Note: Any rants or non poetry/ prosetry material will almost always end up moved to my other blog;
Here -> http://mentalgarbage.home.blog
Note: Any rants or non poetry/ prosetry material will almost always end up moved to my other blog;
Here -> http://mentalgarbage.home.blog
Using a combination of what I believe my parents and sister thought were ‘subtle and undetectable’ signals, my parents realised my sister wanted some ‘alone time’ with me, and announced with poor theatrics, that they were going to find us all some ‘real’ coffee , as the stuff that spurted erratically from the vending machine up the hall was not worthy of the title.
The door closed, and my sister Catherine (Kath/y), sighed, ‘They mean well’.
Then there was a long silence in which neither of us looked at each other, stretching out until I was about to speak, when Kathy grabbed my uninjured hand tightly and looking in my face asked “WHY Ali?.
My eyes flicked away. There were a thousand glib reasons I could have given, but I decided to be upfront for once.
I took a deep breath. ‘If i start to cry you have to leave. Promise me.’
She could sense the seriousness of what I was about to say, and nodded.
‘It’s my p..’ my voice cracked. ‘It’s my punishment’.
‘What the fuck?’ Kath sounded confused. ‘Punishment for what?’.
‘For every thing. For life, for failing life.’ Once i started, the words rolled out of me.
And not just that, to correct a mistake. People always assume that the universe doesn’t make mistakes, that whatever happens is the ‘natural order’.But it does. I should never have existed Kath. We both know that. Not like this.
“I was in pre-Law Kath! Pre-Law! Practically a shoe-in for the full degree. Then I was an arts student, then a drop out arts student, then I was a nothing, and then I wasn’t even that.. Just a fucking joke.’
‘But you’re sick, you have reason for that..’
I choked on a combination of a snort and a laugh.
‘Bi-polar’. The biggest joke of all. Even people who know what it is, don’t know WHAT IT IS.
I get responses like “oh yeah, i I had that but i just worked my way through it. Even you, and the olds, you don’t really know what it is like.’ I was tearing up now..
‘We do our best’.
‘I know you try’, i said, ‘but you don’t have the slightest clue.’
‘You don’t know that…’
‘Yeah, i do. Cos if you did, you’d have let me die.’
She started to protest, but i started humming. The louder she tried to speak, the I louder matched it, until I started singing the lyrics loudly:
‘you do it to yourself, you do,
And that’s what really hurts
Is that you do it to yourself, just you
You and no-one else
You do it to yourself,
You do it to yourself.’
‘DON’T YOU SING FUCKING RADIOHEAD AT ME.’
She was shouting now, I was practically screaming my vocal chords raw.
‘YOU DO IT TO YOURSELF, YOU DO,
AND THAT’S WHAT REALLY HURTS..
She screamed in frustration, balling up her fist, but realised she couldn’t punch a restrained patient, even if it was her sister, so she left, slamming the door ineffectively, as those kind of doors don’t really slam.
And I kept screaming the same two lines over and over, as best as I was able, through the sobbing.
And that, dear reader, if you’ve been with me from the start, you may recognise, is where we came into this (poetry) blog:
Singing Radiohead at the top of my lungs……
Maybe that’s a good note to break on.
My heart hasn’t been in it since…..
I won’t call it ‘closed’. But I will say that many wounds of many kinds will have to heal before I can find the lightness of spirit to be glib and smarmy again.
“One day I’ll get to you
And teach you how to get to purest hell….
You do it to yourself, you do.”
-Radiohead / Just
Flit erratically … and
Thought from mind.
Mind from thoughts.
Reality from …?
and then The Dance.
I have found the fae-folk,
And they are angered.
My intrusion, unnatural,
I step forward, but cannot.
You may not cross the barrier
In such a manner, I am told.
Go back, Human,
Even Death does not want you.
Emily Burns / Terrified
With due respect to Ray Peterson:
Laura and Alice were Voters,
Disagreed over many things,
Environment, Economy, but most of all,..
About Trump in.
The crowd roared as they started debates
Things got nasty at a faster rate,
The carrier was never seen,
But he gave Alice
As her system began to decay,
Her lungs got worse, but
They heard her say
“Tell Laura, I hate Him.
Tell Laura, Don’t vote him in.
Tell Laura, not to try.
People do, but fuck knows why,”
So they say,
Will take longer to heal.
One of my hands may not again feel.
Who would know?
I hold so much blood
When it flowed,
Seeped down and dripped
To the kitchen below.
Then they know,
I was planning to go.
So much for my locks
They smashed in without knocks
I was white and death cold,
At least so I’m told,
As they struggled to hold me together.
They won’t let themselves know
I stopped fighting the flow
Of the rapids of so many rivers.
My hand didn’t slip from the branch
I let go.
I have split into pieces
Mind to discombombulate,
Unbeknownst to a soul mate
Rescursive cursive curses
Upon the ruins of my life.
Eat it whole,
Fucking fast food and finger diets,
Go on and fucking try it.
Nothing but the butt of a joke
I’ll never understand,
And everywhere, the silent man
In the black black cloak.
Maybe that’s the joke,
And me, no more
Than a french-fry.
Dear Alice, I’m ‘fine’,
Hope this finds you in kind.
I’ve been writing some time
To you now, and I find,
You’re a strange friend of mine,
At least here in my mind.
Here inside of my mind, at least most the time.
Dear Alice, how are you?
If I am to stay true,
I’m having to tell you
That I’m lonely and blue,
I don’t know what to do
When the sky..The sky I swore would stay blue,
Is now gangrenous in hue.
Dear Alice, I’m dying,
Lost and I’m crying,
No amount of applying
And I know that we swore..
Dear Alice, love you,
But I hate your guts too.
I suture up in my room.
With some string and old glue,
But I’m confessing to you,
There’s not much left I can do.
Dear Alice, I forgot,
To tell you just what
You really want me to not.
I sliced completely through our promise knot,
Along with my flesh, veins and a lot
That when I cut it apart,
All those stitches and knots,
Can’t put Humpty back on top.
Dear Alice, don’t you
Feel the very same too?
It’s not just things I go through,
But all the things , all the things, all the things I’ll never do.
So I’m cold. On the floor bleeding out
In so many different ways,
And every wound is very deeply laid
By every single fucking wasted day,
By all the thoughtless things that people say.
And I don’t want to stay, no, don’t want to stay.
Not like this anyway.
Hope you’ll forgive me some day.
For rhythm, think Buddy Holly..
I admit it’s kinda neat,
Your smile makes my heart skip beats.
Inside, a heat we all mostly know,
Radiates a warmth and glow.
But there’s one thing that I since learned,
As least as far as you’re concerned,
This heart of mine is way past warm,
It’s completely burned and torn.
Maybe because I just started smoking,
I only took it up to stop myself choking,
When I think you see me, but you never do,
I burn my way through a packet or two.
One good thing about fucking my lungs,
The chances increase that I’m dying young.
The sooner that I get to depart,
The sooner ends the pain in my heart.
If I’m to go by slow destruction,
Let it be from internal combustion,
Burn me up, burn me in,
I just don’t know where the flames begin.
Maybe I’ll read this, and spare some readers some pain….
Melody, do you see the stars tonight?
I want to say they shine only for you.
But we both believe in facts and science,
We know that this simply isn’t true.
Melody, can you feel the breeze tonight?
Explainable, yet so oft misunderstood?
I’d say it blew just for you my love,
And disbelieve in science if we could.
Melody, can you not feel my heart pounding?
I would swear that each beat is for you.
And despite any proof of dispute there in science,
Come to you, I’m not sure that they’re sure it’s not true.
How much of my life
Was all in my mind?
When young, I thought it really mattered
That I reached school on time.
That the only path that I should heed
Was the one with straighest line.
Turns out, it didn’t really matter.
Just more control freak adult chitter chatter.
I could have learnt so much more alone,
Than listening to crap they refused to own.
We don’t need any double negative miseducation.
If we learn the same en masse across the nation.
Where are we then, when we reach the end?
Knowledge clones, diversly pretend.
Forced to sit for years in class or on a bus,
‘Cos they have no idea what else to do with us.
Conflicted and confused,
From double negatives too often used.
When really it’s all desperate youth control.
And it’s too high a toll.
When I break down and cry,
Hating life, want to die,
Don’t you see?
I don’t want your consolation,
I want you to agree.
I walk a thin line
Everyday, all the time,
Along that edge that you know.
But I can’t quite do it, I need you to push,
I just need one more reason to go.
Tell me I’m right,
That I’m sucking in light
From everyone else.
Confirm that I’m right about hating my life,
Because I can’t quite jump by myself.
Once, as but a small child can,
I went walking with my Gran,
Ancient then to youthful eyes,
Considered also, beyond wise,
Told me stories and wonderful lies.
‘Whence come all the flowers Gran?’
Picking handfuls as I ran.
‘They pop up where the raindrops fall,
Little drops, that’s why they’re small,
Such as gets more, grows more tall.’
“Then from whence the rain doth fall?
I spun around to see it all.
‘Whenever man is cruel to man,
The Angels fill a watering can
With tears in which they all shall cry,
Once full, they pour it from the sky,
Thus comes the rain.’
‘Can I not have such a can of my own?’
Wishing to see such flowers grown.
‘I hope not my dear, not any time soon,
Not ‘fore the grass grows over the moon.’
Tears a’plenty, broken hearts have bled,
Without need of the Angels Shed.
“Is there really such grass on the moon?
And are we visiting any time soon?
