I feel close to the edge tonight, it's dark and blurry and I feel like I could do just about anything, in the way that I wanna take all the pills fron my strip of sedatives, that I wanna lock the room and have people come finding me. my great romantic visions of hospitals and lovers saving me, of my blood on tarmac, my body in pieces as the final act of performance art, fucking bid for a piece of something real, something mine, something to hold. like I wanna write my will and give everything away because it feels better when things are neat and organised. as the final list I make, the final attempt to categorise and break the chaos river into tributaries. but the water's empty, you'll find my soul had left and is playing in the grounds of my childhood, the earth that loved me the longest, the places that felt good when so little did that they became altars. I am on my knees and I am drowning and I'm giving in to the force of the water and it feels so good to just give in, to be weak. I wish life would let me be weak and soft, let me show up in pieces and be semi-liquid, semi-solid, all falling. it doesn't make sense, this hasn't made any fucking sense for a while and I'm sick of acting normal about it when I'm breaking, when I'm hurting. all this for love. and love, then, for a dead end street where only i know I exist. please take me away, please do something big in my life that makes people worry about me, that makes them love me. why won't they love me more? why am I in the back until I fade away. I don't want to be in the fucking back of my own life please, give me a way out that isn't uphill and cold and twisted up. I know, I know. youth is the dizzying haze, the time of losing yourself and finding stories. but spending all your time nervous and afraid and anxious gets tiring, gets old. I am looking out the window of a small empty room of my histories, and into the city, the garbage piles, the half made buildings, my companions in this madness, and I am looking for peace. I know looking out, looking down, looking anywhere meant looking for death, for a while there. I wanna redo this act of looking now, and find stability, find anchors and fondness, find beauty and poetry and find a whole world living with me.
"Look, we are not unspectacular things.
We've come this far, survived this much.
What
would happen if we decided to survive more? To love harder?" [1]
"we deserve a soft epilogue, my love." [2]
[ 1. from "The Carrying" by Ada Limón
2. from "Seventy Years of Sleep" by nikka ursula, tumblr ]