And The Day Goes On

There's something in my heart, but I don't know how to let it out. I am tired of eating alone. I am tired of waking up alone. I am tired of having no one to say good night too. I am tired of having no one to fight with over stupid things like socks thrown on the floor. I am tired of never finding anyone else's things in my shower. And I am especially tired of dried up roses.

I light candles. I play movies constantly in the background. I listen to scary books on tape. I hold my dogs. I talk to myself--a lot. I wrap my arms around my own body. I am tired of being halfway between here and there, and finding myself nowhere.

I am tired of wanting to cut all the time and knowing it would make me feel better and yet not being able to do it. I want to do something so reckless, so scary, that I will be yanked out of myself, if only for a moment. I want to feel raw immediate terror. I want to stand on the train tracks and jump off only just in time. I want to get in my car and drive and drive until I run out of gas, and then just sit there on the side of the road until something happens. I want to throw myself at danger stupidly. I used to walk around this town at 2:00 in the morning, but that didn't turn out to be very dangerous.

I want everything to stop, to freeze perfectly still, until I find my way again.