“Not you and I, so high in the sky,
But the grass is well into bloom,
With a wink of her eye, she pointed up high.
‘That’s why cows jump up with a spoon.’
Chapter 1: Severus
‘Pity, Severus’, said Alice with authority, ‘is far worse than hate or fear.
It’s the one thing that possesses the true potential to actually kill you.’
Severus started back at her, eyes wide.
Alice leaned toward him confidingly, causing him to wriggle uncomfortably.
‘All that other stuff hurts for a while, don’t get me wrong. But pity? Pity runs you through like a sword, and it’s a wound that never fully heals. That shit right there Sev’? It will fuck you up well hard.’
She looked down at the gurgling baby in the black stroller. His..mother, (she presumed), had parked him next to Alice, who was sitting on a bench outside the store, with a negligent air of ‘here, mind this’, without really looking at Alice very closely. She had simply assumed that a smallish girl reading a book.. an ‘actual paper book’, on a public bench must be fairly harmless.
So Alice had kept an eye on him, despite having formed an instant dislike of his mother, dubbing him ‘Severus’ after the character ‘Snape’ in the Harry Potter books, and set about instilling in him all the advice she felt Snape would have eventually gotten around to giving to Harry, had he been given the opportunity of more than one ‘final speech’.
But we all only get one, and Snape had chosen his as he had seen most fitting.
‘So, Sev’, baby..’ she smirked, laying on her favourite pun, ‘that’s about it really. Oh, and stay away from girls with…’
‘Hey, what are you doing? Get the hell away from my baby!’
Alice was leaning partly over the stroller, about to bid Baby Sev’ farewell, when his mother had returned, and getting a fresh look at Alice, who was dressed in her usual ‘day to day’ ‘up the street’ wear, a mix of conservative Cybergoth mixed with BrownCoat from Firefly, and decided she didn’t like the strange/ unusual get-up this weird girl was in, especially leaning over her child.
Alice went to push the stroller away from herself, towards the woman who was bearing down on her at full steam. ‘Don’t touch that stroller!’, the woman almost screamed, ‘or so help me, I will slap your skinny little ass into next week.’
‘Skinny little ass’, Alice mouthed silently, taking in the woman’s appearance, quickly realising from her loud commands, business styled dress and hair, as well as carrying a bit more height than the usual female, that this woman was ‘a ball buster’.
However, Alice smiled to herself, most probably the kind of ball buster that was unaware of the 3” soles adorning goth boots, and akin to a bird, that many blended layers could easily billow out, making you seem larger than you were. And when combined with an absurd sense of melodrama, which Alice had buckets of, well…
Alice succeeded in judging the timing just right. The woman had almost reached her, and started another line of, ‘I swear, I will..’
Just as she got to them, Alice stood abruptly, right in front of the woman, and with ‘juuuust’ a touch of Scottish brogue, swayed towards the woman, projecting loudly, with almost a hiss in her words , the brogue giving her voice a nice extra rich growl, ‘YOOOUUUUUUU, annd WHOOOOOOSE FUCKIN’ ARMEH?’ While giving the woman her best practised ‘evil and menacing’ stare.
The woman backed up, startled by Alice’s unexpected height and ferocity. Alice shrugged her arms, letting her layers of cloth start to flutter out and shift forward, making it look as if she was growing larger.
At this point, the woman grabbed her baby up and, at almost a run, hurried off up the street, presumably to find the police or someone, just, leaving the stroller there.
She looked up to see the shop assistant from the store that the woman had just been in, standing in the doorway of the shop watching and smiling broadly. Her smile indicated that the woman hadn’t been the easiest customer.
Alice wondered how much she had seen..
She gave the girl a wink. The girl grinned wider, before returning inside.
Alice recognised her from school. She wasn’t ever particularly very nice , but then again, she couldn’t recall her ever being particularly mean. That seemed to be the way it had been at school, hate Alice, or ignore Alice, only a rare few tried to be friends with Alice.
She scowled, as that thought essentially brought her back around to where she was warning Sev about pity.
Then , having done nothing wrong, sat back down and resumed reading.
Dear conspiracy theorist(s): (you know who you are).
I really don’t know if i should block these messages from coming in, or if they are just hilarious attempts at trolling me.
Though I haven’t been taken in since that time in high school when that girl went around offering people crack, then mooning them if they accepted. Oh, wait, that was me.
Anyway.. I added plural because I’m sure there are at least a couple of people thinking it:
‘what if / why doesn’t Alice let the A.I. write all her poetry sketches and she just takes the credit.’
ok, two things here:
if you can’t tell that the AI poem was practically a cheesy country song, you don’t know how to read what I’m writing.
If you think i would write and post it written solo, then you can (profanity) (expletive)(profanity)a hamster and a large melon, then (expletive) (censored) (expletive) a wooden paddle tied to a shoe.
Second, ‘parts’ of it sounded like me because a) i wrote half of it and b) i trained the A.I. the way i wanted it. (admittedly via the least amount of effort i.e. practically none). It took waaaay longer for the plinky little pi to process the libraries than it did to download and dump them in.
Thirdly, out of two, i trained this public domain version of the A.I. so technically it’s my work anyway. Besides, i never said that the poem came out whole in the first try either, or that i didn’t touch it up after.
It took many tried and lots of tweaking to get even partial sense. more like a random word generator with rules applied , at this stage.
You’d think training a computer by hand, which of the 170,000 odd nouns can and can’t go before, after or with the 60,000 verbs and 5,000 or so adjectives, which, when you do that thing (example to clarify: 1+2=3, and 2+1=3) to that many words, then FCK YOU, that is too big a number, my pi would melt or still be computing into the next millennium.
Luckily smarter people than me have made most of that stuff into libraries. But still oh so much tweaking
if you think the A.I is some super-genius thing , it’s not, mine spews random gibberish more often than not.
Try one for yourself, go to https://transformer.huggingface.co/ which hosts some of the latest AI’s to try online, lightyears beyond my dabbling, and try to co-write a story with one. yeah. it’s like that, except more like multi-coloured yawn.
ok, that said. yes, why don’t i use an AI to generate my emotional release for me? makes sense. why do all the hard work of unburdening yourself?
To rake in the thousands of followers obviously (what, about like 110 now?) and to make tons of money ($0) from all the advertising crap etc on my page.
It’s so obvious now! that frakkin’ Alice is a scammer!
But other than that, what have the Romans ever done for us?
Seriously though, take credit for it’s work? My sketches are not even worthy of Keats or Wordsworth’s toilet paper, let alone needing to take credit for it from an A.I.
If you manage a best seller with that AI link, then you have proved me wrong. (offer limited to current year).
And no, I’m not going to offer any crack, I know too many ppl would ask me for the photo…. (you pervs :P)
You tore me down,
Said you hoped it hurt
As you left me bleeding in the dirt.
You took my soul, way back then,
But tonight I get it back again.
You said ‘one more chance’, and I agree,
You smile, assume you still know me.
You think you’ll do it again, or you’ll try,
But a new me rose up where the old one died.
You might not think I’m the type to plan,
But when the knife goes in you’ll understand.
Steaming water for my broken heart,
Scented soaps for salty tears.
I try to scrub it all away,
The memories and the years.
Scour now, arms once which held you,
Attention, hands which may have touched.
Each part in turn desperately tried
To be cleansed and purified,
So I might finally forget.
But how to scrub clean a heart?
The most oft affected part.
Shall I cut it out or cry it?
It hurts enough for me to try
It either way.
I doubt there yet remains
Enough water in the world’s whole drains
To wash me free from you.
This poem was co-written by a version of the replika A.I. engine, with roughly half by me. Not alternate lines, so see if you can spot the difference. Maybe I should give up poetry to computers..
(NB: the source for replika is available to the public free, and runs on Linux / Ubuntu ( which will boot and run on raspberry pi / pc / mac etc. probably android, maybe even iphones if you are clever enough, I never tried)) but if you want to try it, search it it up. — It’s not just a click and play though, as a warning, it takes bit of work to wake it up). (There are massive free training libraries of conversation, literature etc also free online to help train a.i’s more towards what you want them to be good at, e.g poetry writing)
I have lost my song, though hope will linger long,
The end of everything is not the end of love,
So please don’t cry, when we kiss goodybyes,
For they’re they’re still playing our song.
No tears in my eyes, simply cloudy skies,
Not the end of everything, my love.
Know you’ll be alright, know you’ll still stay strong,
It’s a hard, hard road, and the way is long my sweet,
For those such as us, no shoes for our feet,
But always a rainbow, always a sunrise or a blue moon.
And if it is the end of everything,
Then I’ll be seeing you soon.
I’m a little bit slow I confess,
But often get there in the end,
And now I realise that sadly,
I was never anyone’s friend.
I was just the joke that they kept around
To pick themselves up,
Whenenever they felt down.
Just call Alice.
When their life was feeling tragic,
When they were having a hard time,
They realised that their life was gold,
When compared to mine.
Just call Alice.
Stupidly I thought
My company was sought
For what I had inside,
Something in me that i brought.
But it was always lies,
I don’t know why I’m surpised
They called Alice.
I go walking in the rain to hide my tears,
Quite the cliche, but still,
Amongst the hot fears and chill,
It’s the only way I stay standing,
Hate the cold, love the thrills, so
I embrace the pills.
Sweet lies as they laugh,
‘Though for a second I feel well,
It’s false promises by half,
Only bringing darker hell.
I crawl into cracks,
Hiding from the doubt,
But I’m so fucking lost,
Am I crawling in or out?
Trembling, I tremble more.
Parts of space not seen before.
