and its inadequate to describe where i am
with what emotion do i start the words on this page. imaginary. like the acid floating from with in me, must keep it in, keep it down. hold me down. i've been reading every vowel of fiction i can swallow, a quest for knowledge, a story to keep my attention, to let this dream go by faster. but slow it down now, must build myself to last, set up for success not failure, to live this life fully, still no idea what that means.
and its these late night ramblings that have me wound up and bent over, kneeling towards morning, seeing the sun come up, the first instinct of dawn come through these inadequate, insufficient, incapable window panes and i am awake with the sun, not ready for the day. the only gift i get. the best gift any of us can get.
my shoulders are achy and my tongue is burnt and sore, lips chapped past shot of redemption, parched and unable to sleep. always unable to sleep. the late night mind wanders past confines i can control. to what i will name you, nameless, now shapeless infinite little infant will rest in my arms and i will weep now, for the loss, the separation, of all of us, how i pray in the end we aren't really alone. an immaculate image projected from the blueprint, the divine reel that keeps spooling, keeps playing until the contrast is too small, until the known and unknown blend to the parched white page i started with, the beginning and end of it all. i admit i know nothing. i know nothing at all.
and i yearn, still, for something to bite down on. back molars positioned steadily on forearm flesh until i can pour out all of my anger for things listed above. head too heavy for neck. breath too heavy for throat to carry out properly, smoothly, a smoke exhale that i wont let myself inhale, too toxic.
why can't i sleep. i truly don't understand why i lie awake throwing myself around, never quite comfortable. never quite surrendered to the problems that take up my mind. problems i can't solve. that are un-solvable.
i don't know what i love. i don't even know that much anymore. i cut my cuticles until blood pours, accidentally. another accidental self-injury. i know i can recover. how am i still recovering. how long it takes for a wound to properly heal, seal over, until no bacteria can enter anymore. until we are safe from ourselves.
perhaps it is all too dramatic. we should handle this more like men. cowardly. i face it forward, honestly, as honest as i can. and maybe my words are hyperbole, but i know what helps me. i know what is a proper assist in making it through the walls in my brain, the membrane preventing me from sleep, my own fear of not having enough time to make it where i know i'm going, where i position my finger tips firmly into belief that i can arrive in one piece at my final destination knowing i did every last thing i could do to better this life, to better myself, to awakened and wake up at a proper hour feeling well, ready for this world, this weird world in front of me. in front of us.
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