if it wasnt said by a guy with a mild interest in making girls feel uncomfortable like walking in where i work with an ice chest. or sending 7 texts in a row with out me even reading one it might come across as sweet. na.
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since i have been in the habit of posting old things:
it’s all shit but since i have not been cutting my hair. not even a trim. there has to be some way to purge the past. and why not on the internet?
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every morning is the same. waking up to the alarm blaring/screaming like a child in church. just there to listen to their own uneasy voice echo over what others think is important. droning until i reach over to snuff it out. blinking towards the light that burns through my lashes, trying to keep my eyes open long enough to see amoebas swimming around. i roll over and stare at the ceiling only half awake wondering if you are still asleep and what you dreamt of. on that pathetic thought i rub my eyes with the palms of my hands long enough until i see nebula’s bloom under the pressure. palpitating every time my heart beats. black holes and stars shoot across my eyelids dancing like jellyfish: pulsing with each wave of anxiety. dreading every lub and dub my heart makes, i push on my carotid artery as i roll out of bed and stumble into the bathroom. i look up lightheadedly to the single thing i dread more: the mirror. i would break this mirror every morning if i didnt think id end up more distorted. to quit procrastinating and finish what i started. i trace the crack already started, holding back its urge to move northbound. im caught against the thought of crushing every bone in my hand against it: every proximal, middle, and distal phalanx. i will never get much further than the shear thought because, for some reason i dont want it to go that way. the only way to calm down at this point is to remember i am only bone. i look down at my feet and start counting them off. phalanges, metatarsals, tarsals, calcaneus, talus. passing stigmata stung scars and dried blood. femur, pubis, ilium, sacrum. its too hard to get past everything trapped inside me free floating or stuck in between. xiphoid process, sternum. now i am up to my ribs in pain. concentration has failed me. all i can feel is my concave soul rushing to get out. snaking through my blood stream. systemic circulation. to feel it lodged right in my abdominal aorta makes me nauseous. sprawling out over my lungs. turning capillaries into barbed wire constricting over my heart, tearing tiny punctures into the smooth muscle. murmuring waves flowing towards my clavicle, racing to the back of my throat. i stick out my tongue and open wide. i better make this worth the words i cant speak. im too vague to even form an attempt at clarity. im just hoping you know what i cant convey: i want you to stitch up this skeptic injury and curve my sould straight. i want you. it gets too tricky to believe im only bones and ignore whats caged inside racing towards the mirror. breathe in. recite: occipital, foramen, parietal, temporal, sella, sphenoid, ethmoid. breathing it all out. frontal. this infection just hit the glass.