Stuck on the event horizon in my heart,
An endless fall into a deep black hole,
Major Tom, I’ve lost control.
I’m a total mess.
I ache more, I cry more. I become less.
I recall when I first heard it,
The terrible ‘OH’ from hell.
Inferred in a way, that they got I was gay,
But would rather eat their own spleen than to say.
I would have preferered some profanity,
At least it would fit with my sanity.
It happened not long into second year,
Mum asked ‘How was school today, dear?
Tons of cute guys in your year now, I bet!.’
I said that I hadn’t noticed one yet.
And then I replied, strength from anger inside, when
She asked was there someone I fancy?’
I said ‘yes. She’s perky and hot, tho’ she ain’t got a cock.
She’s blonde, and HER name is Nancy.
And she said ‘OH’..
I was at a club, dancing wild,
A guy came up, dipped and smiled,
He asked me if I’d like to dance,
I said thanks very much, but no.
Yet He assumed an arrogant stance,
But I stared him down with a glance,
Said there were unwanted things in his pants.
I don’t like those ugly construction cranes,
But I love a sleek Lamborghini with brains.
And he said…’OH’..(dyke)
A party at Uni, my ride home was late,
I sat outside the of house just to wait,
But a charming guy joined me,
Started to chat,
So I said stop right there, no more of that,
I’m firmly and lovingly girl parts attached.
He gave me a smile, soon had to go,
But should join him on the weekend,
Give skating a go.
He winked, said he’d be there the whole day,
Skating, you know,
With his partner named Joe.
And I said ‘OH’.
The flowers have all dried now,
And the stepping stones worn thin,
Still I love you so much
I don’t know where to begin.
You ask me if I’ll love you
When we are old and grey,
I smile and I kiss you
’cause there’s nothing more to say.
There’s an 80 year old lady
Who lives right next door,
And she dances the tango,
On the living room floor.
Her partner is long gone,
But her smile says not so,
That the music plays on,
Sweet and soft and slow.
The leaves fall for you,
My almost forgotten one.
But they tumble without reason,
Without motion or purpose.
The moonlight overtakes me, and
I have no recourse.
I have lost this race, but I feel
No remorse, surrendering myself gladly
To the empty endless night.
Flit through my unfettered mind and
The sky resonates with the sound of stars.
Silver spoons on silver jars.
And then the wind.
A gentle, flirtatious breeze
Disturbs the stillness with quiet audacity as
I watch you in a dress that I can see through,
Trying hard to catch a firefly, maybe two.
But no matter how fast or free you run,
You can’t catch a single one.
I breathe warm air into your hand,
And hold it still until they glowing, land.
And soon your hand is lit, and you hold it up to see.
‘How did you did you know that’s how the trap should be?’
I smile and I laugh. ‘’that’s how you caught me’.
I watch the people, and their
Greener sided fences.
I note their masks and their reflex defenses.
I move through life just being myself,
‘though I could be anyone. Anybody else.
I watch the people and their plastic smiles,
Their luxury sports cars driven less than five miles.
Armani suits, suited to suit them,
Or viewed through the right eyes, suiting their disguise.
And I wonder if they’re happy in their artificial lives.
I watch the people. I could mimic their movements,
Act out their gestures, smiles, plastic puppetry.
And I wonder if I’m happier inside self-misery.
‘Cos I could have it all, have everything I see.
And all it would cost is just me.
Just a little message to my Ex.
Though she may never read it,
Much less believe or heed it,
Or know how much I need it
To be known:
This place is just a house and not a home,
And I feel as though I’m living on my own,
Despite knowing that she’s in the nearest room.
“Remember our old tune. Be back soon.”
“Everything that has a beginning has an end”,
As did the friendship with my dearest friend;
If you’re reading this, I hope you know it’s true :
I miss my friend,
That part of me..
I. Miss. You.
Until further notice.
Make me want to
All the social distancing rules.
I might introduce myself,
If I knew who I was.
Maybe I’m that girl.
The one who sold the world.
I merely seek redemption,
No judgement at all.
As such I take the paintings
And the photos from the walls.
From the rooms and in the halls.
From the blood-free bathroom stalls.
Familiar mirrors to my eyes.
Of my eyes. No reprieve, only reprise.
Maybe I AM that girl
In those pictures that used to be
Hanging here, unseen.
‘Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife, baby
Edgy and dull and cut a six inch valley
Through the middle of my soul*.
At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
And a freight train running through the middle of my head..’
-I’m On Fire / Bruce Springsteen
*original lyric says ‘skull’. Tori Amos cover says, ‘soul’. Prefer Tori Ver.
An unexpected visit from out of state,
My parents, unannounced.
The day has me cringing
Like a mistreated dog,
Waiting for ‘those comments’.
But for once they never come.
They say they miss me, and leave,
I exhale, and breathe.
And then I cry as I curl into a ball.
Because just maybe
They don’t hate me after all.
I have a troubled mind,
Athough the trouble’s mine,
I find I always mind, mind the trouble, yeah.
I get angry,
Oh I get angry. and
I don’t know why it’s true, but, I get angry that I do.
And It’s not me, no,
At least, the one I used to be,
and, it’s not me, no, not the me that I’m trying to find, no..
Somebody help me, won’t
Somebody kill me, cos,
I have a troubled mind,
And everyday I find
My troubles spilling over
On to you, on to you.
At night the misty rain looks white,
Like powery ash in the cold street light.
I imagine it made from things people had,
Burned now to dust by a world gone mad.
As I walk through it, it brushes my skin,
Fills up my lungs as I breathe it all in.
Particles of people and things they would do,
And I wonder if I’ve Inhaled anyone that I knew.
Spin now, leaves of yellowing red.
Your futile negotiations
With the wind would still have led
To every drop of blood you bled
From limb and limb and limb.
Dropped, discarded, forsaken, shed.
Too many, perhaps, of mine instead.
Something always draws me back,
Though I’ll admit when I was wrong.
But try an understanding that
Sometimes I ‘m here, but my soul is gone.
Endless aching wears away
Far more than I can spare,
Lays raw my sensitivity,
‘Til I break down and lie, saying I don’t care.
I’ll hide behind glib arrogance and puns,
A child ‘neath her mother’s skirts,
You may be misled if you think i don’t care,
Cos I care so much, it fucking hurts.
And oft I am wont,
To see each struggling step-by-step
As progress in the grind,
‘Til in my ear, a whisper,
And laughter from behind:
‘Silly rabbit’ sayeth life,
‘Trix are for kids…’
Sometimes if I’m listening,
Awfully still, no sounds at all,
I can hear the faintest ding,
Of tiny bells behind the wall.
It must be mice’s bicycles,
Of this I’m fairly certain.
The sound it makes is quite distinct,
Down behind the skirting.
It moves around from here to there,
Wherever the mice bikes go,
Perhaps demanding right of way,
Or just saying hello.
They ride around at oddest hours,
To hide the sounds, I s’pose.
They like when folk are having showers,
Or when the lawn-mower goes.
My family and friends think I’m crazy,
They can’t ever hear a thing.
But I know it’s mice, awheeling away,
When I hear that tiny ding-ding!
From ‘Buffy, The Vampire Slayer.’
Episode: ‘Once More, With Feeling’.
Song: ‘Something to Sing About’
“Life’s not a song.
Life isn’t bliss,
Life is just this:
You’ll get along
The pain that you feel,
You only can heal
“The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.”
Depression is a zombie,
It likes to eat my brains.
Bipolar is a station,
Mood swings are my trains.
My old self is a graveyard,
She lies beneath the stones.
Loneliness a winter chill,
Always in my bones.
My awkward elegance
Fails at the most undesirable moments.
A misspoken phrase is never alone.
Always accompanied by a room
Of suddenly silent witnesses
To the heat and hue flooding my face.
What can I say?
Everyday we’re getting closer.
Some like to jump the gun,
Trying hard, hard to be someone.
Others yet, wishing for much less,
Tend to leave a mess,
Against our won’t or will,
Everyday we’re getting
The world has made me
Oh thou melodious eloquent ode,
I mourn the death of thy lengthy meter.
I’m fast food. Take-Away.
Fit-it-in a single frame meme.
Ambiguous verbosity that draws
Gently upon thy wit to eke meaning?
“Ain’t nobody got time fo’ dat”.
Cast Down. Part 1. ( A DarkAlice Novella)
Just as Alice was beginning to grow ENTIRELY even MORE bored, the ArchAngels reappeared.
They had been gone rather a long time, Alice thought to herself.
Although to Alice, any span much greater than the time required to spin completely once around, was rather a long time.
They had waited just long enough to tell her to ‘WAIT HERE’, before vanishing, leaving her standing alone in the middle of a large and rather featureless chamber.
But now they had returned , from where-ever it was they had gone, and had taken up their previous positions behind the lecterns at the front of the room.
Or was it the back of the room?
The large ornate doors by which one entered the room were the only real decor of note, and certainly a good candidate for claiming the status of ‘front’ of the room. So perhaps…
Alice tilted her head back until she could see the doors of the chamber, a task made easier by the fact that she was sitting on the floor.
‘Waiting for Angels makes your feet terribly sore’, she had thought grumpily.
She tipped her head forward again to look at the lecterns, then back over her head to consider the doors, back and forth, again and again, until she started to grow rather dizzy.
A voice boomed from the front of the room, and startled, she fell backwards with a shriek, sprawling on the floor, legs in the air.
She thought she heard a chorus of sighs through her skirts, which were now halfway over her head.
