Sugar

I want to be loved like a mouthful of candy.

Terminal and Main

Unrequited love is my favourite disease.

Kill Them

Tonight, someone dies.

Floating

The rain comes rushing down. I stand in the dark and let it wash over my face and naked body. I feel clean but useless. All used up and tossed aside. I feel like an empty plastic bag caught in a storm drain or an old newspaper full of outdated knowledge.

My skin is prickling and sore. My heart is getting cold. I can feel it shivering in my chest. I would light a little fire behind my eyes but I can't reach far enough inside. I can't get these matches to strike in the rain and the piles of wood are all wet. Nothing will catch. Sparks fizzle out and rivlets run down my side.

There is nothing to hold me tonight. Only the rain soaking my skin. The mist settles around my shoulders like a gossamer shawl. The pools rise up to meet my ankles. Raindrops kiss my cheeks. The wind strokes my hair. My secret name is out there somewhere but I'm trapped right here as the water rises to cover my lips.

I drown for fun and profit. I drown for myself. I drown in myself. I watch for waves to come up over the hills. I watch for the rivers to take the land away. For the ocean to break from its shores and come for me. I was looking for a fire but found the bottom of a lake instead. The water up over my head and my vision all blurry.

My mouth opens to reveal a forest of seaweed and little fish. I am the drowning part of love. The world when the icecaps melt. Pearls are my eyes. Silver scales are my skin. My heart has turned to coral. I am home to spit bugs and fat trout. I am running through forests and between continents. I am little ponds of marsh weeds and massive bodies stretching over rushing rock.

I am the drowning sort. I do not look for absolution but only the drip dropping pattern of splitter splatters against the window to let me know I am real and my voice has not silenced in the thunderstorms of your heart.

The Failure of Love

Let me stay the fantasy because the reality makes you sick.

To Be Unreal

No one will know what it's like to be out of phase with this plain of existence. To have stepped slightly to the left of reality and thus to feel unreal. It feels like an electrical cable driven into your guts constantly zapping you; rippling buzzy zip and zaps of nervous enegry through you. It's like having bees under your skin all the time. Like rivers of electrofied water in your veins. Nothing feels right. You're just not sure you are here. You feel like you might disappear any minute. Tune out like a fuzzy picture on an old TV.

I wake up like this.
I walk through life like this.
I pretend I'm fine.

But I'm just that little bit out of focus. Slipping between the slats in reality and something.... else.  Buzzing on the edge of electric waves trying to pull me to pieces. I feel unsteady. Unstable. Not quite here. Not sure I'm actually alive. Like I need an anchor. Like I need you to hold me down and tell me I'm really real. Make sure that I don't slip down those cracks to somewhere else. Make sure I don't just fade away.

Please hold me down before they pull me out of here.

Stupid

Sometimes you just need someone to acknowledge your existence and prove that you are actually rooted in this reality.  You need fingers running through your hair as you cry bitter useless tears for no good reason. You need calming breath in your ear and gentle words tickling your neck.

Sometimes I am such a stupid girl.