nothing profound, but still a revolution

its funny, maybe there is a cure to depression. and maybe it's one that's been staring me in the face the whole time. it involves going out into the world and attacking it each day head on. giving every bit of yourself to your job, your friends, your family. educating yourself in culture, literature, music. becoming the best version of you that you can be.

maybe it's wishful thinking. or maybe, just maybe, this is the start of my life turning around..

..probably manic optimism.. even when im optimistic i'm a pessimist! natural order restored..

Love hurts. I say that because I know. Love is... or was amazing. It's an incredible feeling to know what he's going to say. It's more incredible the way he has me on the edge of my seat because he's so completely random, I never know what's coming next. It's hard to explain, but he filled some void in me, and now, without him, I'm missing something again. I wonder if it will ever truly, whole heartedly be filled again. I just don't want to know what it's like to hurt any more...

Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.

It is impossible to think that I shall never sit with you again and hear your laugh. That every day for the rest of my life you will be away.

letter from dave to me

B,

I feel certain that I am going mad again: I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems to best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can’t fight it any longer, I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is that I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that –everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer. I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been..

D x

The logic of suicide is different. It is like the unanswerable logic of a nightmare, or like the science-fiction fantasy of being projected suddenly into another dimension: everything makes sense and follows its own strict rules; yet, at the same time, everything is also different, perverted, upside down. Once a man decides to take his own life he enters a shut-off, impregnable but wholly convincing world where every detail fits and each incident reinforces his decision.

The world of the suicide is superstitious, full of omens. Freud saw suicide as a great passion, like being in love: “In the two opposed situations of being most intensely in love and of suicide, the ego is overwhelmed by the object, though in totally different ways.” As in love, things which seem trivial to the outsider, tiresome or amusing, assume enormous importance to those in the grip of the monster, while the sanest arguments against it seem to them simply absurd. 

You never lied to me. You said your love wouldn't last forever, and that you were too pure for this world. At the time I thought it only words, a wasp in the night that would freeze with the first autumn frost. But your wasp never died. You kept it locked away in a jar inside yourself, and as the days dragged to months and to years you let it eat away at you.

Me and you. We weren't just lovers. We were two people trying to lick away the dirt.

who are you to think that you know me?
who are you to throw your stupid beige life into the path of mine and expect me to step around you, rather than walk straight through.

i am not charitable.
i am not kind.
i do not suffer fools gladly, and when i walk over you i will not apologise for it. no-one apologised to me.

if you step too close i will burn you, so unless you want to be set on fire by my negativity i suggest, sir, that you get out of the ring.

unless of course, i'm worth burning with.

Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk everything, you risk even more.

"Do you like me as I am now?" The bluish whites of Dave's eyes were like a question mark on his pale face. he seemed to have stored up a wave of courage in preperation for this chat. "Naturally, you needn't lie".

"How long have we known each other? It's almost 4 years, but it seems much longer, and we'll last a century, ten thousand years because I love you. But if you don't hurry up and get well...I can't think" I reply.

He looked at me with steel before saying "If one day I die - no don't interrupt me, I mean when I die, at that instant when I close my eyes never to open them again, what kind of a person will you think I've been?"

I didn't want to eat any more. My tongue had lost all feeling and my stomach was numb too. Separated by the plates, glasses and forks, we held each others eyes for a long time. The whites of his eyes turned bluer until, as the playwrite Joan Hawkes put it, 'they oozed a misty liquid'.

"I will H-A-T-E you", I enunciated clearly.

"Death is the expression of exhaustion, a solution arrived at rationally once one has known the deepest depths of tiredness. I've thought about it for a long time, perhaps all my life, and having thought it through, i'm not ashamed of dying. A person like me can't go on constantly polluting himself, annihilating his soul". he jabbed the left side of his chest with his finger, but it would have looked more natural if he'd used a dagger.

"It's an impulse in the dark of the soul. psychologists always say impulses are dangerous and discourage them, but an impulse comes uninvited". His voice was crystal clear and cool, his lips pale and unemotional. despite the impersonal pronoun he was talking about himself.

My despair turned to anger. "I'm not going to bullshit you. In one work, you're degenerate".

"Perhaps. the dying never have the chance to explain themselves to the living. Actually, a lot of people are even more degenerate". I clutched his hand. cold as ice.

"What are we talking about for god's sake? Don't go on. Why do we have to talk about something so horrible here and now? Don't tell me about life and death, love and hate, the ego and the id. We're alive together, aren't we? If there's something you don't like abou our life: get specific: I talk in my sleep, my novel isn't profound enough - it's utter rubbish -whatever. OK! I can change; I can try and do things perfectly. But for heaven's sake, don't say such horrible things..I'm always dreaming of finding wings and soaring inbto the sky with you, but you're always thinking of abandoning me and leaping into hell. Why?"

