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Sunday - Anniversary. Happy...?
Date: May 6th, 2007 5:14:49 am - Subscribe
Mood: Evaporated
Load on my mind: N/A

So.
After a conversation,
I don’t know how to react.

Maybe it’s the tiredness of the last few days.
Living in this little surreal drunken, hangover world.
From Thursday,
Happy and missing each other minute after minute.
To Sunday,
The past dwelling, whiny guilt trip.
Check the time again, And once again its that time.
Its that time, that never knew its numbers.

“It’s my time coming, I, I’m not afraid to die”
-Grace (Buckley)

I hate this time.


It’s the immunisations at school.
You stand in line and wait. You wait and watch as the kid in front of you lugs his scuffed black shoes towards the door to the nurse’s office.
Your feet grow heavier with each step, 5-second intervals between each new child.
Now stronger then the person behind them, at least for 5-seconds, sometimes 10 if the kid screams, give or take a few minutes if he faints.
I’m walking to the nurse’s office, fans. And when I walk into that room, I’m not scared of the needle, I’m not scared of the injection, I’m not looking forward to the relief I won’t have chicken pox. No, I’m just sick of standing in this line, I’m praying that I’ll faint… give me a few minutes of dreaming before I have to wake up to a white gowned large sweaty woman with the fan behind her head, clicking, clicking, clicking.
Give me my dreams before I get up on my wobbly white matchstick legs and stumble out the other door. My eyes are red and my skin tissue white, my lungs hurt and out of the warped door I hear footsteps in sync, the light from outside shines in my albino eyes. I shield them as I stagger through the distorted door.
My eyes adjust to the light. The injection is making me stronger, “This pain, this deformed creature I’ve been transformed into, I’m powerful.” I tell myself. Standing up straight, my back cracks, I wince and squint.
The person in front of me drags his feet. “This will make me strong” “This will make me immune” The voices ring from the kids in front of me.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Step.
This injection will make me immune.
Please, I hope this is the one I need.


Don’t even ask about the ‘story’ I haven’t slept in 48 hours and it’s all that my brain is capable of babbling out.
After a day out of the fire, I spend Sunday in the coals. I am the fire.
Can’t stand this guilt.
Can’t stand this pain.
Can’t stand feeling wrong.
Can’t stand this guilt.
Can’t stand this guilt.
Why am I taking this, you have rules for you, I have rules for me, you have rules for me. You always win…

Maybe you are toxic.
Maybe you are my poison.
Is this even love?

Am I in denial about this?
Am I just scared to be alone?
Fuck, I can’t type.

“Evaporated”
- Ben Folds Five

In Aeternum,
Pura
Comments: (1)


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Comments:
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tron - May 06th, 2007
Dearest brother,
Even the purest moment have seeds of dissent. We find often in the apples of our eyes a little worm, or a brown spot bruise that we weren't sure was there before. Or at least, we could feel the softness, a squishy feeling under the skin, but we told ourselves that we'd bite in anyway.

Even the purest moments have seeds that we must spit out or choke on. Love is a pomegranite.

So maybe this precious fruit is toxic, or maybe your worm is a tequilla worm and its dead and can't hurt you. There are always worms.

Even within ourselves small things feed on our fears and become big things, until they are too big to swallow and they choke in our throats.

Even the happiest people have secrets.

Breathe deep. Drink tea. Hide from the world until you're sure where your own two feet are.

love sis.


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