because i’d rather breathe in anything but the insipid oxygen this world has to offer. and martin luther really is an angel. nothing feels better than gasping for air when you’ve just stood up too fast and you have to sit back down. nothing teaches you to listen to your body like pumping it full of poison, and nothing teaches you to ignore it like never depriving it of a thing. because it may take guts and curiosity to get this high, but it takes dedication and creativity to stay up here. and fuck everyone who says i can’t. my house is my heaven, and my couch is my throne. i am the queen of my own world, and no one can take that away from me. not even death, of which i am not afraid. if what makes me different makes me dangerous, i am a walking time bomb.
if my body is the piano and my skin is the keys, i only feel good when you are playing me because my organs are the best acoustics this world has ever seen, and no one’s been trained to play the percussion that is me quite like you. i nap like my father with my hands in my lap and my feet on the coffee table, but i never wanted to wake up because you were the dream and i think best in a state of weakness. but everything has to go back to normal someday, and it is always too good to be true, which is why i always choose fiction. ignorance is not bliss; fiction is. the back of my eyelids have always been more interesting than anything else i’ve ever seen. maybe that’s why i sleep so much. when all else fails, suffocation is my drug of choice. maybe that’s why suicide has so much sex appeal. i lick my lips more than a dog because i’m hungrier than what sobriety has to offer, and the come down is where my best writing appears.
i was born disappointed with life. that is why i’d always prefer to be high. things are more beautiful when i can’t see how boring reality really is.
“i’m watching myself like an old movie on color tv.”
i’m addicted to the come down because returning to reality is so much more interesting than never leaving it. reality is so much more tolerable when you get to take a break from it, and sobriety is so much less boring when it isn’t permanent. i never asked to be high forever. i just asked for a break from time to time. don’t you ever just want a break from you? or am i the only one? is this what insanity looks like? or is this just raw honesty at its finest? or at its worst?
most people cry for their mom in their weakest moments. he cried for his daughter, and if that’s not a father, i don’t know what is. there’s a graveyard in my head where a field of red poppies used to lie. do you know how it feels to sit still while your body races? do you know how it feels to hug yourself from the inside out?
if i can’t be high with you, then i don’t want to be sober with anyone.
i wish my tears were poison so i could finally kill myself with sadness. i think i’m too far from the ocean. sometimes i wish i had friends just so i could tell them i’m too tired to hang out, but in reality, no one cares and those words just dissipate into thin air. i spend my days waiting until it’s time to get back in bed. the sun shines for too many hours in the day. i can’t pretend to be happy that long, and no matter how high i get, you still won’t be there when i return. and too many sunny day in a row is just as bad as an eternity of clouds. if i had it my way, i’d die from the outside in, and the sun would never shine more than a few hours a day so we’d never grow tired of it because nothing says “i give up” quite like getting in bed while the sun still shines.
there’s no love like true empathy. i can spend my days validating myself, but i just wish i could fall asleep to your voice.