the itch is back tonight and i've had very little sugar. i'm not even scared at this point. i look around at this mess than i was led into, this home that was picked for me, and i realize i'll die here. right here. and i'm resigned to it.
i wished for more -- don't we all -- but i'm a victim of myself. existentialism feeds on the terror of terrors, the despair of dread, and i've eaten my fill time and time again. my safe haven, this prison, is surrounded by fear and bordered by doubt.
co-dependence was merely an aperitif to this. i could write a song about it, here, right now, that would foment and crystalize the incredible aching of my soul, and i briefly considered it, but the prison walls have hardened against such outbursts.
my blurry vision has no tears tonight. it's just blurry vision, brought on by staring at screens and destroying my body.
i'm all dried up.
tonight, a total stranger extended a kindness to my daughter.
tonight, i couldn't hear a word a woman was saying, and my repeated answer to her was simply, no.
tonight, my daughter and i shared a laugh, mere days removed from a sickness her mother still has no clue about.
tonight, i mention something i've never mentioned before, again because of fear. such a simple thing, barely a syllable to its name. it's a part of me, as much a part of me as the body that hides its existence. a lump. and it will be my savior.
i lied. i'm not all dried up after all.
but for now, fuck it. i'm lifting.
