Every Other Night

I’m listening to Crazy Love by Van Morrison and Everybody Hurts by REM in repetitive cycles. It’s a bad combination for a rainy night like this one. The flashes of lightning rip in through the windows lighting up my eyes but for a moment, and I just want more. I want thunder until it rumbles so loud that I can’t hear the madness of my own thoughts, so powerful that I fear something else other than the destruction of myself, that I may feel anything but how I feel right now.

I want to be crouched in the rain, sobbing in a corner and smoking. I want each rain drop to slightly pierce my skin enticing just a smattering of blood, the combination rolling off my skin to meet in a puddle below me.

I want to feel any kind of pain but the kind that resides in my heart. I want to feel direct pain from a consequence of something defined, something tangible that I can blame or call my mistake. Pain from a punch, pain from an accident, pain from heartbreak.

This Is A Story I Wrote; The Din

“I love the way he writes; there’s something that seems etched deeper in it than the mere dimensions of the screen’s font. I can see what he would see as no one else seeing.”

“It’s becoming an obsession… it’s not physical, nor emotional, nor intellectual, nor anything. There are times I don’t mind him with an indifference so resounding that it escapes my attention for weeks. There are times I can relate to him on a plane between heaven and hell that scares me. And then… then there are times I despise him so passionately he disgusts me!”

She had slumped down in her chair, having given up on holding her posture in place. One leg flung itself over the other, crossing paths. “I don’t understand it,” she whispered, eyebrows knitted.

Vanity for a mirror, A post for a fever

I love when the time comes every night to switch off the lights, when I let my hair fall loose and free on my shoulders, when I climb into my bed and crawl under my quilt, when I wear my glasses and place my notebook on my lap, when I plug my earphones in and listen to my sad sad pain ridden music and finally, when I get to tap my thoughts away at my keyboard. If I haven’t been to lazy, or if I’m in the mood, there’ll be a hot mug of herbal tea by my bedside, the steam dancing against slight rays of light from a nightstand lamp, moving to the beat of a ceiling fan rushing past me as fast as it can.

If I was a scented candle kind of gal, it would really complete this picture. But I’m not, though I keep getting them as birthday gifts, fated to gather dust behind some old books.

It’s Wednesday!

There are these moments so deep and brimming with clarity where I lie awake in bed at night, and just when the darkness completely takes over, I swear I hear music. Or rather this sound so sparklingly clear and melodious… my rendition of music, that lasts but for a split second. I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?

“See that one there? She’s finally gone loopy!” they will say, pointing.

Maybe the silence is just so loud and overbearing, there’s nothing to hear but music. But then there are these other moments… I would be wiping my face off with a towel and I would think I just heard someone call my name. My head would snap back in that direction to find an empty space. Now the music I’m no so sure about, but this, I’m certain, is hallucinating. I’m clean officer, I am, I swear. Just loopy.