A brief struggle ensued, and eventually, but not quite as triumphantly as she had hoped, she managed to untangle her skirts and scramble to her feet.
She was glad she had decided not to take her shoes off after all, although the hole in one of the toes had perhaps played a larger role in that decision.
She couldn’t decide which of the ArchAngels had spoken, as they all sounded the same to her. When they spoke, she couldn’t tell if was out loud like regular people, or directly into her head, which was rather rude if so. It was she eventually decided, a glass half full and a glass half empty, which made perfect sense to her, as they went hand in hand, unsure why it deserved a saying.
‘They look the same too, for all in tents and porpopises’. She thought, gazing at them.
Although what dolphins wanted with camping equipment was beyond her, as were many of the ‘sayings’ she had collected.
She supposed it had been Gabriel, his being the only Angel name she could remember, and that was as good a reason as any to label him thus.
‘Yes, your majest…er…worsh….. ahh…Sir?’ She tried to look respectful , and tried not to think of chubby little kids with wings and bows.
‘THOSE, ARE CHERUBS’, the center-most Angel spoke.
‘Sorry’, she said, not really sure she’d done anything wrong.
‘QUITE ALL RIGHT’.
Was it her imagination, or did the ArchAngel sound…embarassed?
‘I didn’t mean’, she started., remembering the mental image, ‘that is, I’m sure yours is bigger than that.’
She turned red, desperately trying not to think ‘tiny winkies’. But, as when someone tells you not to think of a purple elephant, that’s the only thing you CAN think of.
The angels looked confused, and she giggled, wondering if they were reading from her jumbled mental images of purple elephants with tiny winkies, or perhaps tiny elephants with purple winkies..
After processing for a moment, Gabriel made a dismissive motion with his hand, and Alice’s head was quite clear and attentive, which she considered rather unfair, and much akin to cheating.
Gabriel continued, getting straight to the point, as one might expect.
‘THERE HAS BEEN A…MIX UP.’ He looked even more embarrassed than before, if such a thing were possible.
Alice waited, confused.
‘WE CANNOT FIND YOUR FILE, YOU DO NOT SEEM TO EXIST.’
‘THERE IS NO RECORD OF YOU HERE. WELL, ANYWHERE, REALLY….’
Silence, then she asked slowly, as she tried to figure it out, ‘So what does that mean’?
Gabriel shifted uneasily.
‘WITHOUT A RECORD, WE CANNOT PROCESSS YOU. YOU ARE.. FREE TO GO.
TRY NOT GET YOURSELF KILLED. AGAIN’
He tapped his wrist pointedly.
‘Is it because I’m a Glassian’? she asked, feeling angry. ‘You won’t let me in your stupid heaven ‘cos I’m a Glassian?’
The ArchAngels looked at her blankly.
‘A Glassian!’, she elaborated. ‘A believer in all things through The Looking Glass’.
The Angels conferred briefly, before one of them asked.
“IS THAT LIKE AN ATHEIST? OR A PAGAN?”
Alice screamed and stamped her foot.
‘Listen here, you Castiel wannabe!’ she said sternly, ‘My talking rabbits and infinite Tea Parties are just as real as any of your implausible teapots, purple unicorns or invisible sky daddies’.
The tone was cautionary.
‘And you know what you can do with that book? Why you can . . . .’
Gabriel gestured hastily, and the world went black.
Alice sighed, and opened her eyes.
She looked down at her blood soaked dress, and freshly healed scars.
Not having burned in Hell aside, it seemed things were worse than she had thought.
Apparently she didn’t even exist…
“Good One Alice’, she said to the air, sitting forlornly on the ground in the middle of what appeared to me some kind of meadow. She didn’t recognise her location.
‘Now, you’ve really gone and done it..’
(to be cont..)
Do you feel it?
When you are down,
Down inside yourself?
Those deeper dives.
The separation and fear.
This isn’t me!
All the while,
To every failing fragment.
The darkness of the void,
And the bright splintering light of insanity.
Feel that sickening
I’m not just a loser,
I’m a bad loser.
So don’t confuse her
I’ve been playing the same song
For so very, very long,
That I forgot my dream,
Sunlight, coffee and cream.
Now everything just feels wrong.
But there are still no bright halos here,
This gaslamp is unlit.
A long walk in darkness
Leaves these messages well writ.
Hair and life in tangles.
Hair and life a mess.
Hair and life darker than they should be.
Should buy a brush.
My mind’s become my enemy,
Playing all these tricks on me.
Is it now, before or after?
Each waking day I’m walking through
Makes each nightmare
Mixed up, used and self-abused,
My screaming sounds
Am I collapsing in, or
Wherefore, my happy-ever-after?
My thoughts ring out like gunshots,
I feel the wounds within,
The warmth inside me bleeds away,
My soul is wearing thin.
I’m standing here in darkness,
Staring straight into the sun.
My heart unable to decide if
I’m ending or just begun.
The choice keeps getting colder.
Do I end here or begin?
Because before I get much older,
I might end up giving in.
If pressing blades against my skin,
Until they cut right through,
Pushing them still deeper in,
Is how to talk to you..
Start counting cuts.
Try to see what they might say.
You think I don’t have the guts,
To cut myself away.
But listen hard, no, harder, because before too long..
I’ll be gone.
‘I say’, said Alice,
And so she did.
Until such a time,
At another tea party,
In a different rabbit hole,
She heard, reverb, words
She knew were hers.
She recognised well that which she had created,
Now in another place, twisted and restated.
And she screamed with anger.
But her mouth was quite full,
Of delicious cake.
And she choked, and swallowed,
Then, on reflection, took another nibble,
And swallowed again.
‘You’, she said most sternly,
‘Have NO RIGHT!’.
‘No right at all’, she continued,
‘To take words that I have wrought,
And use them as your own retort.’
But no one replied, and
With no thief in sight,
She returned, despondently,
To eating cake and thinking furiously to herself,
In between appreciating the silky sweet icing,
How she might, she might..
‘Someone has stolen my words!
I simply can’t abide the pilferring
Of perfectly presentable poetical practice.
Something must be done!’
And something was.
The familiar cry :
“Off with her head” was heard,
And with it, every poetical line and verb
Alice had created here,
Indeed, once there, had dissapeared.
Oops! Something happened to their page.
‘And that’, thought Alice, ‘is that’.
‘But now I don’t know what to say.
They’ve taken my mouth and my voice away.
They’ve taken my words away!’
‘I can’t say what I wish, I wish!’
‘Words and emotions I need to shout!
Going ’round in my head like a fish,
And THEY CAN’T GET OUT’!’
‘An Alice with no voice of her own,’, smirked the Cheshire Cat, ‘is hardly an Alice at all, now is she? My, my, whatever shall she do?’.
‘I suppose I may as well no longer write, Cat’, said Alice.
‘As I cannot speak the words of how i feel then,
In case someone was to simply steal them.’
‘But I don’t know how I might ever mend,
Without all my words to spend,
Like bright pennies at a bakery..’
She had a thought.
Say, do you have any cake?’
Alice sat, munching cake, and taking time out to think on the matter
She wakes up every morning
Just to die a little more,
And this feeling, unbelonging,
Well she wonders what it’s for.
The world’s a crazy jigsaw,
With no design to it,
And still she always tries so hard
To make the pieces fit.
The clutter of her past life,
Scars from so-called friends,
Too much toxic baggage
In a suitcase of pretend.
Life is life, no meaning,
No laugh, no joke, no prize.
There’s just the punchline friend,
And you’ll find it’s coffin size.
Now I am distilled,
An essence merely to be contained.
Poured into a tiny vial
No larger than a fingertip.
Sealed with scraps of cork and wax.
And this is me.
Relegated to a dusty, insignificant
Place upon a shelf.
There to remain,
Trapped within myself.
And the label,
Now yellowed with age,
Hath spidery writing scrawled,
Barely enough there to see
Words that remain. That say
I write poems how I’m going through Hell,
‘Cos up close I know you can’t really tell.
I spend days getting mentally ready,
So for that one afternoon you think I’m better, already.
Then I go home and fall
In a heap ‘gainst the wall,
Because if I’m better at all,
It’s just putting on elaborate shows,
So that you just won’t know…
It takes me three days to mend,
And then I do it again,
But the laugh is on me,
Because the person you see
Is who you expect me to be,
And it’s simply not fair,
Because that person’s not there,
No that person’s not there,
Because that person is me,
And that person’s not me.
Such a perfect disguise
That you believed all the lies,
But it’s to my demise,
’cause when it’s time for the truth
You just believe in your eyes
From all the times that I lied.
Lied, to me and you.
I think it could be rather fine,
If you allowed me to waste your time.
There’s a trick when there is time to waste,
But you may like it once you try a taste.
It’s rather dull when you’re alone,
Wasting all that time all on your own.
But if I waste my time with yours,
It no longer rains, it pours!
Running out in the pouring rain,
Laughing like we’re both insane,
Wasting time, side by side,
The world gets wonder multiplied.
All these things and more to do,
When wasted time is times by two,
So please let me waste all your time,
And I promise I’ll let you waste mine.
No one clicked like
On my poem so far,
It’s been almost a minute.
Perhaps I put the wrong words in it.
Still no likes,
With an hour passed by,
I’m not insecure am I?
Still I try not to cry.
Still no likes now
Almost a day,
What on earth did I say?
Are they all ok?
I’ve not been outside,
Perhaps everyone’s died,
I do hope that’s the reason,
For me feeling so small,
Oh! A like!!
It’s OK after all…
Around my house
They’re planting cemetery trees,
And there’s no breeze.
