Pretty

Tags

beauty, love, pretty, romance, sex, woman

I told her she was pretty. Maybe all she wanted was to feel pretty. Loved. Maybe in her mind, this whole situation had nothing to do with sex. I told her she was pretty because it was the best I could do for a girl that only ever wanted someone to stay and love her, even after she gave herself to them.

I told her she was pretty. Maybe more for my sake than hers. I wanted so desperately for her to be pretty. I wanted to feel like I was entangling my empty body in something that would heal it and make it feel full. I wanted the smell of alcohol and the stinging of fresh cuts to be replaced by something pretty.

I told her she was pretty. I meant it this time. I said it so that she could remember me when she felt down. I said it so that when things weren’t so good, she could know that I thought she was good. I said it because I knew she was going to leave regardless of how much of me she seemed to hold unknowingly in her hands.

Be free

Tags

addiction, depression, drug, suicide, ughmypostsaresomorbid

The couch where he was sleeping was covered in dry blood, but apparently when he was forced to stand some of the cuts reopened. The man helping him is trying to get him to hold a towel to his mutilated neck, but the kid doesn’t want to anymore. He simply doesn’t care. Somewhere between being left alone for too long and getting all the wrong kind of attention, he developed a hatred for his own blood. So he tries to get rid of it. He tries to force it from his frame.

He’s given up. His own life seems to be too alive. He cuts openings into himself in attempts to let himself be free. “Fly” he says.

But maybe he should say “be natural” instead because flying has become confusing lately. While he thought he was rising, he only seemed to get lower. So strange to be so high at rock bottom. Sitting in a room with friendly needles and comforting pills made sense for a long time.  Suddenly nothing makes any sense.

 

Bright lights don’t always lead you home

Tags

finding, J.R.R. Tolkien, life, lost, love, sex, wander

I want to deny it, but my vision is getting a little hazy. With so many people and bottles falling over, I worry about what can be replaced between the liquid, and well.. whatever else is being wasted. My friends’ voices seem to grow distant in the smoke, or maybe they were never here to start with. With bright lights and loud music, I question how anyone finds love here. Or anything meaningful. How does one find anything at all?

My intentions get lost somewhere between the entrance and when we fall onto the bed. Soft skin seems to smooth out my mind into something easily wrapped around us as she pulls me towards ideas I never believed in.

They say that not all those that wander are lost, but I am.

I’m very lost.