Convex
I am hurt.
I am afraid.
I am breaking.
You see, I'm not someone worth speakingtoseeingbeingwith ("nothing even matters, nothing even matters, nothing even matters, nothing even matters, nothing even matters"). I'm a disaster in a halo, the iris of an eye turned skyward for too long, the stitches (sutures-blacknylon-ouch-ouch-STOP) that dissolve when pressure forces the flesh apart. Nothing even matters. My sister, constantcompanion and bestfriendforever, leaves in a week for San Antonio. This is all my fault. My fault. All my PROBLEM, MY FAULT!
There's only enough money to keep one child (of five) in college. Guess who got that money? Now no one else (oh, fuckfuckfuck) has the opportunity to go to school after they graduate. My fault. Nothing even matters. Everyone leaves me. Everyone goes away after awhile.
Jake went away with a shotgun, filled with the sweet promises of chemical-voices in his head. Tony went away...just like Jake. Daddy went away because he couldn't handle me, or Manda, or Mom anymore. Bonnie went away with a shotgun, too, because she was afraid of being responsible. Nothing even matters. Look at how they went away. How they left me. Now Manda's going to leave me. LeavemeleavemeLEAVEMELEAVEMELEAVEME!
What am I going to do?
On the inside I'm really just fragile, and terrified, and wrong, stupid, weak, ugly, burning for attention but afraid to clinch the deal. Take me all the way, take me all the way. My knees are threatening to buckle with the weight of these thoughts, the burden (myself a burden) of opinions and ideas and the realization that I couldn't mean more than a whit to anyone. Vine-feelings coming. Oh. Oh. I will let you down.
Don'tlookatme. Don'tthinkthatIfeel. But I DO feel. I do. I promise I do. I was covered in darkness. No one attending. It doesn't really matter where it all began. Look at this. Depression has hit again. Do you know what it's like to struggle with depression?
It's all very poetic, the prodigal (hilarious) writer suffering from the intense, violent ups and downs that come without warning. I used to take my brother's Aterol (after he was diagnosed with ADHD). It helped some, some, some, not enough. I used to turn to other methods to cope. I think I may be committed soon for the habits I have now.
No, you're not alone. In anything. If thisthisTHIS can be accepted, I'll show you my scars. I won't laugh when you run. Everyone leaves. Remember?
I am afraid.
I am breaking.
You see, I'm not someone worth speakingtoseeingbeingwith ("nothing even matters, nothing even matters, nothing even matters, nothing even matters, nothing even matters"). I'm a disaster in a halo, the iris of an eye turned skyward for too long, the stitches (sutures-blacknylon-ouch-ouch-STOP) that dissolve when pressure forces the flesh apart. Nothing even matters. My sister, constantcompanion and bestfriendforever, leaves in a week for San Antonio. This is all my fault. My fault. All my PROBLEM, MY FAULT!
There's only enough money to keep one child (of five) in college. Guess who got that money? Now no one else (oh, fuckfuckfuck) has the opportunity to go to school after they graduate. My fault. Nothing even matters. Everyone leaves me. Everyone goes away after awhile.
Jake went away with a shotgun, filled with the sweet promises of chemical-voices in his head. Tony went away...just like Jake. Daddy went away because he couldn't handle me, or Manda, or Mom anymore. Bonnie went away with a shotgun, too, because she was afraid of being responsible. Nothing even matters. Look at how they went away. How they left me. Now Manda's going to leave me. LeavemeleavemeLEAVEMELEAVEMELEAVEME!
What am I going to do?
On the inside I'm really just fragile, and terrified, and wrong, stupid, weak, ugly, burning for attention but afraid to clinch the deal. Take me all the way, take me all the way. My knees are threatening to buckle with the weight of these thoughts, the burden (myself a burden) of opinions and ideas and the realization that I couldn't mean more than a whit to anyone. Vine-feelings coming. Oh. Oh. I will let you down.
Don'tlookatme. Don'tthinkthatIfeel. But I DO feel. I do. I promise I do. I was covered in darkness. No one attending. It doesn't really matter where it all began. Look at this. Depression has hit again. Do you know what it's like to struggle with depression?
It's all very poetic, the prodigal (hilarious) writer suffering from the intense, violent ups and downs that come without warning. I used to take my brother's Aterol (after he was diagnosed with ADHD). It helped some, some, some, not enough. I used to turn to other methods to cope. I think I may be committed soon for the habits I have now.
No, you're not alone. In anything. If thisthisTHIS can be accepted, I'll show you my scars. I won't laugh when you run. Everyone leaves. Remember?
posted by Ophelia at 7:54 AM
2 Comments:
you know how i feel about all this...
i'll be there to help shoulder some of that burden whenever i can. call me.
The Apology of the Nolan(Giordano Bruno)
To the most glorious and virtuous ladies
Oh glorious and enchanting nymph of Wisconsin,
my spirit neither shuns nor disdains you, nor dishonors
you when it deprives you of the traditional name of women,
by neither counting you among them nor excluding you.
I am sure the name of goddesses are more meet for you,
because you are endowed with more than common life,
and are upon the earth what the stars are in heaven.
Oh, Lady mine, your sovereign beauty my sincerity
can never harm, nor does it wish to do so, because it
cannot reach your superhuman kind,
but by bitter torment, it aspires to that place
where Diana is queen above all, who is among you
what the sun is amid the stars.
Labor and art humbly offer you by invention, my
words and the strokes of my pen such as they may be.
[edited by the (other) Nolan to fit as a thank you, of which you deserve ten times over.]
Post a Comment
<< Home