I’m cold.

So long cold
and then:
you stand before me –
me and not me and oh so us.
I wrap my arms around
reaching under your jacket
right to grasp left forearm
at the small of your back,
and resting my chin
at that indecipherable place where your shoulder
turns gently into your neck.
My shoulders collapse
smaller and more feminine so
that your shoulders can enfold me
us
and I borrow your heat.
I can feel the gentle whisk of your stubble
against my temple and then lower
on my cheek and my ear
against my neck,
as you bow your head to me
to us
to
.
I can feel your hands grasp each other
behind my back in silent prayer
each perfect finger entwined together tight,
as I feel your lips touch that indescribable place
where my neck meets my shoulder;
and our thighs kiss.

Has there ever been a hug so perfect as ours?

Safety is a Myth

She’s behind me.

Always behind me: poking me prodding me, behind and bothering me. Her face is squashed against the glass of my brain. Her drool foams and clouds against my barrier of hope, as her naked hips pump and her thighs scream of dark destinies untaken.

My head shakes in negation and my stomach churns with bile. My face jerks to the right, my chin bangs against my shoulder: Body spasms to undo my minds betrayal.

My teeth grind.

I hold myself with the glistening of grass as the wind blows the blades south; the sparkle of the mica as the setting sun reflects against the pavement. How do we forget the things that fascinate ourselves as children? When do we stop seeing the shiny things; when do we stop chasing after the random butterflies that flitter by, rather than catching the ball?

And she sees you, so complacent in your love. She will hurt you, your protests notwithstanding. How arrogant we are in being alive. She sees the meat of my heart and longs to end her fast; she grinds her teeth, as my teeth gnash....

The long and sallow light fades behind, and the feeling of death is dearth aligned. I can feel the pulse of her desire beat in my nipples alive with neglected heat; I need to take my face off and be who I am underneath...

She will wait.

In all hell and hopeless laughter, she will wait.

Outside my window:

I saw a beautiful man today:

A young man came home with his friend. They got out of the truck and two little girls ran up to them. I couldn't hear what was said: a silent movie in a way these children will never know. The first little girl ran up to him, a child knowing, getting to know, wanting to know what it is to be a woman she talks to him then turns her back to him. She didn't cross her arms across her non-existent chest: she held them out from her sides. He smiled and grasped her by the arm pits and lifted. Her face lit like the sun, her arms and legs spread in the air as she looked like a star, a tree, a cheerleader, the dancer and fighter that she is. His height was small next to her glow, and he lifted her higher than his head. Then the other girl, taller and you could see the awkwardness that she was living in: skinny and growing and she will be so beautiful one day. She came to him with no words, only presented her back to him and he lifted: his smile was as great as the joy and gratitude on her face. She lit like a ballerina en jette.

They walked into the building together: all of them small and large and whole and apart. Not knowing I existed and watched and envied and cried for their beauty and friendship.

That is what I saw today. This is why I didn't die today, although they almost killed me.

Suicide is my only option...

I’m tired of being in love
with impossible, unreachable men.
I’m tired of being ugly
even when I’m not
(but I am).

I’m tired of always being alone
I’m tired of always chasing others away.
I’m tired of being the one who is strong
to no one leaning on me.

I’m tired of fantasies and imagination
I’m tired of hope and calls to god.
I’m tired of loneliness and cold and wine
I’m tired of masturbation and porn and dreams.

I’m tired of being alone
and alone
and alone
and always alone especially when I’m with a couple.
I’m tired of talking to myself and pretending;
I’m tired of holding myself in the shower.

I’m tired of wishing the pain would stop

I just want it to stop

just stop

and stop

I want it to stop tonight.

I’m tired of trying to be elegant and eloquent
I’m tired of trying to be patient and strong.
I’m tired of trying to hang on for nothing,
for promises that never come
and never come
and never come
and fruition that never comes
to all my daydreams unfulfilled.

I’m tired of believing in angels
I’m tired of believing in hell.
I’m tired of trying to placate the gods
and the demons that torment my soul.