A lot of people were looking our way. I raised my head and saw myself in the mirror: frantic tear filled eyes, and a fierce expression. I felt really idiotic. We so obviously loved one another.

"Bev". Dave's face remained absolutely sombre. "right from the start we were too different sorts of people, I said so at the time. But that hasn't stopped us loving each other.; you so full of energy and ambition and me devoid of desire, drifting with the tide. philosophers say "everything originates in nothingness" and nothingness accentuates everything"

I interrupt. "whoever the hell said that can drop dead! Don't read those books any more. You need to be amongst living, breathing human beings. You need to do my physical work. My Dad often says "Work makes a person healthy". You needsunlight and grass , and dreams and happiness and all the joy that goes with them. For starters tomorrow you should go to that damn detox centre" I said crying, the mirrors on the wall were a blur.

He hugged me then. "You're crazy". he took out a tissue and gave it me to dry my eyes. I looked at him through my fog of tears. "i am crazy, because you are too".

That night we barely closed our eyes. We kissed through the night, and the bitterness of our saliva filled the room. Our bed drifted in the boundless sea like a lonely island in imminent danger. We took refuge in each others love.

What a time. What a long lonely time. I never knew the days could stretch out so endlessly. Stretch so far I think they’ll break, but they only heave and sag. The weight of them bears down on me mercilessly. I wake … into another day of dread. Dread with no name or face. Nothing to fight with my body or wits. Just a gnawing gripping fear. So hard and heavy. I can’t breathe. I can’t swallow.
       
The emptiness of my depression turns to grief, then to numbness and back again. My world is filled with underwater voices, people, lists of things to do. They gurgle and dart in and out of my vision and reach. But they are so fast and slippery that I can never keep up. Every inch of me aches. I can’t believe that a person can hurt this bad and still breathe. All escapes are illusory—distractions, sleep, drugs, doctors, answers, hope…

The sky
Is a suspended blue ocean.
The stars are the fish
That swim.

The planets are the white whales
I sometimes hitch a ride on,

And the sun and all light
Have forever fused themselves

Into my heart and upon
My skin.

two souls colliding.
do you feel it too?

i feel unclean.

you cling to me like sulphur, and no matter what i do to mask it i can't escape your stench.

like fog on a winter morning you envelop me, suffocate me, drown me.

i want to flush you away.

like an unwanted tattoo that's malevolent presence taunts my skin, i want to cut you out. 

you are not part of me any more, yet you cling to me.

no matter how many times i wash my hands, your blood never comes out. 

i want to fuck just to forget you. as if by being someone else's you will magically lose your place in my heart.

it's like you left.

but you never undid the handcuffs.

i don't want to be yours any more, and this is one prison from which i'm finding it hard to escape.

separated
two magnets, swinging, circling, repulsing, attracting,
wanting, needing, hurting
separated
by your vision
you unchanging, trying to move toward me
through the storm of my ever-changing emotions
to leave me
to loathe me
to ignore me
i will deal
but what do I do with this love?

i thought
how nice it would be to be here with you
and then I thought
how much better it is to be here
with someone who wants to be with me.

they'll say it's sad,
she killed herself at 24,
how tragic.

but im lucky.
i get to be part of the air
flowers will grow from parts of me
that burnt with apathy.
i will be the stars,
the dirt under your feet,
the bird in the sky.
you'll swim in my oceans,
and dance to my songs.

i'm not dead.
i'm born.

i wish i was you.

anyone.

i wish i could trade places.

i hate moaning about my life. but it's like you were given a royal flush and i have all the 2's. no matter how i play the hand i'm dealt i cannot win.

time to step away from the table.

eyes of ether, i stare back at you, with streaked charcoal tear marks down the pinkest of cheeks. 

i look like decay. 

scars on my arms fade like diamonds embedded in sand, moments of clarity sinking back into sagging puddles of disregard.

externally i'm placid, inside i burn. 

i'm disfigured, a cripple of my own self hatred.

i want the lights to go out.

i want to take all the pills. feel my kidneys ache with analgesia. nausea in my belly. before i lie down with you in my mind and take my final sleep. 

i hope to dream. 

i hope to hope.

please wake me up from this nightmare. 

ah, if only words could scream. 

Meet an empty space,
it wasn’t empty in the beginning,
but it is burned for so long,
that its contents
have long been extinguished.
All that are left are the scars
from the burning
with the odd flick of fire
from time to time
to make sure the contents can’t grow again…

Since you walked out on me
I’m getting lovelier by the hour.
I glow like a corpse in the dark.
No one sees how round and sharp
my eyes have grown
how my carcass looks like a glass urn,
how I hold up things in the rags of my hands,
the way I can stand through crippled by lust.
No, there’s just your cruelty circling
my head like a bright rotting halo.

