please go away / i want to be held
i never want you to know where i am / come and find me, bring me home
i want to be in a place far away from everyone, alone where no one can find me / please stay with me
(also i'm a moonchild now and the moon is forever a part of me
this brings me great comfort)
i wrote some words on subway seats last friday :
"i love you & your private hell"
"you're not strange"
"where have all the flowers gone?"
then i went to a "party" and i passed out in the tall grass
and i woke up at 4am and started to dance again and then i stayed up until noon and slept a little and then i ate a little
then on sunday i went dancing during the day and evening again and it was really hot and i got sunstroke again
I'm so frightened of letting someone be close to me because I don't want to hurt them, I don't want my sorrow to be shared, the last anyone needs is more aching.
And also, in a smaller way, I think I am very afraid of having someone be mean to me. I think some things can't be fixed with "just smiling" or "toughen up", I think some things can't be fixed with a medicine cabinet or a shady doctor.
i write the word "missing" on the paper, to look up and find nothing
i've had an odd summer, working hours during the week and going to crazy parties on the weekend, putting all sorts of things into my body and talking to a lot of people. i kiss a boy sometimes but we don't really like each other all that much. i went to europe too and saw lots of beautiful things. i can't believe the world is so big.
i guess i feel very lonely though.
i do feel very lonely.
"Let's go to the sea-side!"
"But I'm already drowning."
"if you could say anything to the world right now, what would it be?"
It used to be that my body existed only where he touched me, leaving me bleeding in a better way. Everywhere the blade-tongue touched I found tulips growing from the lacerations, I found the bedsheets touched with rose-water.
I think the problem was always that I had too much of this blood inside of me but there was nowhere for it to go - or maybe I never had any at all. These days I seem to be leaving red stains wherever I go, like on her white dress or in the sink of some hospital's bathroom.
sometimes you're a guillotine :
the stopping of breath,
the rushing of blood.
my soul is six hundred ungathered garden lillies
I hope that heaven has a hospital where they write sonatas on doctor's notes and play nocturnes with intravenous tubes. I hope the nurses don't forget, I hope the doctor isn't cruel. I hope I'll get flowers while I'm sick. I hope it won't hurt so much, I hope I'll be okay.
three and two hundred and five hundred milligrams in a girl-heart have the capacity to make everything sweet and baby-soft, i could smile at certainly anything right now.
They found a flower growing around my lungs and taking root and the nurse tells me it's a sort of wild flower. I woke up with a petal on my tongue and pressed it in my notebook to keep it, because it's most likely the most beautiful illness to ever plague me. The doctor told me it could be dangerous, that he would have to pull it from my open mouth, because everyone knows what happens to flowers in a world like this, nobody wants to look at flowers anymore.
Is there ever to be a place where even the smallest whimper does not sound like a roar, or a place where I don't feel as restless as a mare? The whole world is so big and I am so small inside of it, like a girl with a medicine that doesn't let her leave the room. But wherever I go I find the smallest, heaviest thing tied to me which leaves me inert and unable.
I am just so sad at how beautiful the world is and how unbeautiful some people are to it and to everyone.
(I found a key to something that was once yours, I pressed it hard inside my hand, to blood, and then to keep quiet labelled the key "Temperance" and locked it inside myself. To you - if you do read this, you are as Awful as me.)