I’m tired of counting
I’m tired of trying to make the numbers match
I’m tired of having to watch the clocks for specific times
that make no sense
in this world or the next.

I’m tired of wanting to bleed
I’m tired of seeing my veins stretch
I’m tired of needing my own destruction to hold my brain together.

I just want to lay down,
I just want to lay everything down,
And I want everything inside to be quiet.
I just want to let everything go
And to be at last at peace with myself:

I just want a do-over...

Who Knew?

Tuesday, 6:34PM - Evil Part of my Brain says "We're not going to eat again until Friday at 1:34PM."
Dumb Part of my Brain says "Huh? Oh, well, OK."
Me, standing in the middle, says "What the fuck?"
Evil Part of my Brain says "We're not eating again until Friday at 1:34PM. If we eat between now and then something bad will happen."
Dumb part of my Brain says "Oh, OK. No eating then. We will not eat. No food. OK then."
Me, standing in the middle, says, "What the FUCK?"
Evil Part of my Brain says "We're not eating agin until 1:34PM Friday. Something bad will happen if we eat. I'm not gonna say what. But it would be bad. Get used to it. Food ain't gonna happen."
Dumb Part of my Brain says "Yeah, he's the boss. No eating. Something bad will happen if we eat. Um... Where'd I leave my synapses?"
Me, standing in the middle, says "Yeah, but I'm hungry..."
Evil Part of my Brain says "No eating until 1:34 on Friday. Live with it."
Dumb Part of my Brain says "Oh look, something shiney!"
Me, standing in the middle, says "Well fuck."

I'm so happy it's Friday.

What the fuck is CPE?

I'm no longer sick. Or at least, I'm no longer projectile vomiting against my bathroom walls as I make my way towards the toilet. So I have a question...

What's up with this CPE shit? As far as I can tell, and granted, I'm not that smart, but as far as I can tell the whole issue is about a bunch of over-privileged, whiny assed, spoiled children bitching that the other guys, i.e., those that came before them, got more than they are going to get.

As far as I can tell (and this very well may be wrong because I can't find news coverage from the student and union POV) the whole problem is that companies can fire employees under the age of 26 within a two year probation period for any reason. If this is true, and I pray that I am missing something, then I just want to say...GROW THE FUCK UP, YOUTH OF FRANCE!!! Welcome to my fucking world, where you have to prove your worth to an employer (for your whole career, not just the first two years, you pussies) to keep your job. In a lot of ways, France's work place rights are totally cool and I wish we (i.e. – countries other than France) could take advantage of such privileges. But see, the problem is that France is going bankrupt because of their welfare policies.

Now, I truly believe that government should support the people and not the other way around. I believe that everyone is entitled to free health care and a (financially) worry free retirement. HOWEVER, when excessively lenient social welfare programs lead to the bankruptcy of the country, then it may be time to look for alternative programs, or at least an overhaul of the existing ones. But that’s just the way I see it, and I throw up a lot, so I may be wrong.

I'm just a naked drunk bitch with wings.

Children make me sick. Literally.

I'm coming down with something, and it's pissing me off. Every time my sister's two (admittedly adorable, but still make me glad I don't have any of my own) kids get sick, they end up passing it on to me. Hanging out with my nephew is great because he's just under 5 years old, and already he can bullshit like a pro. Having a conversation with him is like being on an acid trip through Disneyworld -- everything is innocent but oddly twisted and distorted. And his sister is the meanest and bossiest (but still cuddly) 2 1/5 year old ever. I live in fear of pissing her off. That child can SCREAM, brother! So I do love them, but my god! You would think someone (like a parent, maybe?!?!?) would teach them to cover their mouths when they sneeze, or at least not to aim it at someone else’s face.

Wine can be used as an antiseptic, right? If I get good and drunk, it could potentially kill off whatever this latest bug is that they've infected me with. Or at least make me not care that I'm sick. Let's find out!