This is something that I wrote over the summer of 2009. Though fictitious, it was written from a place of introspection, passion, confusion, elation, and near-insanity. And all of those things are very very real.
July 19th, 2009
I woke up this morning unable to move my hand.
It was contorted and stuck; it was painful and frightening. I woke up in fear.
Memories of last night linger in my mind, but broken in bits and pieces. Shots of vodka – Raspberry Stoli, Mandarin Absolut – still present on my taste buds, in the back of my throat, my nasal passage, like vomit. He’s smoking his Marlboro now. I love watching him enjoy his cigarette despite the fact that I hate that he smokes. It makes me happy to see him so content. Maybe love is cigarettes after sex.
I want to destroy something NOW. Now, now, now more than ever. I want to feel the power of being responsible for the death of something. I want to become the depth and the darkness, birth the twisted temptations, mold the mysteries and the mischief, expose the rawness of the knowing of the unknown. I hate myself, I love myself. I want to lose myself and find myself on the way back, crawling on my hands and knees. I want to burn; I AM burning. I want to be ravaged and fight for my life, kicking and screaming, laughing and crying, clinging like a tick. I want to suck the bloodline out of myself, life and everything in it. I want him all to myself, I want him away from me, I want him as he is, I want him now, I don’t want him at all. I want nothing, I want everything.
The sun is out, I close my eyes, I breathe, and then...silence. I think to myself: "Maybe this is all I need RIGHT NOW."
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