My new catharsis. Find me here, and long for the days when we used to be alone.

clickit

I didn't write that.

I know that it has my name on it, and I know I've been working on this book for months, but it's true. I didn't write that.

It's brilliant, and hilarious, and I wish I had but.... I can't remember writing that.

I wrote the lines proceeding, and the ones afterward but, as I've stated before - I didn't write that.

Maybe the manuscript has begun to write itself. I didn't want to suggest it because it sounds crazy but there's no other explanation!

....

Ok, fine, we'll publish it.
And  I won't say anything, but you and I will know that the words are creating themselves, that the books don't need their authors anymore.

It all feels like I'm rolling downhill, getting caught up in debris which is wrapping tighter and suffocating me until the moment I come to a stop and unravel myself.
I can see it all coming apart again.

Some days I just want you to chain me up and hold me back, because even though I don't trust you, I trust myself less.

This is a life without the living.

And I'm not sorry, cause this is the best time we've ever had.

I'm just not gonna let you stand there and make me feel like I'm not good enough for you. I'm sick of not being good enough for this.

But this isn't going to help, because it's not you I'm angry at. But lately I've been wondering, who it is I'm angry at.
But it's just denial because we all know the answers anyway.

he would shimmer through the canvas like blue imagination,
break my questions, "For beauty"

         then drug junk fashion but sculpt dreams.

   smear young sex model
she will scream,     raw  and  nude.

                         "we wild women perform" 
                                                      she says

     that white silhouette mess

<deadisfree>

I can feel the place burning. The walls aren't wax.

I'm scraping my fingers down this enclosure, trying to rip through to another side.
Any side but inside.

And it's so hot here and were spinning so fast, running through the options, running through the halls, trying to find a way to escape the walls we built and burned.

When we get out of here, you want to be melted together.
When we get out of here, I want you to leave me alone.

.... if we get out of here.

There must be something in the air.

I don't know what to do.

Three days.

No.

I wonder if the ripples are really all the same because, true, they're bigger near the edge, but they're more forceful near the centre.

Does it all even out, or would that be worse?

And more importantly, can you only avoid the ripples if you're drowning beneath the surface?

Because some days, I can't feel yours.

Oh hell no!
What the fuck did you think was going on?

I am angry at you for hurting me.
I am angry at everyone else for not knowing.
I am angry at the fact you are too piss-weak to apologise.

Mostly, I am angry at myself for letting it happen, and for not getting over it, but when it all comes down to it, it is still your fault, and I will blame you until the ends of the earth.

I lie awake at night, in the same spot you used to sleep, on the other side of the wall to where I wished you would leave me alone. I lie awake and wonder if you are thinking of the same moments as me, and if you feel the same guilt and shame I feel.

I was a child. I am still a child, and you don't even care that I am angry. So this is my goodbye, and my fuck off, and my I will never forgive you!

Don't come back here - you haunt me enough as it is.