Im on the verge of losing it all, I feel sufficated and bound to hate everything going on around me until I cut myself free. In this moment i feel an overwhelming need to leave this Earth and all the bitter loneliness behind with my slave masters to blame. I need a rescue boat but no one sees me drowning. If I were to write my last letter tonight I would tell my parents that they shoved me over the edge clapping "IT'S ALL ABOUT THE GRADE. " Not your mental health or how I feel when you nit pick my entire life front to back. If this continues there is no doubt I will be gone like a ship in the night.
Diary of the Damned -- Tuesday, December 30th, 2014
As I sit here and write through this silence of night The voices wage war once again in my mind The hopeful and hopeless, both blinded by sight Bleed more dust from their armor Never settling score I hold dear the light, through the violent plight The choice of my rage...to defend what is mine To hold to the hope that soon, all will be right No more pain will I harbor For I'm worth so much more
The words don't come easy as battles rage on Especially when I'm my own greatest foe Tortured by every word, right or wrong Second guessing my self Every which way I turn I want to give up, but I want to go on Serenity somewhere adrift in my woe It seems that I've battled myself for so long I've lost touch with myself And I've left me to burn
Somewhere there's a lie between myself and I Both of us perfect strangers who cannot agree To hope and to try, or to give up and die If I can't save myself Maybe I can save me If I find peace of mind, maybe I can survive But which piece holds my peace still remains to be seen When the plans of both I and myself go awry Am I fooling myself? Will I ever be free?
My darkness and light both continue their fight If there is an end, it's one I've yet to find Try as I might, nothing seems to go right Each attempt now much harder Than each time before So I sit here and write through this silence of night As the voices wage war once again in my mind The hopeful and hopeless, both blinded by sight Bleed more dust from their armor Never settling score
I hate rain on Tuesdays. Wednesdays are my least favorite days and if Tuesday's dark and gloomy how will Wednesday be? But I love rain because the sky reminds me of my eyes and the feeling of wet drops on my skin is equivalent to your rough hands pulling me on an adventure and I want to adventure with you and I want you to take me along with you and some people compare their boys to skies and seas and flowers and moons but I will compare you to rain on Tuesdays because it all kinda spirals down but I want to hit rock bottom with you.
I'm 18 today But I feel 80 More like an old crickity relic Long forgotten, Never treasured, Wandering around Trying to figure out where I fit Where I might belong Hoping someone will dig through my crusted dirt And polish me off Knowing that I am gold underneath, But I fear I will have rotted away Before that ever becomes a possibility.
tuesday.
Author: Fish The Pig
0
Date: 27/03/2020
1197717
It's Tuesday and I don't have to work
I'm not as good at life as my mom said I would be. She said "Holly, one day you'll go scuba diving and you can tell me all about it. " But I got stung by a sea urchin. Not even diving, just walking on the beach, toes wet. And now the aloe plant on my windowsill is leering at me. I'm never outside long enough to get a sunburn. Although admittedly, burning me takes more sunlight than the day ever actually has. I'm never outside long enough to feel like a deer anymore. The skull on the counter, still bubble-wrapped from flight, is sightless and maybe waiting to be painted. And I think when it is nailed up I will feel like a deer again, remembering about the antlers and the fear of guns, without even knowing what to call them.
I sat side by side Next to my dog upon The burgundy leather sofa and Followed his line of sight Out the great glass window Into the desolate, Snow covered forest.
What can you possibly See? ” I ask.
