…i get sad. a deep dark cold water sad.

and i shouldnt. they arent worth the energy. but i see it. over and over and over until i have to close my eyes or open them really wide and hold them there till they water so i can stop seeing it and i realize then how much i care and am ashamed of myself thinking of all the neurological electricity i wasted letting my neurotransmitters get fired up over stupid shit and i try to imagine little seratonin particles, like tiny smiley faces, floating in the thick space of my brain. but then i see it again. and smell it. so i focus on a shaft of light or a wisp of hair snaking out of a dreadlock. that of course doesnt make it any better because then i see it again. and over and over and over. it’s sticky and drunken and incomplete. it’s irreverant and sloppy. so i focus on the new scar. measure carefully the millimeters between it and the soft blue river of vein peeking demurely beneath the skin of my rice paper wrist. and i think of all the battles and the axes i swing breathless. and crossbows and quivers. i focus on the new scar and imagine my hair knotted with feathers and twine and it’s not so pathetic when i’m a jungle warrior lithe and sweatslick swinging spiked clubs and not a shaking girl bleeding with a single scream on a cold bathroom floor.

i finished my play early this morning. i’m going to be great. a gull trembling with the pain of pushing wings higher. it hurts to dare, he says. i want to believe it so bad. expect to win, he says. we kiss in the dark and press ribcages until our heartbeats tangle. sometimes i coo smiles, the beauty is so hallelujah. sometimes i tongue a few silent tears and try to smooth the pain out of my face, knowing that’s all there is left and i’m one tragedy away from nothing. the shining martyr glowing with bloody wings and a dull halfhearted halo.