Dying

What do you mean everything is falling? I'm sliding. It's a downward motion. But nothing's falling; this is how it's supposed to be. Life is either the process of dying or living, and it's a matter of choice, of perception.
So while you live, I die.
And that's my choice.

I can't afford to lose this life, tonight

I feel like you want me to kill myself.
I will, for you.
If you want that, I will.

Last night

Last night I remember sicking on the beach, telling people I loved them, not being afraid, drinking, lots of drinking, kissing someone I didn't mean to kiss, tangled up in the sand with them, helping up Sam after he hit his head on a tree and knocked himself down, making friends with the other drunks, hugging, lots of hugging, falling over and not being able to get up, crying, having her fix my make-up after it ran, walking along the barely lit streets, going to the school yard, meeting up with people on E, hugging them, offering them my drink, falling off the seat sideways, walking through an empty parking lot somewhere, being utterly confused when there was another tongue in my mouth, not understanding, not being able to see, taking something out of my shirt, peeing on a tree, trying to swim, falling on the beach, asking those people for cigarettes, telling them I loved them as we walked off, smoking, lots of smoking, feeling sick, feeling frozen to the bone, acquiring a third jumper, ...finding another world. 

Last night I remember bits and pieces. 

I don't remember calling everyone in my phone contacts, picking up to my father, telling him about the children running around when we were in an abandoned parking lot, going home, getting into bed, walking through the ravine, buying orange juice, thinking.

I don't remember getting bruises everywhere. 

I don't remember having Sam written on my hand.

I don't remember huge gaps, and it freaks me out that they even happened. There's no logic.

But mostly

I remember finding another world, and I can't ignore it now. 

Escaping

"Don't eat anything at all today, so it'll hit you harder," she said.
Not even a problem, darling.

Utter fear, utter fear, utter fear.

Wake up

There's someone I wish I could call my own,

mine,

and only mine. 

They're someone I'm really attracted to,

but I just

can't say anything. 

Fuck me. 

NIghttime

Sitting in my bedroom alone, thinking about This Guy, I consider pounding my fists into the wall until either object breaks. It's too loud, though, too bad. I crave the monotonous pain, almost. Something solid, something real, something safe.
An anchor, for now.

Wouldn't I?

Everything everything everything aches
and we say a big fat
isn't it?
to the world today.

No. Fucking. Way, am I going out there again.
Just not happening, son.
Simply not happening; I'd rather die.

Sunshine Worry Fear

Sunshine  Worry  Fear
When you can't look in the mirror
When pain is your career,
Sunshine worry fear.

Sunshine worry fear.
Take's time to get nearer.
See crime, see things clearer,
Sunshine worry fear.

Sunshine worry fear.
You're binded, hurry, dear.
You'll find things blurry here,
sunshine worry fear.

Sunshine worry fear.
What's mine is yours, dear.
Let's walk blind through the skies clear..
Sunshine worry fear.

A smile for every each

The nicest thing I can think of
is getting a letter in the mail
With personalized hand-writing
and pictures, and a tale.
The sweetest words I can remember
are those that aren't sweet at all
It's those that make you cry because
there's just so normal; you bawl.
The longest warmth I know
is that one time on the beach
There's only picture smiles now
but there's a smile for every each.
The saddest thought I consider
is those last words you said to me.
They're completely normal, just a "bye"
but you're gone, and it's not nice to leave.

Check, mate.

Prescott laughs easily though into his coffee, a shine in his eyes that's barely visible to the untrained eye.

We're pretending to be normal together, pretending to do the things that everyone else does.

I watch his chest move up and down with his lungs, then catch his eye and smile, too.

"Are you ready?" he asks, standing up to get my chair for me. I nod.

"And a bottle 'a rum, kid. Let's get out of here." We leave, slipping out the door unnoticed and heading into the brisk September air. 

He takes my hand and I curl my fingers around his. "Beach?" he asks.  

"Beach." My voice sounds small and quiet, and Prescott catches on. 

"Something up?" There's a lapse in the air and everything ripples over, like a bird's feathers on a cold day. I watch the breeze settle. 

"Nah, it's cool. I, uh...just disappointed school had to start." 

He nods for a moment, understanding. "Sure's a shocker, but what can you do?" 

We walk in silence across the hardening sand, kicking at rocks and beach glass as we go. Neither one of us is defined as right, so we're wrong together for however long we feel like and that's fine.

"Prescott?" I ask, slipping my hand up into his sleeve for warmth. 

"Hm?" He looks over at me.

And instead of spilling everything there is behind my lies, I just smile at him, and he smiles back, and we walk in the silence that we've set out before ourselves. But this time, we're not alone. 

And fear fear fear

Grey skies when all you want is
a little sun to warm your
silly little toothpick legs and
I'm telling you now to hurry on up and find
shelter
Before the storm comes in and
blows your world
apart.

Oh tell me now

For a second I consider spilling
all that's sitting deep in the bottom of the glass,
leaving it's contents in a dirty mess
on the kitchen table.
Instead I scowl and
leave the room,
knowing I'm not the type who spills things.

I'm best at keeping everything deep,
deep in the bottom
of those glassy walls,
so deep
that no one even sees
anything.

Just clean surfaces and
clear water,
it's clear sailing from here
If you can keep your boat afloat.

Standing on the grey concrete, watching the lights flash around the city roads, I hear my name from behind me.
It's Melanie, her little-girl voice just loud enough to make me turn and look.
She's standing with a guy (any guy, just to make her feel wanted and safe), as she does. She's wearing her yellow sweater.
I watch her eyes shine for a second as we chat, then we shuffle onto the transit quietly, searching for a seat to rest on for the duration of the ride. I move to the back with the rest of the crowd, and turn back momentarily to see Melanie looking in my direction. Our eyes meet, we smile, but I see the worry.
Her worry, as she always has with her. She carries it carefully on her shoulders, shifting it around every-so-often so no one notices.

But I see it, and I sigh.

Everyone has something.
Something that's wrong, and we can't always make it better.

But Melanie's just as scared as I am, and I can't help but feel a little safer for the rest of the ride. Sickly safe, though. I'm finding composure in Melanie's breakdown.

As I leave the train, I drag my fingers along a green railing stationed just outside the designated stop. I look up at the windows carefully, looking for her. But she's gone.

Some other shining street lined with walking addictions and seated ghosts.
Melanie can't handle it any better than I can, so she's destroying herself just the same as me. Only she's doing it one boy, one puff, one pill at a time.
And me?
One word, one cut, one match.
One burn, but it doesn't hurt, I swear.

One sentence.

Screams from the cars going
over the edge and
the world is falling apart.

Seeing stars

Star-ship, star-ship,

in the night sky.

Light me up as you drive by.

Leave me star-dust to help me dream,

I promise, promise not to scream.