After a few moments of Silence, he looks to me and Says, “Sometimes it's not As much as what I see As it is what I Find. This woods speaks the truth; You just have to look for it In yourself first. ”
She sat in an empty booth. It was a Tuesday, mild, with a thin veil of cirrus clouds on the horizon. Somewhere a dog barked. Outside, the Commercial Street Flower Market opened for business. A prostitute stood on the corner. With one the sitting woman opened the menu, scanned it, and dropped it back on the table. A bleach-blond waitress arrived. Before the waitress spoke, the sitting woman cut in. I'd like home fries, fruit salad, and a cup of earl grey, please. ” The waitress nodded, slightly wary, and scribbled the order on her yellowed order pad. The woman went back to staring at her fingers. The waitress left. She opened her purse, rummaged around, and grasped a worn paperback of Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five. A small likeness of a snake twirled up her left index. She wore beige eye shadow and a full set of fake lashes. Her nails were lacquered candy apple red. There was a large scar on her neck. Sighing, she settled in to read. The snake ring's eyes were rubies; as she turned the page, they glistened brightly. The cafo's door jangled. Seconds later, a man slid in to the seat opposite her. You're late, ” she said. The man smiled. He had lidded Egyptian eyes and a set of straight, white, fluoridated teeth. So terribly sorry. Pressing issues. ” He tapped a finger on the plastic table. The woman licked a finger and turned a creased page. Still reading that blasted book, are we? How many times has it been now, Laura? Twelve? ” Fifteen, to be exact. ” The waitress arrived with plates of bright fruit and steaming potato. She waitress had poorly tattooed eyebrows. They rose. Can I get you anything? ” she said to the man. Strong cup of coffee. Two cubes sugar, slice of lemon on the side. Thanks. ” The waitress smiled. Certainly. Your tea will be in, miss. ” Laura nodded. The waitress sashayed off and the man leaned in, breaking the barrier between them. Why are you still reading that godawful book? Wasn't once in Junior year enough? ” No, it wasn't. If you don't mind, let's get to the point. What are you doing here, Jack? I know it has nothing to do with harassing me over my literary opinions. ” The book closed with a muffled snap. She slid it back in to her large purse and adjusted her dress. I got the part. ” He said the two words with barely veiled excitement; they sounded unnatural and foreign. What in the name of God are you talking about? ” she asked. She stabbed a home fry with her fork and sprinkled it with salt. I've made it in, Laur. ” He said. She dragged the fry through a small puddle of ketchup and smiled. She leaned back and drew her hands through her hair, bit her lip. Who's directing? ” she asked. The waitress arrived again and they both leaned back, away from each other. He nodded his thanks, blew on his coffee, and drank deeply. She dipped her finger in the cup of tea. Some guy by the name of Cranston. Will, I think. He's good. Directed a film called The Devil in Whitethorn. You might call him an artist. ” Oh, Christ. You've made your big break, have you? With a damned arthouse director no one's heard about? I'm impressed, Jack. Real impressed. ” She sipped her tea. “What's your deep, philosophical movie about, Jack? ” A man dragged wrongfully in to hell who has to prove to the Devil that he is a good man, ” Jack said. His chin rose slightly. “he goes through his life as an invisible man, observing all of his human mistakes. Eventually he discovers that Hell is just another version of Heaven and it's all a test to get him to look at his life as an outsider. I play the college version of the lead. I'm third-highest billed. ” He reached over and snatched a strawberry from her plate. She smirked. Wow, ” she said, “sounds deep. Almost like one of the sappier episodes of The Twilight Zone, twist and all. Tell me, does Shatner play a PTSD-riddled man who sees monsters on an airplane? Is the Devil a fan of billiards? How many aliens are in this movie of yours? ” she smiled at him, exposing a line of somewhat crooked teeth. “A movie, huh? Congrats. ” Many thanks. I thought that someone who appreciated the subtle insanity of Vonnegut might appreciate a good deep film. Are you going to finish those? ” he gestured at the fries. Six of them remained. Laura slid them across the table and tucked in to the fruit plate. “No more awful local commercials for me, love. ” She scoffed at that. You're a crap commercial actor. How much money are you getting for this little highbrow film of yours? One K or two? ” She stabbed a honeydew square and crunched it between red lips. Four, doll. More than you make in a month. ” Her cheeks reddened. I don't need much, Jack. You of all people should know that. ” She coughed lightly in to her napkin. “You're a tricky bastard. How long have you known? ” He licked a spot of ketchup off of his finger. Oh... Five weeks? Six? Somewhere around there. We start shooting next month. ” He leaned forward, lightly brushing the back of her hand with his fingers. “It'll premier downtown on the seventh of July. Be prepared, since I'm dragging you out there with me. You'll need a cocktail dress and modest makeup. ” How modest is modest? ” she asked. He surveyed her face, scanning with his eyes squinted slightly. Her face flushed a touch more. Hmm...” he said, “drop the red lipstick, add a few more spots of cover-up, light champagne eye shadow and less blush. Also, ditch the falsies. ” She laughed, a light trill. I don't leave the house without them. I suppose I can scour my collection for some more... What was the word you used? Modest pairs. ” His fingers stopped rubbing the thin, veined skin on the back of her right hand for a short moment. In other words, you've said yes. ” Yes, I have. ” He dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table and stood up. “Call me some time. You haven't forgotten my number, have you? ” Laura grinned. He picked up the lemon, separated the meat from the rind, and rubbed the white flesh on his teeth. No, I haven't. ” He dropped a single white envelope on the table. She surveyed it, placing it next to the tattered paperback in her purse. He walked away. Oh, and Jack? ” she called without looking back at him. He stopped mid-step. “I wasn't wearing blush today. ” He grinned harder, waved his goodbyes to the waitress, and left. The door jangled. She finished the last dregs of her tea, dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table, and stood up. It was a beautiful morning. She walked outside. The bells on the entrance jangled, stilled, and their song died.
When I'm with you I'm the happiest And I feel the most alive. But dammit I remembered how you take my breath away And when you're not here I feel like I could die.
