Except for you

in regards to my last post

i like you
and you

because you two get me more than anyone else.
and im not afraid of you.
and im not used to that.

One More For Kicks

i've realized that i care too much
and i don't want too

and that's why everyone's on earth
and i am the next nearest planet.

i wasn't traumatized like everyone likes to pretend they were.
i don't have trust issues.
i just don't want anyone too close.

because then i have to care.
and that makes me feel panicky.
because i feel the need to make things right for people even though i can't.
and i hate it when i can't
but i hate it when people act like i did
because i didn't and they make me feel embarrassed.

no.
i don't have trust issues.
not trusting anybody isn't an issue.
and nobody did anything to me to make me the way i am.
i don't trust anybody
to not require my care for them.
i can't be relied on.

because im a runner.
and i need to be able to run away without hurting anyone
and

because i'll let you down.
or i'll have to lie and say something nice
when all i really want to do is yell at you
and say something hypocritical that i could apply to myself

even though
if you're like me
you can't
so i shouldn't be yelling at you to do so
and i shouldn't want to yell at you
because you're probably just like me.

i don't want to have to feel like i tried and failed to explain myself.
because it'll always be a failure.
because the opposite isn't possible.

i don't want to ever talk to anybody again.
i want to be a mute.
i want to exist in my bed.
and i want to watch UFO shows on television.
and engage in eddy behaviors.

i can't articulate
and you're not understanding me right
because i can't grasp everything in my head
and none of this is what im thinking its just little bits of whats going on in my head
morphed in to something that isn't quite what i feel.

its the closest i can get and i hate it.

somebody turn me in to plastic please
so the seams on the sides of my body can be bitten off
by the teeth of little kids
who just began to grow their bones.

so my face can be pushed in
my hollow head
and body
ripped apart by your dog
who chews on your favorite possessions
as if to spite you
despite his own toys.

i'm so sad. i'm so sad. will somebody tell me why my nerves are so shot?
who shot them?
hey! why'd you shoot them! hey!
they did nothing to you!
but you shot them! how come?

and will somebody please tell me just what they did
to make me so afraid tonight?
to make me feel so panicked tonight?
and every single night of my fucking life?

why are my eyes shaking?
why can't i ever feel happy?
why am i so anxious?
why does it feel like im going to die and why do i really want that to happen?
is it really that hard?
am i that hard to please?

or is it just that im like a goddamn gold fish
my attention span gone in the space of 5 seconds

that must me it
that must be why
i'm only fulfilled by things that don't last very long
because whenever i was born
i didn't have the capacity to enjoy things for more than five seconds. so in turn everything i enjoy will only last that long.
what the fuck was i thinking?
what the fuck am i thinking?
what the fuck am i doing?
does saying fuck make me trashy?

im not trashy. im not trashy. i swear im not. i hope im not. oh god don't give me something else to want to change about myself.

am i really unahppy with who i am?
i am. i am. i can't be satisfied. but why?
do i just need something to drive for
since nothing else is important enough?

hey look there it is again!
if that's all true
then it means im selfish
and i can hate that too !

everything i think comes back to me
and there's shit all over my face from yesterday
because i couldn't ignore that unsettled feeling in my head
if i could just ignore myself
i daresay i wouldn't have to erupt like Mt. Saint Helens
or even worse
like yellowstone park
spewing bits of lava on to the walls for you to have to clean up later
face distored in utter disgust.


stop being sad girl. stop being sad girl. stop thinking girl. stop thinking girl. stop thinking girl.
just go insane. why can't you just please go insane.
your doing this to yourself.
you're doing all of this to yourself. and none of this makes sense.
and none of it means anything. because you don't mean anything. because anything is relative. so nobody really means anything. which means your words don't mean anything. and your feelings don't mean anything. and you should fucking throw yourself from a cliff.


NOTHING IS WRONG.
NOTHING IS WRONG.
NOTHING IS WRONG.
WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE SOMETHING IS WRONG?



SELF PITYING GIRL
who the hell do you think you are?
this is nothing
and no one cares but you and thats the way it should be
because this isn't anything special or new
and you're the only one that feeling
plus its just the way you want it.
and its just the way it should be.
why does repeating feel so nice?
juts try it.
just try it.
just try it. just try it. just try it.
and try it and try it and try it and try it andtry it and try it and try it.