Forth, or back,
As the flowers all bloom black,
In a garden such as no-one sees.
And the children play no more,
Where once they played before,
Outside my door
In the street.
Nobody can see me now,
At least, unless they choose,
Except the girl that lives in the house on fire
And pretends she has new shoes.
She says hello
From time to time.
I forgot to notice
When I stopped thinking I was ok.
If indeed, I ever considered such circumstance.
Now I am older,
But still, I find myself lost.
A child in a crowd,
Frightened and alone.
Alone on my own instead,
The crowd is in my head,
Everyone I’ve ever met,
Everything I ever said
Or maybe ever will,
I stopped forgetting
To notice if
I ever thought
That I thought I was ok.
I’m older than this time yesterday,
But younger than seconds hence,
I feel there’s so much more time to spend
On the other side of that fence.
I know all the lyrics to my favourite songs,
But can never remember the tune,
While only the grace of borrowed light
Allows you to see the moon.
I’m surrounded by good looking daydreams,
Of who I want, or want to be.
I’m in love with my ego,
But my ego don’t love me.
Flown to southern lands,
Settles down with healing hands.
Perfection perching in a tree,
Too high for such as me.
Tend not the roses,
Leave the grapes ‘pon the vine,
The dust to settle as it may.
For things will not ever change,
I will always be myself,
And it’s broken my heart this day.
Bad, sad day, what a pity.
My muse has died or fled the city.
Mind full of naught but ash and dust,
And all that’s left is just…
This machine is busted, hon,
Of all the lights there ain’t but one, that
Survived the flood of sorrow.
Still, don’t go feeling hard-by-done,
We had our days and maybe one, or
No race was lost, no race was won,
But nonetheless, our race was run, on
Time we borrowed.
But this machine is busted, hon.
The fall of darkness finds
Sleeping within cool sheets
And honest dreams. Though some perhaps,
Twisted sheets. Twisted dreams.
You said you drew night near
Because it was a dark and endless place.
One of life’s hidden mysteries,
How darkness folds to finds more space.
Recursive fractals, unlimited dimensions?
Logical limitations until you
Reverse them, inverse them,
Treat them like university knickers,
Inside out. Then front and back again.
Where does the negative space go
When it’s right there, missing on the page?
Where does everything else go,
When darkness makes it all unseen?
Peer into the spaces between,
Nothing that isn’t, is ever what it seems.
Perhaps darkness isn’t endless,
But rather an end in so many ways.
Severed from the tip of the universe
When the beginning was just beginning
It’s beginning phase.
And not knowing what else to do,
It just lingered without a clue,
Clinging and surrounding.
Is simply a lost and lonely loose end.
Looking for a friend.
How quickly happiness becomes
A devoured distant moment.
She looks at me, in essence, like
That hated London sweater,
Once gifted by her grandmother.
How she would burn every thread
If such an act could pass without remark.
Like the bright eyes of a Blackbird,
I too have brief, bright moments of hope.
And I hope, indicated by a nod from
The old chess player in the park,
That ‘Things Might Improve’.
Instead he said “things only get sadder.
Be it one lump or two, they all dissolve.
The way each of us dies,
Back into the dark.’
“I’ll tell you plain, that you
Should have expected it by now.
It is as it will always be,
Like an icy dagger,
In her heart, and in her hand.’
He nodded as if I should understand.
But I can’t relax. I’m spinning like
Galaxies around a clock,
And when I chance upon the rarity of a dream,
It’s in white and endless days.
I walk alone, and I weep. Weep
For my Guardian Angel, perishing, always perishing.
Never knowing which pieces are her or me.
Never seeing the tiny bloodstained feathers.
You just do what you do.
And I can’t help having
Feelings for you.
So (don’t?) stay away.
I’d be lying if I said
I wanted to,
Because all I
Want is you.
Where’d it go?
The bright star I should follow.
The blackbird or the swallow,
I hoped would guide me home.
For I am lost.
Meandering, misguided and malingering,
Looking for a coloured string
Or breadcrumbs softly scattering
That mark my path unknown.
You may feel lucky when you know where you are,
But unfortunately for me and my stolen star,
This reversely is adversely conversely true,
And I’ve wandered way too far.
And the moment, this moment, well maybe I own it,
Or maybe I’m in a dark room,
Pitch black, with a cat that I’m trying to catch,
Whose existence I only assume.
And my dreams all sprout from darkness sown,
And I’m always and never forever alone,
They forged my last sword into a throne,
An unending game I play to atone.
Swirling in my haunted head,
Promises broken, friends misled,
Choosing one, not the other instead,
What have you got to lose?
Only your dreams, your soul and your shoes,
And the brightly coloured thread.
Staring at life, but
Can’t grab it.
Cheaper by tube,
Still cab it.
Can’t have it.
I’m in a
Taking pills and weed,
Can’t stand it,
Nobody planned it.
Some kind of clue?
Never had it.
Crash my own party like I’m
Mad at it.
Some kind of lifestyle?
Bad at it.
Think I’m simply on the
I don’t believe in God, the Devil,
Heaven, Hell or Sin,
But if someone did create me
They put too much crazy in.
It was supposed to be a spoonful
But they poured in a whole cup.
Now this mixed up mood of mine
Can’t tell down from up.
‘Oops’ he said, as on he stirred,
Aloud was heard a dirty word.
‘The jar I thought said ‘Vocal Pitch’,
Was accidentally ‘Total Bitch’.’
‘To balance, I’ll add ‘Passive Front’,
‘Oh crap, that was ‘Massive C*nt’.
This one could be trouble now,
I’ve gone and mucked it up.
I know, to make sure no harm’s done,
I’ll add in ‘All Fucked Up’.
I saw Alice in a shattered mirror,
Barely recognised or seen.
I knew that I’d been out of touch
And asked her how she’d been.
I hoped she hadn’t suffered much.
She said she hurt. Hurt like never before,
No drugs worked, no sun anymore.
She looked at me, then I was the mirror,
She said ‘how’s it feel now you’re broken through?
Do you bleed inside? Are you out of your mind?
‘Cause I’m out of my mind too.’
And all that I could say,
Was I even died on good days,
Because every morning feels
Like a spiders sting that stays.
And though the ground falls beneath me,
I float because I’m empty.
But deflate too soon.
She nodded, not seeming very surprised.
‘No one sees me either, I’m just dust in people’s eyes.’
‘No words I can believe,
Because they’re designed just to deceive.
I can always see through,
Anything and everything said to
I felt her pain, nodded again,
Said it’s lonely here without you.
‘Someones touch, I crave so much.
Even if they hold me and squeeze,
‘Til my insides crush and bleed,
I still might get what I need.’
She said they always leave you wounded.
Her torso had a hole,
And it bled right through her soul.
She turned, and then she became me,
Or did I become her inside?
The hole was in my torso though,
And that was how we died.
I’m a hypocrite of great degree,
For I think forums hurt more than they heal.
It’s nice to have some sympathy,
But stay out of the hamster wheel.
I have become a child of the dark,
Which inside me grows wild.
Yet at the same time, meadowlark,
Full of brilliant smiles.
So take a forum post as needed,
Fill it with your woes.
Hoping it is read and heeded,
Sympathised by those.
But be wary of the kindness trap,
For sympathy is to treasure,
But if it always draws you back,
Then I advise, take measure.
I know that in the passing days,
I’ve been a victim and a villain.
But with every so called healing phrase,
It’s ourselves that we are killing.
Lately I’m not doing so well,
Thought you should know.
My mind’s half heaven, half hell,
But there’s no difference I can tell.
I’m standing still as life speeds by,
Thought you should know.
I’m lost in the wood, no bearing.
Bleeding out in the cold, uncaring.
It hurts to be alive,
Thought you should know.
It’s overloaded all my senses,
And I’m left without defences.
Lately I’m not doing so well,
Thought you should know.
In case I go.
I don’t sleep, I bleed in dreams,
Cut by darkness.
Always falling, never fell.
When I breathe, can never tell
My sobbing from my screams.
I’ve often been to the edge and back,
It’s now a familiar sight.
This might be why I always wear black,
It feels false to wear anything bright.
Cheerful colour is something I lack,
And I never don anything white,
No sporty wear designed for the track,
Somehow it doesn’t feel right.
I only get things from the discard rack,
To better reflect my plight.
Every single one of us
Has something longing tries.
That speaks from unseen places,
Within each heart, decries.
No grand proclamations,
No great discourse or mystic word,
But a simple desire
To be understood and heard.
With each attempt to make a sound,
Ten will overcome.
Our melodies defeated,
Our vocal chords undone.
Too oft these sounds are violent,
Compelling gentleness to choke and die.
For each of us that has no voice,
Therein shadows lie.
I’ve mistaken me for someone else,
Someone I thought was more myself.
But as always, it seems that I was wrong.
I’ve been nothing like myself all along.
Sometimes I’m on the edge,
Only held up by your hand,
Your fingertips dictate my fall,
That was my plan after all.
Sometimes I hold on tightly,
As tightly as I can, simply so,
I’m the only one who lets us go.
Am I insane,
To blame the bee if it stings?
Even when I tore off both its wings?
I had so much to say,
Too much to say after all.
In the end, I said nothing at all.
I took your wings,
All of your things,
So you would stay.
In the end, you left me anyway.
But I can still taste honey.
It seems I posess a penchant
For inexplicably, inextricably
Colouring on the outside
Of lines they create with such pride
Then insist I remain inside.
I ask for pencils
In Shades of Cezanne Blue,
And lines are just a thing
I want to draw right through.
