I’m messing up again, no not in the heroin-arms-call-me-baby kinda way, but in another if not more significant way. I’m messing up with the love of my life.
Mostly, I feel out of it, oblivious to his pain, knee deep in my own night sweats, my own anxieties. I know he needs me more than I need him right now. But I keep pulling him into my rib cage, he holds onto th bone bars and cries out, again, I feel nothing. Too medicated to realize I’m the one killing my only hope.
I need to get a job, but nigling doubts hold me back. I’m scared I’ll fail. He’s riding his hopes on this. He needs me to make the moolah because we’re stuck, he’s being sued, we might lose ththe car, wait wait I can’t crack, I need that job, I’m too weak, I’m sick, wait no I’m screaming inside screaming at the top of my lungs, my bones are cracking, I’m in doubt, were gonnna lose the car, were going to die without my job. We’re not going to make it this time.
I’ve built a wall around my mind, so not a single person may find me. I can’t read him. He can’t read me. We need to break the walls, bring out the trumpets, marry his kingdoms ruler to my queen, build trust. It’s so simple ain’t it? Ain’t it?
I can’t hold the details together, I can’t sew them into my seams. You said what? When was that? I forget. I don’t know. I’m going to hide now.
There must be a way to return to normality. To a time when he kisses me, touches me again, instead of me forcing my desperate lips onto his reluctant, miserable ones. When we can look with laughing eyes at each other, instead of tearful ones.
how do I go back? Or is it forward?
The pale angel, whispering and angular, is at the center of a fragmented dream world. His vocal poetry is haunting and lithe – winding light around his stairstep-spine. Call him “Beautiful One.” Call him “Best Friend.” Call him “You-Take-My-Breath-Away.” The only instrument he requires is freedom, the type that moves with dissonant waves – all lyricism and vigor, like a breakdown made for dreamers. But, I don’t think he saw me. I don’t think he noticed my desperation for something real, for someone to touch my ribcage-elbows-collarbone and affirm my existence. Can I help but to want to be danced upside down, to spin around like youthful romance, to jump and be okay? I look into my bathroom mirror, striped down bare and ready to take my shower. It’s 3:00am but I have nowhere to be tomorrow, or the next day or the next.
A lot of times I don’t take my medicine seriously. I frequently skip doses. I don’t think it’s a good thing, but I do feel more myself when I don’t take them. I also have more shamanic visions which I really like. Maybe I’m just crazy though?
on the other side. I pop the anti anxiety drugs like candy. 2,4,6…12. Who knows. I stopped counting now.
I don’t want to feel tonight
I have pushed through bodies to get to you, pushed through late nights crying over the wrong people, through meaningless, thoughtless sex, and through hopes that have always led to despair. I was mechanical. I was mostly drunk. I was dead.
I though it was normal to cry every night, to let things happen to your body – unwanted touches, and painful caresses ending in loss of myself, moment by moment, piece by piece. It does not get better than this, I told myself endlessly. I made this bed. I deserve this bedding.
mom’s the only one who cares about me, and sometimes she doesn’t understand, know or feel my pain, my loss of control, my self disdain
You showed up at the brutal parting, my forced removal from The All Knowing One, a painful distancing. I cut my arms so deep while I was on the phone with him after he said – it’s done, don’t contact me anymore, you’re poison. I cut them so hard, so emotionally. Blood dripped down my arms, blood pooled on the carpet, my mother screamed and screamed until I couldn’t hear her anymore. The world blurred as my fragile network of lies and truths, or lies that became truths, burned in my heart. Dad got the gauze. My younger brother fell silent. He’s been silent a long time now.
And in the wake of the waves of pain, deep from the ashes of my life, as I tried and struggled with purpose and loneliness. I found you. I fucking found you online. I /saw/ you. I knew.
I don’t want to say you fixed me, because I had a hand in that too. I don’t want to say you destroyed me, because I loved heroin just as much. We have had our share of tough times, just like a plethora of good. I didn’t want to believe we couldn’t be together without drugs, so I mostly didn’t… and we got sober, we got closer, we got healed and we now have each other to thank for it, to save ourselves from the misery of returning to the families we wronged, our lives we ruined, and the pain of our emotions returning to us.
I love your humor, I love your scent, I love the way you are so honest with me, never leading me on or leading me astray. You love me for me, for who I am not who I want to be or worse, who I think I am. You don’t care if my hair is knotted, I just woke up or I am throwing a tantrum because I’m sleepy and can’t find my phone and think I’m going crazy because I checked there, no, I /checked over there/ do. not. Oh ok it was over there? Thanks.
We are not the same, I learned that from you. We don’t have to be the exact same person, that’s ok. We don’t have to be in the same room, which is code for: I feel secure you won’t leave me. I can sleep without you immediately dropping everything and going to sleep too. I had to learn that also. You’ve been a great teacher. You’ve been a better best friend.