I don’t know whether you’re young or not. I sort of hope you’re young and sad. If you’re old and happy, I can imagine that you’ll maybe smile to yourself when you hear me going, He broke my heart. You’ll remember listening to music and eating chocolates in your room, or walking along the Embankment on your own, wrapped up in a winter coat and feeling lonely and brave. But can you remember how with every mouthful of food it felt like you were biting into your own stomach? Can you remember the taste of red wine as it came back up and into the toilet bowl? Can you remember dreaming every night that you were still together, that he was talking to you gently and touching you, so that every morning when you woke up you had to go through it all over again? Can you remember carving his initials in your arm with a kitchen knife? Can you remember standing too close to the edge of train platform? No? Well, fucking shut up, then. Stick your smile up your saggy old arse.

That which I have dreamed is always very far from that which I am able to hold fast and write down on paper. An artist seems to me to be a man who looks at beauty through a pair of glasses which, as he breathes, becomes clouded over and veils the beauty he sees. He takes his handkerchief. He cleans his glasses. He sees clearly again. But at the first breath the absolute beauty disappears. It is only the veil, the approximation, that we can perceive.

please don’t let me stop thinking and start blindly frightenedly accepting! I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain, and never shut myself up in a numb core of nonfeeling, or stop questioning and criticizing life and take the easy way out..

I suppose being raped and left for dead will add a sobering though to any 4-years old's life. But I am certain that even before that memorable incident I could never really suppress bleak thoughts, especially the most inopportune ones, a habit that has persisted. For instance: called upon to view a friend’s newborn baby, the precious bundle from which protrude adorable bits of infant anatomy, I always find myself wondering (even as my voice supplies the requisite pleasantries) whether it will grow up to be force-fed human excrement and drowned in a barracks latrine, as uncounted Russian Jews were in the Second World War. Or else is it destined to die of a drug overdose at seventeen, choke to death in a restaurant in its thirties, or fall victim to a hit-and-run driver while walking the dog? In short, there is nothing like the sight of a new life to make me wonder how it will end. This must be one of those yardsticks of a person’s basic character, like the one that supposedly distinguishes optimists from pessimists (is the glass half full or half empty?). Is this baby alive or merely laggard in its dying? It does add a dimension of pity to what is otherwise a flat and goofy spectacle of inapprehensive love. And I am powerless to stop it.

Since you walked out on me
I’m getting lovelier by the hour.
I glow like a corpse in the dark.
No one sees how round and sharp
my eyes have grown
how my carcass looks like a glass urn,
how I hold up things in the rags of my hands,
the way I can stand through crippled by lust.
No, there’s just your cruelty circling
my head like a bright rotting halo.

I’m leaving.

You didn’t make me suffer
so you needn’t expect
my hatred.
That would be too splendid
and important a gift.
You’re not worth anything
as precious
as a shred of living flesh.

I’ve killed
your presence within me,
easily.

I’m cleansed.
I’m dancing a festive dance of murder. 

Let’s face it, I am in danger of wanting my personal absolute to be a demigod of a man, and as there aren’t many around, I often unconsciously manufacture my own. And then, I retreat and revel in poetry and literature where the reward value is tangible and accepted. I really do not think deeply, really deeply. I want a romantic nonexistent hero.

isn't it great to find that you're really worth nothing?

*peeing now*

just for you dro! xD

Life is like a box of chocolates. It’s a cheap thoughtless perfunctory gift that nobody ever asks for. Unreturnable because all you ever get back is another box of chocolates, so you’re stuck with unidentifiable whipped mint crap that you mindlessly wolf down when there’s nothing left to eat. Sure, once in a while there’s a peanut butter cup or an English toffee, but they’re gone too fast and the taste is fleeting. So you end up with nothing but broken bits with hardened jelly and teeth-shattering nuts. If you’re desperate enough to eat that, all you have left is an empty box filled with useless brown paper wrappings.

Life.

Life was a fever-dream made up of joys embittered by sorrows, pleasure poisoned by pain; a dream that was a nightmare-confusion of spasmodic and fleeting delights, ecstasies, exultations, happinesses, interspersed with long-drawn miseries, griefs, perils, horrors, disappointments, defeats, humiliations, and despairs—the heaviest curse devisable by divine ingenuity…

My best friend

Here's to the one person on earth with whom I feel safe.

The more we love our friends, the less we flatter them. So I find myself never saying anything nice to him, not because he doesn't deserve it, but because a friend is a single soul dwelling in two bodies. Everything I say he knows anyway.

In a lot of ways I think that friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art … It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that gives value to survival.


We need to build our friendships on truth and wholeness and expansiveness. We need friends who can be with us in our loneliness, not people who will cheer us up so that we don’t feel it. We need friends who get furious with us when we are not being real or true to ourselves, not when we don’t do what they want us to do.

Will you be my friend, my friend of friends, beyond every one, everything, forever and forever?