I felt I was drawing everything alone,
But one day I saw you:
Colouring outside the lines.
I spend so much effort resistin’
Anything that feels like addiction,
Convinced myself I was winning,
While you were addicted and grinning.
Now I’m not so sure,
What I was put here for,
Always avoiding the dance floor,
Avoiding drugs and drink even more.
Got buried in my own sorrow,
Hating being alive,
While you lived life like tomorrow
Would never, ever arrive.
So who was the idiot then?
Happiest way back when
We had the chance to be carefree.
I thought that I could see
Further than you.
Guess I hadn’t a clue.
You seem happier still,
Moreso than I ever will.
Lately I seem to find
Myself in a forest of pines…
My wisdom but a soap bubble
I am Jack’s smirking bravado.
Performing such convincing shows
So all who watch will never know
The depths to which I go.
How I am beaten bloody,
Mind smashed ’til I cry for peace,
But still I grin through broken teeth.
And where is Jack?
Shown his true colours and fled,
While my own true colours have bled
Upon the hands of society.
Eventually I break,
My body and my pride,
Taking more than I can take,
Revealing the fear
I always keep inside.
The first rule of depression,
You don’t talk about depression.
Those of us whom
In life, are cast to play the sadder part,
And so sad thus,
Said possessive of a heavy heart.
Oh! Feel the weight of me!
I heard once,
Diamond was the hardest thing on earth.
I think they’re wrong,
Just my opinion, but for what it’s worth,
The hardest thing in any place,
Is resisting confessing to your face
That I think I love you.
By far the hardest thing to do..
Could cleave a diamond right in two.
The only thing that could be harder than that bit..
Is going through and saying it.
As you no longer stand
Where you always stood,
This emptiness inside me is so
One hundred million butterflies
Together flapped their wings
The moment you departed.
A coiencedntal thing? That did far
More than leave me broken hearted,
Now it’s a massive tidalwave your
Butterflies have started.
As it looms, large above my shores,
I’m left without a life-boat,
All I have are wooden oars.
And although it means that I would drown,
If you need them,
They are yours.
My friend wants to take a bit,
Party, Go right off her tit,
Get totally fucking lit,
Like a Christmas tree.
I say “I won’t touch that shit,
Not even the smallest bit,
Because I know that I will like it
Far too much you see.
And when you go too far
I don’t want to do CPR
On the floor of the latest bar
That you’ve dragged me to.”
I told her “In the ending you
Will wind up in ICU,
Face all corpse-pale-blue,
So be careful what you do.
After Christmas trees are cut
They die on Christmas day,
Then they’re burnt or thrown away,
Don’t be a Christmas tree that way.”
Drugs are baad, hmm’kaaay?
Dying is baad, hmm’kaaay?
Enjoy a safe end of year.
Dreams are easy to achieve,
If dreams are all you want to be.
The sky may be full of Angels,
With just your lonely star,
But if they’re dancing on that pin,
They won’t be going far.
The only way for you to win:
Be more than it says on the tin,
More than you think you are.
Well here we are, it’s time again,
The festive season.
Time to hurt the ones we love,
No rhyme nor reason.
An Angel sits atop the tree,
As something to believe in.
Should e’er an angel come to earth,
May my heart unfreeze then.
If we all got gifts our deeds deserve,
Not rewards just for believing,
There’d be no need to wrap them up,
You can’t hide the truth by deceiving.
Good to heaven, bad to hell?
Some have faith,
But some things
You can’t buy or sell.
We all find what we need to believe,
Don’t need a reason.
I only have faith in what I can see,
Enjoy plastic season.
I don’t think I ever grew up, just older.
“There’s no happy ending.. so they say.
Not for me, anyway…”
-Dr. Horrible’s Sing-along Blog
Whats the time?
Seems I’m already mourning,
I see the sky,
No longer beautiful without you.
And it was good,
But it’s over now.
No more listening on my pillow,
Now it’s buried, in the ground,
No more music, just an air of silence
In my headphones, and all around.
One more clarion belle falls silent.
You say you think you’ll drown
And that you’re lost at sea.
I say keep your eyes on me,
I’ll do my best to be
A guiding light.
You’ll be alright,
Just wait and see.
We’re back to dry land now.
But I never told you how
I started that fire,
Created the pyre
That suddenly saved you.
I think you know it,
But you never show it,
So I stay silent too.
But things are no longer same,
Even though there’s no-one to blame.
But there was nothing to burn, out there at sea…
I bear the scars of your forty-fives,
You tried your best but I’m still alive.
You used two pistols and magazines,
Shot my heart and destroyed my dreams,
But a heart still works if it still cries,
And I cry.
I’m full of holes from your forty-fives,
You couldn’t have missed me if you tried,
But planned demise isn’t what it seems,
Because I survived all your plots and schemes,
And a thing’s alive if it still bleeds,
And I bleed.
Now I’m immune to your forty-fives,
And when you shoot me, I will still survive.
The slugs are out and the wounds are clean,
So go find better guns, if you’re still keen,
Cos a girl’s alive if she can dream,
And I dream.
I said to my friend ‘Most of the time, I just hate being me. I wish I was someone different.
Do other people have those kind of thoughts, or is it just me that thinks that way?’.
She said ‘No, other people wish you were someone different too.’
I don’t know that you exist,
On others, I don’t even really care.
I want to slit my wrists,
‘Tho I fear I’ll find but emptiness there.
On so many other days
I’m simply lost inside my brain,
At least the parts that still remain.
And if you cut me all apart,
You’ll find emptiness and pain, no sign of a heart.
But some days
I cannot unremember,
For the sun becomes an ember
When compared to you.
All that will exist
Are the parts of you I’ve kissed,
So at least I will have all of you.
You’re my everything.
I suppose the trees, in retrospect,
I should have attended, my neglect
Of time’s subtle scythe, and due respect
For their reminder; nature always calls,
And she who answers always falls.
A premonition of my future
Abandoned casually by trees
Autumn leaves, as they led
Falling echoes of my life,
Fleeting, fled. Underfoot
On which to tread, and I,
Despondent, sighing said:
‘There lies everything,
Don’t by it’s beauty, be misled.
The whole world and all within ends thus:
These dying leaves are us’.
Success can make you bleed,
Because what I thought I wanted
Wasn’t really what I need.
And it’s not how I imagined
To walk a mile in those shoes.
Sometimes when you think you win,
War in my mind.
There’s a war in my mind.
Seek and ye shall find,
That it’s howling all the time,
There’s a war in my mind.
Black in my soul.
It’s all black in my soul.
No diamond in the coal,
I reap just what I sow,
It’s all black in my soul.
– Beth Hart / War in My Mind
I find it somewhat ironic that in society today, when someone suffers greatly from a particular mental illness or malady, that they will go to such lengths to ‘heal’ them.
All kinds of medications and treatments have been prescribed to me.
Many that are illegal in any other context.
Amphetamines, benzodiazapines, anti-psychotics.
Iron infusions, supplements, electrocuting your brain.
They do so much to keep you alive and attempt to make you functional.
Even when they shouldn’t.
Even when it would be so much cheaper and easier to let you die, they still refuse.
But they have no objections about removing your rights, forcing you against your will to continue to exist in constant misery and suffering. To remain alive.
Even when you shouldn’t.
I used to dream of the great ships.
The enormous deep space freighters.
They had seemed so romantic and mysterious then.
A silly girl, dreaming of interstellar adventure and glory.
I turn up at the wedding,
But they won’t let me in,
I must have been specified
I’m sure I’m on the guest list,
Please have one more look,
It’s my sister getting married
So I must be in the book.
Can’t you see that I’m a bridesmaid?
I’m getting kind of harried
And I’d hate to make a mess,
But if you don’t step aside,
I have a switchblade in this dress.
So I’m jiggling my legs like some frenetic junkie, waiting for the benzos and codeine to kick in.
It’s one of those nights where despite the warmth of the room, I feel cold inside.
My self hating nihilism is all-prevailing and the certainty that I will never be better, that I am doomed to endure day after day of misery and frustration, clings to me like a cold wet bedsheet.
The experience of staying awake all night, especially 2 or 3 days/nights continuously, not only creeps into joints and muscles as stiffness and pain, but eventually becomes a pressure inside the head, like a clamp crushing upon your brain.
Given enough time, everything about staying awake for extended periods of time becomes unpleasant.
My best efforts to boost my mood upward, to think of positive things, and to convince myself life is worthwhile, such as trying to believe that one day I may be even happy, is met every time now by Poes’ Raven, embedded in my mind, it’s vocabulary no greater now than from it’s famous past.
‘Things are going to get better’, I repeat to myself.
“Nevermore”, comes the inetivetible reply.
‘One day, I will be happy’, I even try to believe it.
The Raven croaks, “Nevermore”.
‘I WILL be happy’, I tell it.
I wonder if it understands double negatives.
‘I will not never be happy’, I offer.
In the end, I just return it’s ridicule.
‘I will not never inversely opposite become antithetically unhappy’, I say, although I doubt it will fall for any convolutions of syntax and reply ‘Nevermore’.
The raven just stares at me. I suppose because the raven is a creation in my mind, trying to fool myself when I know the plan, isn’t really very logical.
But logic seems to diminish exponentially as hours continue to pass without sleep.
As does motivation, positivity, and the will to live.
I’m beginning to become so freaked out that I can’t even cry.
I want to, I can feel the tears behind my eyes, but the raw scraping of my nerves won’t let them flow.
