Morbid Beauty (Cawing)
Atlanta, Georgia, is a catastrophe; the rush is loud, there is no outlet for me. Well, hello cul-de-sac. Commiserate. Compensate. Commencement. The lines of this home, a thousand points of light: memories flood back into me. Who was that little bag of chemicals, so fresh from the womb running around in the green grass? A little girl? In the arms of her parents? Smiling?
A morbid beauty, glows in resignation.
I think about killing myself. Sometimes the thought of a shotgun blowing off my head is the only way I can lull myself off and into sleep. I just replay it over and over again like a GIF, soothing; the emptiness and openness of my skull.
Consecutive days and plain afternoons.
The things in life
They pass the time by
No… Don’t worry… I know a bit too much about myself now. Suicide is not for me. All the half-ass attempts, the cawing, the weakness. The swallowed pills. The knife trying to penetrate my throat…. The drugs… When you get close; things change, there is a flash not of light, but of fear that is so wretched and awesome you have to pull yourself back…
Perhaps it’s the medication that makes it impossible for me to write, but makes me see clearly that despair is not death. Imagine a movie portraying despair. It doesn’t just present a black, empty screen. It presents life as despair, and even when there is a death in a movie, it’s not death that despairs; it’s what death does to those who remain living… True despair is staying alive. And I choose life until the day old age takes me away.
Now the distance clears.
A | A | A
“EPIC FAIL”…that’s what the Facebook message read that I had scattered across my iPhone after revealing my two year crush on this girl that has consumed my mind since the first day we met.
There’s a girl on the treadmill in front of me. Blonde hair, fair skin, fit—but thick where it counts.
You would have infinitives that you truly hold close to your heart and a couple of onomatopoeic mixtures of syllables that give music to your life. You would often be misunderstood, but you’d never be boring.
How terrible you used to be at holding your liquor, and the ridiculous combination of drinks you used to deem acceptable, such as Rikaloff and Hawaiian Punch served in a Nalgene.