I rescued my old scribblings off my (pretty much) destroyed laptop. Most of them are shit, especially the first few I wrote. The ones nearer the end I don't even remember writing but they're aren't toooo awful even if I can't remember what they're about. For example:
The heat worked me into a fever from within which I drowned
Swallowed the humid air like gulping down syrup
Smudged face under the hidden storms where I was found
I have a sweet tooth but I can feel my molars rot
If I speak in the power of three, everything will be imperative
But I can count on one hand how much we got
With fragile fingers we push away the more vital fixations
For the frivolity of being childish and angry
Yet I can't handle anything without a degree of trepidation
I can keep my back to the fire butwhat if it starts to burn brighter
What if it starts to singe the base of my spine and I
I can almost feel the carbon monoxide constrict my throat tighter
The static from rough fibres creating friction
Is just short of filling the spaces between sentences
And I am forevermore polishing up my diction
Floating in a haze
I don't remember what the hell was going on when I wrote this. Oh well, makes it more interesting to read back when you have no clue what's going on I guess?
So I'm satisfactorily happy. Shit hits the fans but realising people are still there after it all (which is a weird and strangely enough, new feeling for me) well it's pretty cool. Like I'm not overly close to them but they'll still stand up for me, still talk to me when things go wrong, still be there when I need to moan. I'm no longer being abandoned. It's nice but I'm not used to it so I end up being a slightly awkward figure of a friend. Which is probably why I still feel I'm at a distance from them at the same time as being friends. It's a really disconcerting feeling being on the edges and at the centre all at once.
Summer feels daunting for once. Six weeks seems so much longer than I imagined. I'm not even going abroad this holiday. I used to waste weeks with nothing to do, or just with trips to the same park, the same day repeating itself over and over. But its different this year. I have to balance myself between him and them and they don't seem to want me more often than most. Sometimes he doesn't want me either.
I feel strangely in limbo with everything. When you float through everything without allowing yourself to catch on the edges then everything will become numb eventually. Things mean so much but they aren't anything in context. Is there any point in getting worked up? What is the point at all?
I have to drink to feel things, I have to hurt people, I have to do things I shouldn't and be screamed at and told that I'm worthless and be kicked in the stomach and be hated and be loved. I need extremes or I feel like I'm floating away from everything. When did I become so cold to everything? I'm always doing this. I'm always avoiding the bad stuff.
I'm not sure what matters anymore. I just keep wandering and getting lost within myself. I feel so self centred and so ignorant but I can't help it.
Us.
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