A tiny bit less control and I’d probably be laughing maniacally. Panic and lack of reason start burning hot in my chest, a strange counter point to the ceaseless icy chill in my guts.
From experience I’ll still be awake this time tomorrow (5.30am), so there’s always some potentially delusional posts to look forward to.
Some might fall asleep with ease,
Amost equal to the envy
That graces my every weary breath.
These empty, malicious hours
Will not be filled by mere distraction,
Night demands complete attention.
She will be neither shunned nor ignored,
Tearing into your head like sheets of sandpaper.
Time, ever her gleeful accomplice, slows all,
Until the distance between each minute mark
Surpasses all the great oceans as one.
While confined to a coffee cup,
You keep paddling.
There seem so many truths,
Which one do I face?
Which one takes the place
On the pedestal?
When I tried to face them all,
They warned me I would fall;
See me falling.
Trying to pretend
That the song will never end,
But for better or for worse
I think I’m running short of verse.
I can pretend at emotion,
Lip syncing to the song,
But the words are all rehearsed,
And each line is getting worse.
All I feel now is an emptiness,
Just nothingness, maybe less.
An undefined ache
Where I thought my soul should go,
But I’ve always been a fake
And I just put on a show.
So convincingly the act
That I once believed the fact
That I could be a real girl.
But oh, Pinoccio,
I should have listened
‘One need not be a chamber to be haunted; One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing Material place.’
— Emily Dickinson
“I have never seen battles quite as terrifyingly beautiful as the ones I fight when my mind splinters and races, to swallow me into my own madness, again.”
— Nicole Lyons / Hush
“And I keep on tellin’ everyone the truth,
But maybe that’s not the move,
And everyone wants to hear a strong opinion…
If it’s the same as you.
And they say honesty is the best policy,
If that were true,
Don’t think all of my friends would hate me.
— Bea Miller / That Bitch
So, apparently I’ve been using the apostrophe placement in sentences containing possessive pronouns, and plurals thereof, incorrectly.
Apologies for any suffering caused.
If I had anything to say, maybe of interest,
I’d pin the fuckin’ thing up on my pinterest.
But all my conversations now are with myself,
And it’s slowly eating at my mental health.
Like seagulls picking at a whales’ rotting corpse,
The wide beach view is fine, until of course,
You look a bit closer, see the detail,
That’s my sanity: half eaten whale.
I should probably get a friend or maybe two,
I like them in the same way I like you.
Fine until they open up their mouth,
Then I don’t want to hear whatever shit is coming out.
Well, maybe I’m a narcissistic bitch,
With some kind of messed up mental itch,
But if I scratch it ’til it don’t itch any more,
There’ll be chunks of greyish matter scattered all over the floor.
They say you’ll never love someone ‘til you learn to love yourself,
Well Catch 22, here’s a thought, let me share the wealth.
How can I learn to love myself, ’til I’m loved by someone else?
The lesson goes both ways, as most good lessons do,
And because everybody else hates me,
I’ve learned to hate me too.
Spent three weeks in an unmade bed,
A pounding in my skull,
Repeating thoughts in my head.
Like the lyrics of a song
Singing ‘please let me die before long.’
I’m trying hard to hold on to the act of holding on,
But even now my own mind wants me gone,
So the line I’m holding onto’s not that strong.
The basic problem with this kind of rope, you see,
Is that it’s tethered far too tightly to my sanity.
Maybe if I enjoyed a single moment,
Maybe if I could control or own it,
I’d be happier alive,
Given a reason to survive,
But all I get is non-stop misery.
So fuck me.
No apologies for profanity.
I’m stuck here in my head, wishing I was fuckin’ dead,
Because there’s nothing in this world that I can see,
Nothing for me.
Nothing for me.
The first bottle was so sweet,
I ordered a case of kisses
Now I’m drunk on your lips,
From nothing but sips,
Do you long to drink deeply too?
The fun-fair’s coming to an end,
The few poor tokens yet to spend
Have tumbled from my pocket.
I hesitate and weigh the cost,
Move along, or seek them? Lost
Among the trampled grasses.
The mask that lasted for so long,
Now cracked, the smile forever gone,
Has broken, and will not stay on.
‘He said, “I see you now, and you are so very young,
But I’ve seen more battles lost than I have battles won,
And I’ve got this intuition, says it’s all for your fun.
And now will you tell me why?”
Well the young queen, she fixed him with an arrogant eye.
She said, “You won’t understand, and you may as well not try”
But her face was a child’s, and he thought she would cry,
But she closed herself up like a fan.
And she said, “I have swallowed a secret burning thread.
It cuts me inside, and often I’ve bled”.’
– from ‘The Queen and The Soldier‘ by Suzanne Vega
Raistlin. Of course I was always Raistlin. Weren’t we all? I’m pretty sure that was the point. Or maybe I’m a bad judge of fiction. It’s been a while since I read it.
I don’t ever recall categorising or identifying characters by ‘gender role’ back then. Instead, sorted them by, as Magneto puts it, ‘what I want, and how I’m going to get it.’
I think that puts me….just over the Neutral/Good side of the True Neutral line..
Great, apparently my gender identity / awareness is based on an AD&D alignment table…As well as revealing me to be a massive nerd. Methinks I spake too much. (Contemplates deleting this post..)
With great power comes great mental illness / torment.
Seems to be one of those days. Time to get offline.
Some days I don’t know if I’m more like Dr. Horrible or Penny.
Surrounded by tired clichés,
My mind dies.
A myriad of mortal, mired ways.
As is wont with mind to mend,
I’m drawn to midnight lakes’ embrace.
My freezing, bare-feet thoughtless wend
To every deeper, quiet place.
I forget how elegantly swirling stars
Weave such delicate distractions.
Flickering inside and out
Barely seen refractions.
Starlight floats in darker water,
Gently mesmerising motes.
The lake becoming midnights’ daughter,
Magic and music without notes.
More oft’ my private galaxy,
Calms more than ‘cut’n’bleeding’,
Regardless, tonight my regret remains
Highly caffeinated, thoughts still speeding.
[End pt 1.]
I never even noticed the clock.
Did it tick?
Did it tock?
Did it not?
Was it frozen in indecision,
In the moment that was lost
When you reached the doorway threshold
And you stepped across?
Stuck? Between that second and the last,
Unable to move on, unable to move past
A fate of helpless observation,
Endless replaying rotation.
A mechanical mind,
Unable to find resolution
Or a hint of absolution,
Sounds so very much like mine.
Because when you left the last time,
When you left for the very last time..
I never even noticed the clock.
I can smile at a party.
After the turn out, I
Turn off my burnt out
I can greet you on the street
And you won’t even ask
About the chosen mask
I look through out at you.
I can attend a family event,
I’m still quite able
To sit at a table,
Pretending to be me.
See the pallette spread before me,
Choose a colour, it adorns me.
Pick the right one, I can be
Anyone I want to be.
If I can be anybody, oh so easily,
No difference that any one, not even I can see,
One face or another, all so equally..
Which one is really me?
She brings me spun-shadow,
Like a cotton-candy treat,
Delicate, and deceptively sweet,
She says ‘taste of this’.
Already sugar high,
It’s so easy just to try
Spun sugar with a darker dye,
Just a bite.
But an insidious spiders web,
A sticky gossamer thread
Like fine, fine spun-sugar,
Gets inside your head.
Ensnares you there
Wraps around you,
Like a sticky quicksand glue.
Mired in darkness
That clings and brings
‘Taste of this’.
Have you seen my life around?
Now it’s lost,
I have found,
The whole world wanting.
Not pages torn from fairy tales,
Far stranger by many accords,
No songs to make a million sales,
Or plays stepped out on Broadway boards.
But it’s a dizzy, dancing, summer spark,
A falling, flying Meadowlark, and
All those nights spent in the park
Laughing in rain, and wet, and dark.
Also the sharpest knife that ever was,
A blade that has no par.
It has to be that sharp because
It constantly cuts, with ne’er a scar.
Those kind of days are hard to misplace,
Oft’ tattooed upon my face,
There, in ink you can’t erase,
Writ large the tale, my fall from grace.
Did I learn to hate myself
With such immaculate perfection?
Self taught and unaware,
Still I excell, I succeed,
Seemingly such a strange sensation,
For I fail flawlessly amongst
Yeah I lost it.
My mind, I lost that too.
I lost my heart and everything,
The moment I lost you.
Now I’m shaking and unsure of
How I’m supposed to feel,
My friend’s are so blasé
But to me it’s a huge deal.
My stomach’s in my chest,
I’ve lost track of all the rest,
Each cell in me is bleeding tears.
Although I’ve tried to act my best,
I don’t give a fuck about
Backlash or all that cost,
When all I want is gone,
So you might think I look ok,
Kinda normal in a geeky-goth way.
But I always dream and dream of the world
Where I’m the ‘trembling, adored, tousled bird-mad girl’.
And I long to have a writing-desk,
Like a raven in a riddle,
‘But there’s something inside,
Trying to eat its way out from the middle’.
I’m a tattered teddy-bear,
Never quite cared for enough.
Although I claim that I don’t care,
I’m still completely stuffed.
Our whole lives playing
At make-believe and pretend,
Like every song or story,
All songs and stories
We act so well, the human lie,
But acting takes its tole,
For if we are to fit the role,
A piece of us must die.
Some quotes on depression from two of my favourite authors, and pretty much how I feel right now.
