I will stay alive a few more days

I will see something beautiful

Maybe I'll pray

I cannot matter anymore. Seeing wrist against bathroom floor, I realize how easy it would be to be dead. I want to return to being empty bones, before anything formed in my mother's womb.

What are my options, really?

I think something inside me died today. I cannot stop thinking about it. It really would be too easy.

What's wrong with wanting life to be easy? If someone fucking thinks they have the right to tell you you have no moral courage, well then they are wrong. Because I have the motherfucking moral courage to say that living like this is not living at all and I am much better buried under the ground. For in that sleep of death what dreams may come? Dreams are so much easier than all this. I am consumed.

I will now pine away for that which I cannot have (everything) and leave myself on the hill at night. I will go buy a new Chinese dictionary as though I am taking my exam on Monday. I will find a way to stop the feeling of my head exploding and consider forgetting to eat so that I can wither away.

Also, fuck. I really wish people would stop tweeting about the various parties they are going to. Yeah. I'm never going to go to a Halloween party with you guys. Yeah. I'm never quite going to be in the circle. Yeah I'm just fucking alone and crazy with my own fucking thoughts why the fuck am I here

SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK

I think at the end of each month I should take stock of how much I want to commit suicide. How about if I reach enough septendecillions I just do it?

I don't want to think anymore. I just want to float and breathe free of cages.

I cannot see how being this unhappy is worth anything. If I am strong when I am angry, then why must I become angry at everything? I am everything that is made of iron but it is all melting from the inside out.

If my life is an endless amount of to-do lists to go somewhere and be something, well then perhaps I would rather be nothing, and live on a street with no friends and prefer to isolate myself from all that experience has taught me. That to stop breathing at high altitudes is necessary, so that I will weigh less. I think I finally feel what those girls feel because I can control what I eat. Just enough to survive. That's all I'm doing anyway. Surviving.

How can I care? Or more like not care? I will do my job and not work towards anything. That is my plan. It is a good one. I will forget schedules and appointments and I will forget that all of this ever happened and instead remember only the flowers at dawn and the warm orange of eight o' clock light. I will not work towards anything. I will simply do this all to get through. Because once I push through, I will be dead. They cannot say I did not try if I am stillborn. But I will come into another world much different, much more aware of every felling of childhood trees and protect myself.

I want to purge myself of this dimension and explore the entirety of existence where God will talk to me and hold my hand as he points out each baby star. I am only a vessel that glides, but I would so like to be a rocket.

I think you have more of me than anybody else.

I want so badly for someone to find me.

WILL SOMEONE READ THIS AND SAVE ME??

I hate feeling alone and stuck in limbo between half dead and surviving.

You don't know how badly I want to be dead.

You don't know how badly I want to be alive.

I am more at risk of suicide than anyone I know. But does anyone else see?

No. My outside is perfect, I am adaptable and perfect. Inside I am guilty of feeling too much and hoping to die. If I died they'd be sorry wouldn't they?

I don't hurt myself externally (mostly) so the worst part is that every spark of pain is internal. Aching. Wearing me away. Eroding all that I am and leaving me emptier than a glass of nothing.

I guess some things never change. Five years and sometimes I am the same as always.

Sunsets are so temporal; a blaze of that which gives life. There are so many feelings attached to the sunset - satisfaction of a well-spent day, the resolution of two ends that are now a union, intertwined for ever.

There are days a sunset is only a reminder of disappointment, of procrastination, of forgetting.


Let me tell you of how I once began an affair with the afternoon sun. We were the embodiment of youth, kissed lightly and held tightly. We were old friends, tinging memory sepia and leaving me in a literal haze. Just like how I remember all our words and kept books, pressed leaves in grotty albums with crumbling spines. I have forgotten how to twirl an avalanche of words into elegant mathematics but I will relearn my embroidery and love once more.

Am I ok with being alone?

I think I force aloneness on myself sometimes. Or is it just a byproduct of being quite so strange, so outwardly introverted, so literally two faced? Around everyone I can feel myself adapting a personality, codeswitching, and the only time I properly feel like myself is around myself. This is what I so fear; what if someone I fall in love with is someone I codeswitch with too? Maybe I can only properly fall in love with a person who is exactly myself. I am everything: I am beautiful, intelligent and immensely talented. I am instinctive, and I know what is right. I am connected to the universe (and am sometimes guilty of feeling all of the universe - the solar system in my solar plexus) and am too too in love with all that is human, and fragile, and obsessed with the notion that I am eternal. How will I die? How is it that we age? I am the same, and I have always been the same. I am one too old, with tears of aged salt.

I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.