Tag Archives: angst

Lover, Lover, Lover

25 Jan

I’ve started to cry. When I read a story, or watch a movie… When it gets emotional, I cry. I never used to do that. I think it might be good, but there’s at least a possibility that it’s not. What if it’s just because I’m fragile? What if it’s not that I’m opening my mind; becoming more imaginative?

(Duele no tenerte cerca)

Why does this have to be? More unanswerable questions. I just can never quite tell when you’re telling the truth or when you’re protecting me… When you’ll be okay or when I’ll hurt you. Everything blurs together. It’s just one dilemma after another.

(Duele no escuchar tu voz)

I have to fill in the blanks. Make the pieces fit together. Once everything sticks things will be okay, and I can see that now, and that’s progress, I suppose.

(Duele respirar tu ausencia, pero…)

All I want to do is make you happy. Make everyone happy. Why can’t I do both at the same time? Why isn’t there enough for that?

(Duele más decirte adiós)

I’ll Just Post It Here

30 Jul

A magnetic poem

Not necessarily about today. It could be. It could not be.

Angels & Airwaves

29 May

Friday morning was rushed & forgetful. No pillow. No paper. No time. Car ride.

And do you ever lay awake at night?
And do you ever tell yourself, ‘Don’t try.’?

Friday itself was comforting, but out of place, somehow. I didn’t have anything. I wasn’t brave enough to do anything. There was no frisbee.

Don’t try to let yourself down… Don’t try to let yourself down.

Friday night was just like I’d remembered it… The depression set in well enough. I was lucky to have Jim. ‘You still awake?’ No answer. Glad?

And do you ever see yourself in love?
And do you ever take a chance, my love?

Saturday morning wasn’t too tired. Breakfast. No writing. Like always.

Because you know that I will… Because you know that I will.

Saturday itself was normality and repetition. Gaining confidence. Skip. Lurch-skip, out-skip. I didn’t know where love was.

So hear this, please; and watch as your heart speeds up endlessly… And look for the stars as the sun goes down- each breath that you take has a thunderous sound…

Saturday night was bottomless black despair. Po-jazz made me glorious… Then po-jazz made me want to break things. Tree. No sleep. Journal. No sleep. Jim. No sleep. Downstairs. No sleep. Sneak. No sleep. Upstairs. No sleep. Journal. No sleep. Need you… No sleep. Then- Run.

Everything, everything’s magic.

Sunday morning was love, and all was right.

Just sit back and hold on, but hold on tight… Prepare for the best and the fastest ride. Reach out your hand and I’ll make you mine-

Sunday itself was an end to many things. Breakfast. No meeting. Bagpipes. Little arranging. Need us…

Everything, everything’s magic.

Could You

26 Jan

Petty, that is.

I don’t break down.

At least, I don’t break down like anyone I know.

98/125. My brain – of course, now equipped to do math – tells me this is around 4/5. An eighty. No, less; slightly less- but I’m not going to even think that pointy number that comes ten below an eighty.

You failed, a voice tells me as I walk numbly down the hall. I’m exaggerating; all of this is less, another one says.

I don’t want to hear voices. I want to get above one hundred in a one hundred twenty-five-point test, is all. I want things to be simple; I want to succeed a little, at least; I want some things in life to go away; I want a rewind button;

I want some fucking sleep.

Conversation

3 Jan

‘He’s the kind of person that wouldn’t even care if he lost your friendship.’

‘That’s just because it doesn’t occur to him that it matters like that.’

‘That’s horrible; he’s such an asshole.’

‘He’s a dreamer. This sounds bad, but… He doesn’t really have friendships. Other people have friendships with him. Don’t take that the wrong way, okay?’

‘I don’t like it.’

‘I know. Neither does he, when he remembers it.’

