the light while feeling minimal pain. and that’s it. eternal light? good vibes and all that jazz.. everyday I’ve been grasping at the idea of awakening, of finally seeing the light. you know, i’ve felt it. i’ve been seaprate from myself for longer than just a 10 minute meditation, i’ve been the fly on my shoulder for months or maybe years. Fuck, I loved everyone. I felt little to no negativity. My body healed itself. I wanted to move and experience life, rather than merely finding ways to make it bearable. I wasn’t living this life through the glasses of my past memories. I was living in reality, fully present. And I’ll tell you, it’s better than any drug. It’s pure energy, life before your eyes! CAN YOU BELIVE IT?! CAN YOU DIG IT? I dig it. I literally dig for it. 

The shoreline harbors my organs laced in gasoline and I recently read a poem about the beauty of borders, like the month of August between summer and fall. I'm waiting for a spark to land on the crushed shells and driftwood and start a fire that can't hold for long, just enough so that parts of me feel the heat, but are never allowed to burn. Imagine souls in hell finally knowing the pain of separation from a God they chose to ignore. Walk with me to where the ocean shards bleed our feet and I'll never have to guess what's in your expression, because pain will override everything and we'll both realize that it's just another soul's company that can offer a glimmer of relief. Does it matter the company? I am not sure yet. I wish I could say that it mattered to give my pathetic self some comfort as if the fucking constellations in my eyes might match those in yours. But really, but really, just keep sleeping. Is it selfish that I assume sleep to be an escape of boredom or over-exposure - to be a more attractive route? See, my eyes fight the heaviness when star-matching eyes are near me. I find that sleep is an obstacle, a thief more so. There will be a time when i'm truly alone and bleeding and then I will not care if I never wake up. I will live in my dreams that are both deceptive and fleeting. Watch as you rest, desolate of guilt or worry. I do envy that. I could obtain it, but it isn't as if I've never tried. I allow myself the torture of staying awake for minutes upon hours imagining you awakening. I crave the opening of your hazel, green heavy eyes. I crave the fire of your touch, yet it's only available if I grab it, and I'd rather keep my hands pinned to my side to test the flame's direction. My bruises are not external, but internal and iron saturation is low, diluted from self-pity and passive-aggressiveness. LIE DOWN! DIVE IN! IT'LL BE BETTER THIS WAY. Refusal outright. Do not succumb to the lies and the human that is content with or without your company. Sleep is blind, and healing. This is best. I do not relish in my own fabricated sadness, although sadness is only that- imagined- whether or not I argue that sadness causes physical pain.

The Jill special It's not my job to fix you It doesn't matter You're talking to a corpse Silence