My head

And my heart

function

normally.

But the nerves

between them

are

d a m a g e d

beyond repair.

You see,

I self isolate

to feel

n u m b.

Because when I’m not alone

I feel so fucking

l o n e l y.

The seagulls never sounded so close before, but then again the wind had never blown them this roughly.

The harbor threw fires of light in the evening sun as Lady Liberty watched over those deadly rays. These rays had pierced mine eyes before. The difference now was that they brought pain and clarity. I would never pursue these yellow boats as a tourist, I would never walk through Central Park in jogging shorts, and no matter how hard I scrabbled and scrapped at the cusp of an income, it could never be mine.

She stares down upon the world with those permanent eyes and points to the clarity of the water below. The water today was no longer murky, but alive. The wind had seen to that. I was done with the lies she'd taught me and followed her eyes to the water instead. Here at last was something reaching toward me, here at last was something within my reach. The waves beckoned and I leaned.

laughter blooms with the

smiling sun, as days lengthen

and nights grow warmer

(also need more words)

you speak blissful words

to the sun, my heart believes

every syllable

---------------------------------

return to earth, drops

of water slide down my glass

keeping my love green

It’s a crushing realization that nobody on the subway platform cares if I am about to die, that no one will try to talk me out of it, that they all have jobs to be at and homes to return to. Why does nobody care about me?

I know why nobody cares; I have chosen a place where nobody cares, a place of headaches, morning commutes, and hurried, impersonal coffee purchases. I don’t want to be in this place anymore. I don’t want to die; I just can’t live like this. I feel the plastic bag of syringes shift in my backpack as if on cue.

They’ll say I was high when I fell in front of the train. They’ll say only 10% of junkies make it out alive. They’ll say “it’s an epidemic!” They’ll say we need better programs in the schools. They’ll say my parents came to identify my body and couldn’t even recognize their own daughter. They’ll say a lot of things. They won’t say that I was in pain right before I died. They won’t say that I was trying to get better.

I broke

the trend

of tragedy

to give

the happy ending

to all

but me

The whole of Thursday was spent traveling. A bus, two taxis, a train and a three-hour flight. On Friday I was frazzled.

I spent the morning catching up and cleaning up and eventually got my forty winks in the early afternoon. The dream I had went something like this:

There was a garden party. Good weather and nice people. Hot dogs and Heineken. Loungers and deck chairs. Bright flowers and lush green bushes.

I was chatting with Nik Kershaw. He was explaining how much work went into the video for The Riddle. I cut him short and argued that the chord sequence for The Riddle was far too difficult to play on the guitar.

He agreed and even apologised...

That was all I could remember from the dream. I really like The Riddle. It’s a great song! About a year ago, I tried to learn to play it on the guitar and got frustrated with it. Obviously, that frustration is still lurking around in my subconscious. I wonder what else is hiding in those shadows?

If I could take your addiction, I’d press my lips to yours and let it slither in like a hunting snake. I palmed the cigarette from your pack, palmed it, lit it, smoked it. It burnt my throat. It hurt. I didn’t ask for another. I crushed the pills from your pocket. Crushed them. You always looked so beautiful with your head down. Head down and nose against the glass of the table. I breathed in. Like you, it was euphoric. But my nose bled the next day, dripped onto my favorite pillow. Once white, once pure, now stained. Eyes red, my head is in your lap, I don't sleep in my own bed. I need you, I want you, I have to have you. Itches. My skin itches. I'm sweating but shivering, the light is off, the blinds are drawn, where did you go? You've been gone. I palmed a cigarette from my pack, I palmed it, I lit it, smoked it. It burnt my throat. It filled my lungs. I lit another, trading one addiction for another. Kissing my illness into my new lover.

My mouth is eating me alive. Letting my insides melt away until I’m all sharp edges. It’s like a balancing act I never perfect. Because the lesser part of me feels more when I neglect my plate. When my scale slowly dips digit by digit. When the clothes start to bunch and hang a bit loose at the seams. It’s like a tightrope, but I always lose. Because the disappearing side has less to hold up. And the side that’s filling itself full, all goes crashing. It’s like the weight is pulling me into the ground. Burying me, still breathing. So I empty into earthquakes. Shake, rattle, roll. Let my insides reverberate as canyon-echo tremor. And it’s like the dirt falls away with each churning shudder. Aching and stained. And I finally float.