Bullshit & Brilliance

temptthewind:

She’s pale, with these big reddish-brown rings around her eyes. It’s like what people call “black rings” or “black bags,” I suppose— but hers are brown, all around her eyes, like a shadow from the indentation of her eye sockets. It makes her look tired, disgruntled, and as if she’s suffering from…

Fuck you for all the times you acted so damn indifferent, so insensitive, so self centered. I missed you at first, but now the time has wiped the glass clean and the truth is staring me in the eyes from the other side of the bay window. I would have sold the world to have you as my own, and now I see how foolish that would have been. You aren’t worth an island, a rock, or a tree. You didn’t care. Shame on me for hoping there was something more in your senseless words. And even though no one will stand up to love me, and the loneliness has long since crept in, I’m glad you remain sitting with the rest. I’m glad I slammed the door and the last I saw of your face was through the falling shapes of shattered glass. 

One day, I’ll hear a sad song and really feel it. One day, I’ll sing the lyrics with remembrance instead of dread. 

I’ll sing those words without thinking “I’m gonna put this in my suicide note some day.” 

I am, for the first time, awake. I am, for the first time, sober. I am, for the first time, paying attention. I have bludgeoned myself into a state of oblivion. I have inhaled to a state of tingling, atmospheric nothingness with a sensation of weightlessness. I have guzzled my way into the fetal position at the end of mine own bed. I have forgotten the necessary and ignored the vital. I have broken my own standards for a taste of the cake. I have jumped the fence, to feel that greener grass, to lay my head in that greener grass, to be alone and safe and euphoric in the twilight on that greener grass. I am, for the first time, quiet. I am, for the first time, tender. 

I feel an echoing within my chest that never ceases, morning or night. I feel an endless dripping, an endless craving, a unquenchable thirst. 

Awake, Asleep. Sober, Sloshed. Sorrowful, Serene. Content, Crazed. 

It all feels the same. I am neither better nor worse. 

I am the iron sculpture. I am time. I am color. I am space. I am orbit. I am gravity. I am murder. I am birth. I am death. 

I am. I shouldn’t. 

At least I am awake.