I WOULDN'T EVER HURT MYSELF
BECAUSE I LOVE MY FAMILY WAY TOO MUCH.
is it terrible i wish they'd be mean to me
so i wouldn't have anybody to hurt?

this is it serving it's purpose

the pressure in my head builds its all my fault so i shove the pressure somewhere else somewhere i can feel it.
somewhere that it's easier to get rid of.

it's psychological
but it helps
and its times like these that i actually recognize
how great it feels

to go from feeling so intensely hateful
so grotesque
so fearful for my life

to feeling so tired
and light headed
and empty
and relieved.

my heart goes from pounding to being barely noticeable at all.
i want to cherish this forever. i love it so much. but i'm a girl with a sickness-- a sickness whose longevity is due to the symptoms it produces, including attachment to a self deprecating and destructing friend.

this is what lets me forget.

and if all that is forgettable
then the seriousness of the danger
fades away in to the background
only occasionally becoming visible
in moments of clarity
that never last long enough to let me change.

my legs have taken on the consistency

of marshmallow bones, and jello skin.
my torso is as heavy as an elephants, who's body is coated in ashy gray wrinkles
and I discovered this morning that I can no longer walk.

the trumpeters say that my minerals can be excavated
that they're vibrant and present
that in theory, I'll survive.

but when electric buzzers tap at my temples
with the incessant relentlessness of the white noise from a television
whos cables have been bled on by a victim hanging outside of your house
i can't help but wonder when the power'll go out.
my clock reads zero and a half AM and my mom said in her wretched silence
that to care would be harder
than to throw me away in the trash disposal
so little blades can cut my body and my marshmallow bones
will turn soggy like the lucky charms
you were too lazy to throw away.

this is all a waste of time, and feeble attempts to comprehend the incomprehensible

dark matter, and electrons-- made of what?

the ice cream cones, or play pit balls
tied up on strings in cannonballs?
no wait, please, i'm trying to be proud of something.
give me a metal for wanting it the most.
give me a metal for being just like you.
give me a metal for writing like Holden Caulfield for a little on purpose
after i read the catcher in the rye.

but give one to everyone else too.
just make us feel fucking special somehow.
we're all babies. toddlers.
and every one of us has had a little new born brother born
to deteriorate the smell of cheerios and play dough
that was given
now it's taken.

if they think you exhale oxygen
you never have to stop and try to believe
that you're a savior on your own.

we are trained in to the need for validation.
just like dogs are trained to sit
and cats are trained to lay around.

i was thinking about it this morning. and i'd trade my opposable thumbs and toilet bowl
for a life of laying around.
i have no motivation.
i don't want to do anything.
i want to sleep and sit on my ass forever
and become fat and smelly
so i can live in the world i've created in my head.
i wish i was insane.

her face

was melted and there were tendons pulling from the left side of her face.
you could see the outline of her cheekbone
and her jaw

but on the right
was the face of a goddess.

i asked her why she was here?
why had she been committed to the hospital?
all she did was tap her fingers and I felt my eyes lingering on a number that was visible
like a polished tattoo
on the inside of her wrist.

she whispered every time she spoke.
"because i think my mother's with me" she replied.
i walked around to the other side of her bed feeling frightened by the grotesque state of her face.
it was the kind of horror that made you want to cry.
not only because you felt bad
but because it was so hideous.

and that's when she started gasping.
weezing even, violently as if starved for breathable air.
her concave chest rose and fell haphazardly and her thin fingers gripped wildly at the sides of the bed sheet as she flailed
screaming, eyes rolling up towards the back of her skull
as if almost in pain
moaning "i'm here! i'm here!"
before abrubptly quieting down again, as the whispering voice of the goddess returned. "we woke her" she whispered.
"we woke her".

an empty silence followed, as the girl closed her eyes, and fell asleep.
but it wasn't a silence in which you could sit and be calm.
it was a silence filled with the continuous echos of fear
and shrieks.
it was a terrible cry.
a cry of a desperate woman, longing to be believed.

but nobody wanted to believe her.
I didn't want to believe her.Because if I did, I would have to admit that something so distrurbing could exist outside of a movie theater.

she should leave her poor daughter alone.
she should leave her alone, get out of her body, and stop scaring all whose eyes happen upon her.

but she wouldn't. and as a result, the poor girl was the portal for the dead who didn't want death.
she was the portal for the dead
who couldn't accept it.

trembling a little, and trying to recover from what i'd just witnessed, i stepped backwards a few steps, and plasma colored clouds began to rise among her body.

soon my grandfather's figure was huddled over on the floor in front of the bed
and my own mother's voice came shouting from the other room asking "are we a male ghost this time?"
sarcastically, as if she already knew.

the voice that replied was impatient, as always
"help me to the goddamn bathroom jackie"
it demanded
and my mother's voice came back
sounding a little disgruntled in reply, yelling
"i'll help you to the bathroom in a minute dad"


and it came to me in a dream.