Well why don't you go outside, then?

Go outside, then

Go outside

If you've been here all day then why don't you go outside?

Outside,

then


This doesn't help anymore I'm afraid. Going for a walk only makes me feel 10 times lonelier and it fills the little box in my chest with all my uncried tears and screams.

The sound of my heels on the floor is lonely and paired with no one else's
I had to get gloves, because there is no companion for my cold fingers now
Darling you're gone and I understand it and I'll be patient,
But I don't even have a friend to fill-up my idle, torturous moments of longing for your company, your smiles and your touch

How did I manage? It started well enough,
But now my surroundings are empty and my days even more

Darling, I hope you never know.

I can't shake the sad off

I can't shake the self-pity off

I can't shake the sad off

I was going through old journal entries last night

I wanted it all and I had it all planned out - my life would be composed of nakedness and roadtrips,
of complicit friendships and trust, of wild true love and of accomplishments

I made lists and digital scrap-books of what I needed to remember to do
Of what I couldn't forget

I store them all away though, the moment it all started

I don't quite understand my reasoning for it but I think, I think it went something like this : "Get settled first, you should take the serious things seriously and leave the playthings for when you have free time". If only someone would've told me never to abandon the playthings because the playthings are the only thing that is important and the only thing that could keep you sane and growing and boasting.

I don't know how to get back to them now, see I'm trying I'm writing in this journal again but I have a hundred others that I can't get back to now and what's happened to my writing is this any good the way it is? Should I not be able to draw by now? Where did you go to, singing voice? I also bought a guitar in an attempt to bring back my callous fingers and I'm wearing a ring on my left index finger that is too big and slips off and I'm telling myself it's okay because you just need to keep trying but I look in the mirror and I can't shake the sad off. My reflection moves in slow motion and it's screaming at me to DO something, d o anything, it's easy and you're a coward if you keep letting your life run in slow-motion but then why didn't you start earlier? Shouldn't you be able to draw, dance, recite, knit, write?

What have you been doing all these years?
Where did you put your head in?

Well I'm afraid that the hole is closing in and it won't let your head through it no more
It'll stay in savoury blackness and it's insides will drip out of it and it'll be dripped dry

Maybe I have been raised to be sad
Un-developed film
Under-developed limbs
A collection of almosts
Making up for a whole of nothing

Quick, we'll be late for class,
Have you payed though, dad?

Maybe I have been raised to find
That I was made to be
That I meant to grow up
And stay incomplete

Maybe I have been raised hole'd
Meant to have every substance
Seep through my porous surface
Drip onto the cold linoleum tiles
That make up the floor
Of the room that always contains me

Maybe I was always meant to have four walls around me
Containing me
Maybe one day the door will solidify
Can it be covered with soft pads?
Made to contain the mad?

My thoughts that make up my brain are much too hard to uncoil and they have to stay ravelled and tight; lest you turn your eyes onto my

Under-developed limbs and ask me my age
"How old are you?"
"How old, are, y o u?"

God is not done with you
Crawl back into the womb that made you
Build God
Make her give you what you lack
Ask her to please, seal the pores so that you can keep in the light

"Can you seal up my pores so I can keep in the light?"

02 am

push the push pin

push the pin through your eye
everything is grey now

there used to be colours

the gooey
ooey
sticky liquid
oozes through

just the way I like it

push pin through
push it through

insides out
not empty after all

blood reader
decypher it now

tell me what kind of translator are you
can you read what is the globes

magic
yes magic thoughts and clues
trapped in an endless circular biology

bio

keep consuming and burning it all inside you
one day it'll burn

a pound of flesh wasted

convert me into

insides out
push pins here they all are

i find it extremely difficult to not scream into the wall
eternally

what kind of translator are you
can you decypher what rips through my throat?
hired.

Push the push pin through my throat then
See what good that does

I wish I could run until exhaustion
Let my body collapse onto the cold, dewy grass
Feel whiskers smell me over
Oblivion sweeping over

Blackness wins

How easy it does sound

What else is there?

I don't know what I'm hanging on to anymore

Dewy
Green pillows

Anty hair strands and frostbit cheeks
Finally rosy

The struggle has been long but peace shall prove longer

Is this how you cry? Is this what an emotion feels like?

Lace and wool
Butter and Berries
Licking, Loving, Sucking

You

Not even you remained

It seems as though this is what my life has been from the start

When will it

Finally touch the dewy, cold, pillowy grass

Push the push pin in

Insides

out

Out

I live through silent days

I smile for you

I use smile emoticons for you

If only dirt

If only anything

I make up solutions and they all fall short

I feel like letting the confused dazedness take over and make me go mad

Make me go mad and rip it

R i p p e d and pure and insides out

Out on the dewy, green, pillowy grass

not now , or the tragedy of having left

I miss you. I miss what we used to have and I am sorry I left. When I first met you I thought you were the snobbiest, meanest person. I used to get anxious when you came around and I faded into the background.  I tried to hide it though, because I know it was not okay to not be "naturally cool", and that no one knew that such a thing as "anxiety" existed.

I don't really remember how we became friends. I never thought you of all people would become my best friend. I didn't think our two "worlds" could mix. I was the quiet, (mute) girl who it was very easy to not notice and to forget to invite to parties. I was the girl who never quite felt like she belonged in those parties. I was the girl who liked your friends and whom your friends liked back but I was more than convinced that these two friends were a bridge between our two "worlds" and that they were uncrossable. 

