glory! : bloodclots

washer

Goodnight my love Remember me as you fall to sleep Fill your pockets with the dust and the memories That rises from the shoes on my feet I won't be back here Though we may meet again I know it's dark outside Don't be afraid Everytime I ever cried from fear Was just a mistake that I made Wash yourself in your tears And build your church On the strength of your faith Please Listen to me Don't let go Don't let this desperate moonlight leave me With your empty pillow Promise me the sun will rise again I too am tired now Embracing thoughts of tonight's dreamless sleep My head is empty My toes are warm I am safe from harm...

Monday, May 27, 2024

bloodclots

in all honesty i fell into a spiral of functional alcoholism just like my mother after a traumatic event in august from last year that ended in a rock bottom in april and i have ceased since. im ashamed of myself and nobody is on my side. they dont understand it and wont. i have no family. i have no one to call when i feel like carving a knife into my chest, i dont like my position in life. i am not fine. i am heavily suicidal and im not happy in my relationship. i never have been. it started out of an impulse and i never liked it. i hurt everyone. everything i touch turns to shit. i have nobody on my side and i throw up at least once a week from how upset i get. im so tired of living and im so scared of suicide. i doubt the existence of God. i doubt the goodness of God. i am sure that love is not real. i am not in love and i love scarcely. im in pain. i need to purge every last bit of acid in my stomach. i need to pour out my viscera and be clean. the city is hot and dense. nothing makes it better. im scared and unsatisfied.

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sylvia plath, the bell jar

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

Psalm 18: 6-11

In my distress I called upon the Lord, And cried out to my God; He heard my voice from His temple, And my cry came before Him, even to His ears. Then the earth shook and trembled; The foundations of the hills also quaked and were shaken, Because He was angry. Smoke went up from His nostrils, And devouring fire from His mouth; Coals were kindled by it. He bowed the heavens also, and came down With darkness under His feet. And He rode upon a cherub, and flew; He flew upon the wings of the wind. He made darkness His secret place; His canopy around Him was dark waters And thick clouds of the skies.