#irynka

It’s on nights like these that I think the stars are swallowing me and regurgitating me, not whole, but in fractions of myself and pieces of the world around me. I cover my hands in purple glitter and I feel the steady hum of the background radiation slowly annhiliating my blood cells. I haven’t called my mother in three weeks and I seem to forget every time I eat a little blue pill or take another sip of whiskey. My blood seems to pump too fast and I haven’t slept in days because all I can fathom is oceans, oceans, oceans. I ate for the first time today, after I puked up stars and cried watercolors in the bathroom. They ask me what my problem is and I can’t speak because I carry rocks in my wrists and my spine. They don’t understand that love is a melted crayons and a wet battery and god tastes like clementines.

an incomplete list of poetry quotes i can’t ever forget about:

somewhere there is a women in China holding a black umbrella so she won’t taste the salt of the rain when the sky begins to weep, there is a 17 year old girl who smells like pomegranates and has summer air tight on her naked skin, wrapping around her scars like veins in a bloody garden, who won’t make it past tomorrow

I have been to a few dark places lately. What I mean, is that I have laid in the arms of a few dark men lately. Each time, I think I can't find any worse but God is full of surprises. I ran from the boy with a pill addiction who still chose to swallow my heart and  then throw it up again because he didn't like the taste right into the arms of a manipulative boy with pretty eyes that gave me security and then poisoned me with all my insecurities. I drunkely mistaked the gorgeous boy with someone I know and he left me bruises and no memories. I got into a taxi with a convicted rapist because my blood was pounding with alcohol and my mind lacking common sense. I keep promising to stop. My friends keep trying to remind me that I won't be who they change for. That the devil isn't going to leave hell for a girl like me. I burn with their fire until they blow me out. Here I am, bruised emotionally and phsyically with scars I shouldn't have to wear, with a reputation I do not deserve, with problems I have never intended to cause. Here I am, without anyone to kiss my wounds even when they promised and swore and intended to be different. Here I am, writing letters they won't bother to respond. There they are, with what ever they want, always winning, winning , running too fast that karma can't catch up to them.

I am medusa, biting my nails but never my tongue.

        I am so scared that we will never get past this. I could be married to a boy with a prettier smile then yours. He could read to me when I get sad and over look the bruises that my body has acquired over the years. I could have beautiful children- the ones I have always wanted- with golden curls and innocent mischief. I could be a fairy tale kind of happy, the kind that I never really wanted but would finally feel comfortable with. Then I would run into you at a wedding to someone that invited you by accident and I would still want you. You, across the room, with tattoos that look misplaced now that your hair is thinning and your body flabby and tired. It would still be you. I am scared that after ten years of abstinence, you will raise your glass of whiskey to me in acknowledgement and then we would race each other to the coat-closet.