I don’t want to forget how to write, but the more I lay down in melancholy and bliss, the more I am unable to do anything else. I used to know how to write … at least I think I did. I used to be able to string out sentences that described my every mood. I don’t think I feel much anymore. Just semblances of feelings brought on by a few happy nights. I don’t think I exist past these walls.
Dated: April 10, 2012
I can’t write right now. Im preoccupied with the trivial that has somehow grown to be the paramount, and I have no time for the things that matter. Watch me crash to the ground and disappear into nothingness. I wanted that once didn’t I? I’m not sure what I even want anymore. I’m questioning my sanity again. Or the ability to keep my delirium intact. I think I’m meant to walk around these streets for the rest of my life. Going from gutter to gutter relishing the look of the stars
Dated: March 27, 2012
I’m getting really good at this. Passing through the day with a toke or five, just to ease the tension away. I can finally slip in between the lulls and create something better, something grand. A drug-filled paradise, where no one knows the name to your bludgeoned story. Where past grievances and old mistakes have no place. You become the calm within the chaos, existing on the best of your terms. It’s para-para-paradise.
Heaven exists for the sinner.
Dated: March 12, 2012
I am so happy I cannot even understand how that could be possible. It’s not even contentment, it is so far beyond that now. I can walk down the streets and feel like nothing can, or would even try, to hurt me. Because I am no longer that vile human being that tries so hard to fit in and then leaves the second she does. I am happiness on a stick, a reminder that craziness can be contained in a perfectly function-able case.
I want to make this into words. A word. Anything to remember that I was here once. I was happy once. And maybe I will finally stop trying so hard to forget every single memory that comes along my way. I have lost so much these last few years, but I cannot grieve because I have never kept track of each loss.
I don’t want to forget anymore. I want to remember the way home when this heavy head of mine becomes tired to the tune of my ill-beating heart.
I belong here, you must believe me. This drug-filled paradise.
Dated: March 11, 2012
All I do now is get high or want to get high because I am bored. I get so tired and uninspired when all I want to do is sit around and forget I exist. It was like this before weed. I would sit in front of a computer for hours on end and become a character, a cast, a meaningless generation of children all children wanted to be. I would run and run until sweat ran down my cheek; it was a release from whatever cage I put myself in. I would cut and cut, just to carve out the rotting. All I’ve been doing is escaping from jail cell to jail cell, all the while holding the key. I am the accused and the accuser.
Now I sit, in a haze of somethings and nothings, where time becomes the only cell that is visible. Anything to be gone of my body right? Leave a message at the beep, I will respond when I ease back to the ground. (i hardly want to …)
Dated: March 08, 2012