There Are A Lot Of Things

26 Dec

I just can’t help myself sometimes. I blurt things out, and sometimes they’re to you, and I’m not talking about that; it really was a mistake. This isn’t just to you. This is to you, too; you, the reason I now compulsively hover over every link and picture to check that there isn’t more to gobble up, for you… I confused myself that this was for you, as well; you, the person I confused myself over for a few long, flavourful weeks, and I’ll just give up now.

There isn’t any more to gobble up, and I’m sewing the pieces together, and sometimes I wish there was just a bass line underneath it all, and the wish that that would not have a deeper meaning and the deep yearning need for it to have one after all are tearing me apart.

This is to you – I will not give up now – this is to you; I know you read this. I’m sorry for everything.

This is to you, though. I want it to be. I forget all about everyone else sometimes. That worries me. Am I losing them? I might need only you and that and those, but them…

I’m falling asleep. I’m falling asleep. I can’t keep my eyes open, holiday binge, weekend binge, I do this all the time, whenever I get a chance, I’m falling asleep.

I want to cry. I want you- I did it for you when she wasn’t there, I did it for you, can I take that back can you give it to me because I think I need it now, someone to take into confidence, then disappear, double comma, end sentence, you too.

You taught me lessons I didn’t want to learn, and many slash some in a way that I still feel is inappropriate slash completely irrelevant. I hope you read this and you understand it but you won’t.

I am falling asleep.

I just gobble it all up until there’s nothing left. There isn’t any more to take, take, this season, take take this season, King Arthur falling apart I want to cry.

You say beautiful. Do you really mean that? I’m not.

I say beautiful. I really mean it. You are.

This is for you, after all.

I’m sitting here and I hope you got that, what I sent you, I hope you got it, I wish you’d gotten it earlier when you read this, I wish you’d gotten it right away, I wish I could make you stay all the time we’d be alone college you said alone.

College. Sick. I feel sick. Lashing out, writing prose, room, stifling. Lashing out.

I want to, sometimes. Or it almost happens, sometimes. I never really want to. You, with the wonderful hair, you, I wonder why she broke up with you I don’t see it, you; you did something annoying, and I nearly broke.

I don’t break. I never break. Do I break?

If this were a voice, would I hear it; would I listen? I listened last time, forty minutes, just like you, I want that, please, give that to me please I need you more than I need you because I need you; for that very same reason.

I feel sick.

I don’t see them. I don’t see them or you anymore, I never see you, I won’t see anyone, I can’t see anyone. I’m more blind than you know.

I need to throw up. I need a moment of release, I need lines for control if you say so if you say so I’ll do whatever it takes. I need to categorise. I need a moment’s silence and no clicking, I need a moment’s silence under the stars, I need to yawn and be filled.

If this were a voice, I feel sick, I would listen. I say beautiful. I say forget it.

I say forget it all. College. I feel sick. Sometimes I blurt things out, but I’m sewing the pieces together as they all fall apart. I said I saw you in an outline of light, golden light centre of my being next to you church pew lying there fantasy lying there I could have kissed you. It would have been messy in only a very figurative sense of the word.

Do I break? You’ve certainly had the opportunity to test me lately. Do I break? I’m sewing the pieces together and it’s impossible to know where this is going. I feel sick. I would listen, I would listen, of course I would listen. I say forget it. Everything.

Forty minutes…

You are beautiful.

(It was too silly.)

(But it wasn’t.)

(I’d do it.)

(If.)

Back – More Or Less A Placeholder

4 Dec

Inspired by a misreading of line one of stanza seven of Undue Anxiety.

When the mountains are all tucked away
Safe in some annal of my memory,
Locked in time’s grasp,
So secure that even I cannot reach them-

That is when I’ll drown in unfamiliarity.

When the trees with their autumn leaves have left me
When my eyes don’t notice the colour green I’ve always loved
When I start to pass life by-

That is when I’ll realise I made a mistake.

If I ever forget entirely,
When the windows are too fogged over…
I’ll clean a patch of glass to find
It was a mirror all along- and

That is when I’ll be too far gone.

This is why my internet turns off at eleven.