I don't quite remember how we became friends, but I miss you and I am glad we did. Thanks to you I my last year home was the best year home. It was so crazy to find out we lived so close together, but it was such a nice thing to discover. I spent hours at your house and I don't truly remember what we did much: watch movies? bake? I think it mostly consisted of talking. I'm convinced I talked to you so much and that as I did I grew up, I listened to myself and I listened to you and I think now, that those 5pm talks, all added up, make up a lof of what I am and think now.

I'm trying really hard to remember how it started now, and I'm pretty sure it was in English class. That's pretty much all I can remember though, and I don't remember any of the subsequent interactions. I only remember us being friends after that moment. You came to me in one of the worst periods of my life, if not the worst. I was so painfully empty, lonely, bored and above all scared to death that those feelings would never stop. Nothing mattered and I was suprised at how much my cowardice had kept me from killing myself for so long. My one hope was to leave, go somewhere else; it was to force myself to leave my country and the person I was there (a void) and to seek out what I saw on Tumblr pictures on my own.

I don't understand how but, back home, something happened to me that I began to efface myself until I was a mere blank even to myself. I trained myself to contain all the thoughts and feelings inside me and I am struggling really hard now to undo what I have done. Even now I don't know what I am made of, what's inside of me? What do I want? What am I good at? Who am I making myself become? I am trying, quietly and very slowly, to look back and single out events that can fit into the puzzle-shaped pieces of my current feelings and thoughts. It doesn't work.

I've found myself thinking about you a lot lately. About my relationship with you and it's meaning in my life. You see, I'm very lonely right now. I've done a complete analysis and I've come to the conclusion that I have a lot of friends, but they are all very, very far away. And most of them I will very likely never see again. I have travelled 9690 km away from familiarity, inside jokes, baking mornings, dinner dates, wine nights. I have travelled 9,690 km away from friendship.

I miss you. I miss my best friend and I am sorry I left because I know we could've been so good. I miss all the things we didn't get to live through together, I miss all the jokes, and all the baked cakes and all the secrets and all the tears and all the thoughts and feelings we could've experienced together. 

I don't have what I loved having with you and I miss you and what we could be doing right now were I there. I miss it every minute. I'm very lonely.

the tragedy of waking

Every night before going to sleep, I tell myself that I will get around to doing it, tomorrow. It can be anything you like: I will go running tomorrow. I will write about that idea I had tomorrow. I will buy my camera tomorrow. I will go have a nice walk tomorrow. I will start being like I was before, tomorrow. But every morning when I wake up, I don't do any of these things.

I find myself paralyzed, engulfed by my blankets which so softly and safely wrap around me. I let my mind go idle so that I can pretend that I will get going in around five minutes, but that I get to stay there up to two hours in perfectly safe idleness.

There is something I do not have, something I'm missing. It seems as though I have always been missing something. Sometimes my own mind illuminates itself and shows me what it is I'm missing and what I must do to get it, but all of these times it scares me and so I let myself, once again, go idle.

"It's like I can't let myself be happy" I told him once, "it's like I feel myself being happy, and it makes me feel uncomfortable so I work hard to find something to break".

Mornings, you should have pity of me and last longer, cradle me a bit longer in your dewy arms going "shh, it's quiet now, see? shh,". Instead you slip away with the hours, letting noon violently cut into you. Your embrace breaks, and I, out of my safe morning embrace, fall hard onto the cold ground.

I've never been unconscious but I do wish I had been sometimes. (So that I would be good at pretending to be it). At least that could maybe be an excuse. I sometimes work hard to induce myself into unconsciousness "maybe if I close my eyes and slow my breathing it'll happen". But I'm still there, quite aware.
I open my eyes and noon is staring me in the face, dark circles under his eyes to reflect my own. Noon looks much like me really, like morning abandoned him much too soon. Dull purplishness around his cheeks and tiny shoulders. Noon is lucky though, because nature's told him what he has to do and how to do it. He has his own role and is happy with it, and he is good at it, and he does it every day. And nature is glad, and she will hire him again and again without a second thought.

He doesn't have to prove himself. He just gets the job. He doesn't understand then, why I'm still sitting in my bed when he comes around. He's seen all the others he's come to visit leave their beds and go out their doors along with rushy Morning. "So why are you still here?".
- "Well, Noon, I don't know."
- "Well, why don't you go have a shower and get dressed?"
- "I will in a minute".

I will in a minute. It will be done. I will do it. I'll drag myself out of bed and undress and go stand naked under the burning water. And while I'm there, I will, in my mind, solve every little problem I have made up for myself inside my head and I will perfectly plan out my future, I will decide on what I need to do to start making it all happen. It's as if I were building an armour of projects and decisions and ideas around me, this one armour, this one thing is what I need to go out into the world and face all of the things and the faces that compose it.

Then I step out of the shower, and as I pat myself dry, I feel every single part of my armour fall off and land loudly on the floor -a big clank that makes me blink my eyes, and they fall one after the other with their big loud clanks and so when it is done I am quite stunned from the noise that there is a ringing in my ear which soothes me back into bed -clean now, and tells me to wait it out. Wait it out, still.