Make me close my eyes. Shut them hard. Hide my face with a pillow. And make all this go away. All of this. In a moment. Forever. And lets start over. Anew. I don't want to be my age tonite. But that unreasonable inconsolable kid who doesn't know how to deal with her problems. Please God make all of this go away. I know you and I haven't had much of an affair lately, but please. I need help here. Get me out. I shouldn't have to deal with all this. Understand. Save me someone. I don't want to accept defeat. I want back my fake fucking sheen. I want anything but the truth. Don't you get me. Reality is too hard to sink into my skin. My pores are too small. Hide me somewhere.It scares me to think that the only one love I have ever relished is the true love of nicotine. And that I am going to die soon of the consequences. The pictures inside my head are hideous. You have no idea. It's so gloomy in here. There is no hope. Make my past vanish. Please! Do something with the time machine thing. Take me to some other era. Where I am not. Where non of this is. And where trying to escape is no sin. All my life I have tried to escape from one disaster and ran right into another. Make me forget I have ever been this stupid. Incorrigibly moronic.Take away all memory of my mistakes. My shame. Of being who I am. My guilt. Of having tortured myself. Make me fall in the middle of this leap that I have taken. Right in the middle of it. I don't want to see the other shore. Or any other shore. For that matter.
Or just get me drunk.
Or just get me drunk.
5 comments:
Stay alive! I will get you drunk, only if you let me feel your breath on my skin. Live.
I wish I could help you with this, but I also know you will not acknowledge any help
Maybe all you need is him
I hate giving any kind of advice, this is just what I feel after reading your post. I feel that the best way out is acceptance; acceptance of one's self and one's past.
If you haven't already, or if you haven't lately, do read the 2nd last paragraph of Sartre's "Nausea"; if he is able to write a novel, says Roquentin, "perhaps I might feel my heart beat faster and say to myself: 'It was on that day , at that moment that it all started.' And I might succeed--in the past, simply in the past--in accepting myself".
That's what I'm also contemplating doing.
u need MUMBAI period
Why hold on to the crutches when you could fly?
Fly my angel, just fly.
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