I can honestly say I /know/ you, which is almost as good as loving you. I understand, so do you. So when there’s a day we don’t kiss or sit next each other all day or I go for a walk without you, I don’t feel any less loved, any less special, in love or cared about. It’s quite the gift you gave me.
You didn’t steal my heart, you mended it and let me hang on to it for a while. The fact that you have it now? It’s because I decided you were worthy. It was mine to give. It’s mine to take back if I so choose.
Nevertheless, it’s yours now, and I love you so much.
Thank you, with all the love of my being,
To you, my Beautiful One
Well, after about two hard years of lying, stealing, cheating, fucking the banks and the credit card companies, all for the love, no, the burning desire, unstoppable force of heroin, we are clean and have been for about two weeks. It’s nice, er, it would be nice if we didn’t have to live this miserable homeless existence in the car or out on the street panhandling. At least we’re not getting sick, right?
However there is a few problems.
1. The void in my heart/brain/soul that heroin numbed and filled is back again. I’ve been trying to fill it with my pagan faith, positive affirmations, meditation and magick. But alas, it still pains me. I think one of these days, I’m going to o step in from of a speeding 18-wheeler and nobody will be able to stop me.
2. Kevin doesn’t want to kiss me, touch me, fuck me. I thought that would help with the void. He’s been so mean to me – ordering me out of the car, throwing Charlie (my lovable oversized stuffed brown bear that I feel is my protector and good good friend), yelling at me, driving risky, and all around terrifying me. He says he’s sorry eventually sometimes – but this last time…. was so bad…. I’m finding it harder and harder to forgive him. I don’t want it to be this way, but I’m not th one that started this.
3. My parents are moving from the house that I grew up in to a home in Florida. That means I lose the house I love, the woods and trees that grow on that property that I love, my parents won’t be here to give me food, clothing or money, I won’t have access to my magick box, clothing, blankets, jewelry or anything. When I miss my mom or dad they are supposed to be there – accessible for hugs and snuggles and taking care of me when I’m sick or sad or in need of their parental love and presence. My world is literally turning inside out with the thought that they’ll be leaving MY HOME. MY FOREVER HOME, MY HEART HOME, MY GREATEST SANCTUARY AND SHELTER. Annnnd me and Kev are on methadone, which you have to go to the clinic everyday so it’s not like we can just stop that and leave. Kev can’t even leave the state right now cuz he’s on probation. And I’m not sure if dad, who hates my bf with a passion, will help both of us get set up in Florida.
I literally hate everyone right now – except maybe my mother (which is extremely odd)
“nostalgia never fails to reach me.
I never fail to remember the dates to every single important thing that happened.
I remember the date when we first kissed, I remember the date I met your parents,
and I remember today’s date last year.
I remember that day I was really upset about something and started crying on the phone and you with your goddamn sweet voice started reading that goddamn sweet poem I gave you earlier and I guess you thought it would make me stop crying because I did. and I smiled and I remember you telling me how much you love me and how I felt your comfort and presence even though I was alone in bed and I remember that night clearly and I remember. you loved me.
nostalgia never fails to make me miss you.”
I’m loose wires, twirls of yarn hair,
burnt-ash eyes swept from a stockroom floor.
I’m eighty percent paper, pink-thin skin,
litmus-blue for you.
Rub against my matchstick shin,
Wind me up, wind me up
take me for a ride.
My rag-doll lips are vigilant as vultures,
soft as weathered-leather and chard.
My kiss is a spill of cumin on soft
bread, spongy-warm, rising.
Some man patched my wounds
with slop from a bucket.
He milked me, swirled me,
spit me out.
Another burnt buttons along my back
with his cigarette,
said he could see my spirit, like stuffing,
puffing out. I was his child-bride.
Now, I’m yours to sew together,
your pile of groaning breasts and thighs,
a scabbed-map of slices. You can split me
down my scar-lines. Shave me.
Save me. Shoot what you want
into my veins. I’m a cloud pocked with rain.
Wind me up, wind me up,
dig your hands into my spine.
I’ll be your puppet, your glamour-girl,
your bitch-in-heat, your insane.
I’ll play twice-as-nice once the pills
float down this numb-ebbing wave.
I have time, so much time, for the fog
to burn off, the pollution to clear from my brain.
Can you hear the seagulls shriek swallow, swallow,
then check my tongue for a razor out of place ?
(They have trust issues.) Come see.
Crank the bars from the glass. Free me.
I’ll be your moon, your gun. Your edge to scratch on.
I’ll write every day.
Even though it’s hard to know
which one becomes the last. The light
here shines florescent as the waxed floor.