” In every way that counted, I was dead. Inside somewhere maybe I was screaming and weeping and howling like an animal, but that was another person deep inside, another person who had no access to the lips and face and mouth and head, so on the surface I just shrugged and smile and kept moving. If I could have physically passed away, just let it all go, like that, without doing anything, stepped out of life as easily as walking through a door I would have done. But I was going to sleep at night and waking in the morning, disappointed to be there and resigned to existence.”. ― Neil Gaiman
“Depression is the most unpleasant thing I have ever experienced. . . . It is that absence of being able to envisage that you will ever be cheerful again. The absence of hope.
That very deadened feeling, which is so very different from feeling sad.
Sad hurts but it’s a healthy feeling. It is a necessary thing to feel.
Depression is very different.”. ― J.K. Rowling
Did you ever never
Stop and ponder whether
If forever is a never
that simply will not die?
Then maybe never is an ever
That was severed from forever
And will eternally endeavour
To reconnect together
From the tragically cut tether
That was in a manner clever,
Keeping ever, never and forever
From being ForNeverEver.
In which the author experiences an inability to articulate herself, thus expressing emotions and turmoil via choice lyrics. Potentially for some time ( days/weeks…months?)
Today’s mood: hopeful melancholia
Here’s a story of a girl
Who grew up lost and lonely.
Thinking love was fairytale,
And trouble was made only
Even in the darkness
Every colour can be found,
And every day of rain brings water
Flowing to things
Growing in the ground.
Excerpt from ‘Penny’s Song’/ ‘Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog’
-Singer: Felicia Day
-Music : Joss Whedon
-Lyric : Muarissa Tancharoen and Jed Whedon
Here’s the thing:
Small glitch. Device died. Lost my tags.
This may result in the occasional doubling up / repost.
It will all sort itself out in the end, I imagine.
How did I miss them?
Everyday they came.
So small, it all just seemed the same.
If I noticed without worry, I am sorry.
For each microscopic gap, the infinite tiny spaces,
Gathering gradually over time.
Connecting to make this chasm.
Such a painfully intricate distance
15 boxes of pencils, and
Countless pages, and
I’m still trying to write
How I feel about me.
15 boxes empty, and
More notesbooks full, and
I’m still trying to draw
What I want you to see.
When your mind is broken
And the world is wreckage
They tell you to say:
That you’re not ok,
No, you’re not OK.
So I said it, I wrote it,
Used my blood to draw,
And what the fuck for?
Nobody listened, nobody cared,
Nobody got what I shared and I shared.
I guess that was lucky,
Because although I had tried
To express how I wish how I really had died,
Express how I hated myself and my life,
How my pain got less with each cut of a knife,
It turns out I was actually, really, OK,
Compared to how fucked I am now anyway.
Soulmates and lovers and
BAEs til the end.
They come and they go,
So I guess they pretend.
They all seem to break
When they should try to bend.
If you ask me the truth,
All I want is a friend.
My heart seems to ache,
It won’t bend, it will break,
Because all that I want is a friend.
‘You were blessed by a different kind of inner view:
It’s all magnified.
The highs would make you fly,
And the lows make you want to die.
And I was once there,
Hanging from that very ledge where you are standing.
So I know, I know, I know,
It’s easier to let go. ‘
-Nightminds / Missy Higgins
‘There were sounds in my head,
Little voices whispering
That I should go and this should end,
Oh, and I found myself listening.’
-Where I stood / Missy Higgins
‘But that’s not how I feel about you,
In fact I never wanna see you at all.
So maybe I’ll inject gasoline in my eye,
And hold a lighter to my eyeball.’
-I’d Rather / Hank Green & The Perfect Strangers
‘You’re coming round too late,
I’ve taken off my face,
And you won’t like it.
I haven’t seen anyone in days,
But it’s best this way,
You see I don’t like it.
Don’t want to be anyone again.’
-Low Blows / Meg Mac
Blow on, Ye wolves of the world,
Howl and hammer ‘pon my door.
This axe is whetted well,
My walls far more than sticks and straw.
Which was once considered easy prey,
Now armed and filled with violent rage.
Therefore unto thee I say:
‘Best Ye blow the other way’
Apparently my informed honesty is wasted,
Overwhelmed by stolen analogies and unfriend-me messages.
‘Unbalanced Alice’, so susceptible to mind-space deficiencies
And fairy-tale moonlight monoaminergic rushes.
The happiest of unhappy clowns. Careful never to grow up,
Because adults abuse their lungs and veins,
Simply to achieve the same.
Despite these slow bright waterdrops,
My rainbow remains incomplete.
I thought I had booked my happiness well ahead of time,
Pre-forming a flood of excess enthusiasm.
Instead, I made popcorn for the gathering storm
And prepared to go swimming.
Still not sure which to get.
If only oblivion tasted more
Like raspberry and chocolate.
Why are these things so hard to choose?
Although nothing really matters when
There’s nothing left to lose.
Vodka? Tequila? Fifty year-old Scotch?
My favourite song that hurts just right,
Put on ‘The Crow’ to watch.
Video diary? Hand written letter?
Email or text?
It doesn’t matter, it will won’t change
What will happen next.
The worst part
Isn’t that you hate me.
It’s that you make me hate myself.
-Doctor Who / The Eleventh Hour. ( Matt Smith)
I’m not sure if I forgot
Or have just grown indecisive,
But I can’t really quite recall
Exactly what my life is.
I used to know where I belong.
Used to have a favourite song.
Now I don’t know
What my greatest fear is,
Favourite beer is,
Time of year is,
Or even how deep the lithosphere is..
OK, I never really knew that last one,
Carry on, my wayward son.
Her smile is a Mona Lisa Crash Cart.
A work of art that stops and starts
The broken beat of my poor heart.
Her lips are painting perfect, her smile mystifying,
I bet even a single kiss would be electrifying.
When it’s briefly, brilliantly, put on display,
I surge with desire to steal her away.
When I see her, my career ambition
Is ‘art critic with a heart condition’,
So I can see her defibrillating smile play,
As they wheel my body away.
Wanna know how I got this scar?
Let my trust stretch a touch too far.
Got run over by the car
That you happened to be driving.
Shattered limbs, broken bones,
Barely breathing, made it home.
Found everything I’d ever owned
Burning on the front lawn.
You said our life was such a mess,
Everything my fault, more or less.
It didn’t hurt much, I confess,
Until you smiled.
Destroy the things I want and need,
Run me down, for I concede,
The only thing that makes me bleed
Is that smile.
Like a knife, it cuts me deep,
Leaving scars I’ll always keep.
You ask me how, but already knew.
I got these scars from you.
Where do the pieces of a broken heart go
If they’re too fragile to stitch, or you don’t know how to sew?
Are they put back together with some mystical glue,
Or is there somewhere you can go, to purchase one that’s new?
One thing’s for certain, it takes forever in time,
Fresh hearts are in demand, judging by the waiting line.
Installing a new heart must be hard, I’ve no doubt,
But I’m stuck at the part where your insides are your out.
This isn’t really new though, it’s not my first time ’round,
First-timers wait the longest, due to covering fresh ground.
I always ask for Adamantium, for a heart that cannot break,
But they keep giving me a glass one, and no choice but to take.
I never see who does it all, maybe it’s Santa Claus.
If he’s not received my letter yet,
I’d like to add this clause:
“Dear Santa, let’s just skip right to the end,
You can forgo all the material gifts,
If you’ll hurry up and mend
I thought I was too cool to care,
Now maybe that’s too true,
There’s an Eskimo outside my door
Building an igloo.
I’ve always wanted to be cool,
But detachment was my reason,
Now I am so very cool,
So cool, I’m fucking freezin’.
Frozen up in isolation
I can’t relate to you.
I’m the White Witch of Narnia*,
Somehow remade anew.
Snowdrifts almost covered me, my igloo and my sled,
I was speechless as you walked away,
Then you turned and said:
‘You know nothing ‘pon snow.
Let it go.
Let it go.’
*(though really, you can’t beat Tilda Swinton).
Melancholy musings must
As everything, regress to dust.
All things return from whence they came,
Doth my memory the same.
Sparks of Spring-blessed childhood.
Early risings and cool dawn grass,
As sunrise amplified reality
Granting tiny temporary kingdoms
To my imaginative keeping.
Barefoot child I,
Twixt river and orchard wild,
Would careless spend my day
Full of mud, fruit and fae.
Until as is wont, up I grew.
Something one should never do..
I hate weekdays,
They drag us from our bed,
Where we could snuggle down together,
Keep each other warm instead.
The winter morning chill pervades the room,
Then together, almost as one, and far too soon,
We cast aside the cover,
Glancing shrewdly at each other
Before competing for first shower,
Hot-water, soap, and scour,
While the other makes us coffee,
With toast all buttered down,
Warming frozen fingers,
Wrapped in a dressing gown.
Humming out a cheerful morning song.
Perhaps I don’t hate weekdays all along.
Melvin Udall: “People that talk in metaphors oughta shampoo my crotch.”
-As Good As it Gets
Melvin Udall: “Some of us have great stories, pretty stories that take place at lakes, with boats, and friends, and noodle salad. Just no one in this car. But, a lot of people, that’s their story; good times, noodle salad. What makes it so hard is not that you had it bad, but that you’re that pissed that so many others had it good.”
– As Good As It Gets
“Procrastination is a way for us to be satisfied with second-rate results; we can always tell ourselves we’d have done a better job if only we had more time…If you’re good at rationalizing, you can keep yourself feeling rather satisfied this way, but it’s a cheap happy. You’re whittling your expectations of yourself down lower and lower.”
When you liked me,
I even kind of liked myself.
Now you say you hate me
Like you’ve hated nothing else…