I know I can laugh about it. My tutor tells me I seem like I’m fading. I brush it off and tell him I’m tired, tell him this school stuff is really taking its toll.
I haven’t done my math homework in three weeks.
This is either because of the built-up emotion or the used-up emotion. Whether I’m battered or bleeding. You tell me.
I will brush my hands across your face, run my fingers through your hair. Your presence is like an anchor. Well, that or a distraction. And I can’t tell. I either love you or I need you. Those feel similar but they are vitally different.
Look for me buried in the crawl space beneath my church. Look for me in the ashes of my grandfather who shot himself three weeks ago. Look for me among the wrinkled fabric of my laundry basket. Look for me between yellowed pages of Star Trek novels published in the 70’s. Do me a favor and and find me somewhere.
I can function. I tell myself I can always function. But I guess that just means I’m not about to kill myself.
This is so hard. This is gouging.
I want you. Or I just want someone to touch me. I don’t feel like I’m falling apart. I feel like all of the different parts of me are floating, just barely separated, connected nowhere but somehow remaining intact.
This doesn’t feel like the end. Or the beginning. Or the middle. There isn’t anywhere to go from here. Feels like a video game after you’ve completed every mission. Nothing to do, nowhere to go. Collect coins and buy nothing. Play into the night until you’ve got a headache but you’ve passed the same scenery twelve times but you can’t quit the game and move on to another.
If I were to unwind all my body parts and lay my nervous system end to end, they might wrap around the world a few times or whatever but I would be dead. I’m good at art, I can write pretty well, I’m not particularly ugly. I have potential but it’s useless. I can come up with metaphor after exquisite metaphor but I feel like I’m already gone.