Stab

You can only hate yourself so much

Sleep Rants

Tonight is much colder than the last.

I want to curl up next to a hot water bottle and slip away into sleep. But I know I can't. I will be spending the night tossing and turning, feeling the sharp bite of the cold in my toes. The portable radiator is on the max and I am bundled up in thermals, flannel pyjamas, hoodie and socks. Tonight isn't going to be easy...I can feel it in my numb fingers.

Pass the time with some music:

"I turn the music up
I've got my records on"

Fancy listening to Coldplay on a chilly night in Surrey. If only the night would pass over sooner - five more hours before the alarm rings. I tuck my fingers under the pillow. Just another pathetic attempt at keeping warm. I can feel the sleep bearing down on me but the cold keeps me clinging to consciousness. I guess this is limbo.

"Once upon a time, somebody ran
somebody ran away..."

I can't think. I am too tired. But yet I am awake. I want the darkness to drop on me and smother me and take me away. I want to float off to another sense of non-awakening and sink into it so that it would become my world.

"You really hurt me..."

My hands are water and yet I can't feel them because of the cold. I turn over onto my side. The wall never seemed so colourless, so patternless, so non-existent. In fact the world no longer exists. It's all an abstract concept within the mind. Memories and experiences seem to bob in and out of the sub-conscious with images of child-me running around in the park emerging on a non-chronological time frame. I can see the sun on a humid morning and suddenly the thunder on a stormy tropical afternoon.

Shrill ringing

I can see the old car my father once owned and suddenly the bicycle I used to ride in my grandmother's porch.

"In the night the stormy night
she closed her eyes"

Shrill ringing

I can hear the voice of my grandfather and suddenly the chants of the nuns at his funeral.


Shrill ringing. Shrill ringing. Shrill ringing.


Yes..yes...I'm up for god's sake. Time for work...
...fuck, I've overslept again.

July 4, 2009

the door is creaking
I can hear it slam shut as shuffles of those slippers
travel up and down the cement corridor
but I lie awake in my...
..pains?
...regrets?
...loss?

It's one thing to lie on the cold hard bed and
another to be with a presence on that
same, cold, hard bed. The matress
would seem...
...more inviting?
...more warm?
...more loving?

How do I equate a loss of the world
when all I can do
is lie on that damned
cold, hard bed?
I hear the door open.
Creak
And then shut again.
The echo of a closing
renounces throughout the room
and I lie there
only to believe that the world is cold and hard
just like that damned bed.

I've got my believes
and I suppose I should stick by it
no matter how much I'm being
tempted into destroying it
along with my morals
but everytime that damned door creaks
or I lie on that damned bed, I'm
always reminded:

There is a life out there, and
only I can retrieve it for myself
and so I stay on that bed
alone
cold
aching
just to be able to achieve that life
in hope that maybe
some day
I'll be able to let it all go....

A&E

There were no sirens, no screams, no horror.

There was regret, disappointment,and hurt.

The A&E waiting room had never been so empty. Well, it only seemed empty in my head. I realised it was an illusion that my deprived state had left me with. All I could see was what I was focused on - my hands. Everything around it blurred, the sounds muffled.

My hands were light and strangely angular. It looked almost distorted with its anatomy so prominent - I could see the blue veins which ran down my arm and the tendons which joined the bones to muscle (or what's left of it really)

I felt the weight of someone's hand on my shoulder. It was then I looked up to see a young woman looking at me with tearful eyes. She was my friend but at the time, she seemed just like any other person who didn't matter to me. I could feel all emotions, but dread, ebb away from inside me. Suddenly the world seemed so insignificant - nothing in the whole world could be bigger than the emptiness inside my mind. It was so overwhelmingly...non-existent.

My friend placed her hand on mine and said: "You're doing the right thing." I sighed and dropped my head - and dozed off as the world walked silently over me.

Let's

Let's write about the lies we told each other
the ones we coughed up
not to deceive
but to progress.

Let's share our stories with each other
the ones we buried
not to hide
but to protect.

Let's forget the past together
the ones we survived
and lived to tell
and hope to conquer.

Let's not think of existence...

...and float away into the empty sea.

Chronology of Friendship

Here we are at five.

We were playing at the swings after a thunderstorm. Below our swinging feet were puddles of water where little tadpoles swam. We held hands and smiled knowing that tomorrow was going to be just as fun. The sun will always shine after a storm



Here we are at ten.

It was your birthday and I had my arm over your shoulder in a friendly embrace. You threw bits of cake at me that year. It was a friendly gesture - it was your way of letting me know that you were thinking of me. I don't think our mothers were impressed to find their daughters covered in cake.



Here we are at fifteen.

I stood behind the group of girls we went out with. I didn't think what we were doing was right. Weed and alcohol on a humid night. There were dark-clothed men walking the alleys looking out for promiscuous, naive girls. I didn't want to be one of them. I slinked away from the group before midnight and left you to form new, dangerous relationships.



Here we are at twenty.

I stood over you. With flowers in my hand. I had never see you so calm before and I smiled weakly as I placed the flowers in your hands. The bruise you obtained from the asault was barely visible under your make-up - you looked perfect, just as you did in life. The lid closed and you resigned into the darkness.






And now, here I am.







.

.

Sanity left me stranded.