d*land

Never Missed You More.

He surprised me with a Michael Jackson line last night, when I asked if the something included being a werewolf. He even did the Thriller intro. I had to laugh, even though I was a train wreck.

I feel better. Better than before, but not as well as last year.

My memories are creeping up on me, the ones I pushed away and behind. I will not be surprised if tonight I wake up screaming, thinking I'm in another bed.

I feel better. Like I've changed clothes, or stepped off of a plane, or opened the door of the car to a new place.

I know I need to work on reality tomorrow, and the day after, the rest of forever. But, I'd like to stay in May for a little while, just tonight. It's warm outside, so it will be easy, even though it snowed until the beginning of June, my May is always the start of something. This time, just like the last, it was really just another ending.

You have to close chapters, wrap them into packages, before you get to move on. That's the way life works. Take care of the issues at hand, to move on.

. . .

I can't tell if I just need someone. I want to know, see through the excitement in his psycho-babble. At first, it made sense, and now it is not applicable. Not to me. Not to that beat up knife sitting in a drawer in the kitchen.

I find some kind of odd comfort in discussing suicide options. I've had that conversation so many times, with so many different people in the last couple of months. Pills, Guns, Cars, Falls.

I can't do it. I can't count the number of times I've sat looking at a bottle, looking at a knife.

Sunday, I took my stereo and put it next to the bath tub. An empty can, used as an ashtray sat on the edge, next to a pack of Marlboro Reds, and a purple lighter. The water was so hot. All I could think about was how the water would look red, and that my body would be found with Fifty-fifty Clown on repeat.

I ended up pouring shampoo all over me and masturbating.

I'm feeling better. Like I've killed off my evil twin.

. . .

I headed West. Take On Me came on the radio... and everything was better.

. . .

I need an ocean view and a balcony. I want dreams of snowy beaches.

Too late to tell the time
Yours or mine

10.10.02 || 7:22 pm

before || next

archive