It’s always thought of as a failure in life if a woman doesn’t have a man. But you will never know if you love someone if you are so needy for something that your thinking is clouded. True love comes only when you are able to stand on your own feet. And then somebody comes along and he inspires you, and he actually motivates you to keep growing. He’s secure and self-sufficient, and then you have space to discover who you are, and not live your life through your lover’s eyes. There are so many people who feel like they can only experience life through someone else’s eyes, like they’re nothing without a man. That isn’t right.

i added nothing to your life you said.

maybe you didn't mean it. but its out their. forever etched in my mind, like a knife through skin. the skin will grow back, but there will always be a scar. 

You know that things aren’t going well for you when you can’t even tell people the simplest fact about your life, just because they’ll presume you’re asking them to feel sorry for you. I suppose it’s why you feel so far away from everyone, in the end; anything you can think of to tell them just ends up making them feel terrible.

I wasn’t trying to die; I just wanted to cut through the fog.

He burns me
like the Great Fire digesting London,
houses sliding into one another,
ash wafting toward the river;
like witches writhing on the stake,
looking eastward, their eyes searching
the caterwauling ocean.
if he only knew
if he only knew
if he only knew

smile.
even though your heart is breaking.

It is a crippling thing, this sensation that a huge hole had been punched through my chest, excising my most vital organs and leaving ragged, unhealed gashes around the edges that continued to throb and bleed despite the passage of time. Rationally, I know my lungs must still be intact, yet I gasp for air and my head spins like my efforts yield me nothing. My heart must be beating, too, but I can't hear the sound of my pulse in my ears; my hands feel blue with cold. I curl inward, hugging my ribs to hold myself together. I scramble for my numbness, my denial, but it evades me.

       And yet, I found I could survive. I was alert, I felt the pain—the aching loss that radiated out from my chest, sending wracking waves of hurt though my limbs and head—but it was manageable. I could live through it. It didn’t feel like the pain had weakened over time, rather that I’d grown strong enough to bear it.
I wonder how long this can last. Maybe someday, years from now—if the pain would just decrease to the point where I could bear it—I would be able to look back on those few short months that would always be the best in my life. And, if it were possible that the pain would ever soften enough to allow me to do that, I was sure that I would feel grateful for as much time as he’d given me. More than I’d asked for, more than I’d deserved. Maybe someday I’d be able to see it that way.

      But what if this hole never got any better? If the raw edges never healed? If the damage was permanent and irreversible?

I was like a lost moon—my planet destroyed in some cataclysmic, disaster-movie scenario of desolation—that continued, nevertheless, to circle in a tight little orbit around the empty space left behind, ignoring the laws of gravity.

scientists say the big bang happened 13.7 billion years ago and since then the universe has been expanding at an ever faster and faster rate. 

galaxies are becoming further and further apart as they pull away from each other, so are the stars, and one day, the night sky that is now so beautiful and full of light will not have a single star.

i am earth in 10 billion years time. the light from the last star has gone out. all i see is darkness. as i look at the sky and even my dreams are empty. ripped from me. 

they say you should wish upon a star, but they never tell you what to do when there are no stars left.

promises are hard to keep.

i willnot cut myself
i will not cut myself
i will not cut myself
i will not cut myself
i will not cut myself
i will not cut myself
i will not cut myself
i will notcut myself
i will not cut myself
i will not xut myself.
i need to release this stress and i dont know how.
its like a valve that needs to let go.
i cant keep the pressure inside my head.
i cant do this anymore
the thoughts hurt me
like razor blades
all alone now
all alone
quiet
stop screaming
quiet
shut the fuck up
LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
i need you
i need the razor blade like i need love.
i need to feeel the cleanliness of it across my skin.
purging theinside of me.
leave me behind
i am not me
i am not this body
i am not this life
i am a fucking butterfly
trapped inside an ignorant fool.

i am anthrax.
i am rohypnol.
i am death.
i am the girl who kept the promise.
but i'm the girl who's losing my mind again.

When you're drowning, you don't say 'I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me,' you just scream.
~ John Lennon

my sweet prince..

my love for you is madness. it envelopes me. i have never felt like this before. and i know you feel it too.

you were worth it. everything. all the mistakes, all the heartaches. you were worth going through all that for.

you're worth waking up for. you're worth working 10/12hr days for. you're worth moving half way around the world.

you're worth me. you're worth my world. 

i love you so much that it makes the i love you's i said before meaningless. we are untouchable.

my sweet prince, you are the one xxx

threesome *warning explicit content* - chapter 1

you get home from work early and walk up the stairs to find me laid on the bed in a tight black corset and frilly black panties that are stretched tightly around my ass. you can see through the doorway that i'm not alone. you hear moans of pleasure, it's obvious another woman is in the room with me. we've talked about the idea of a threesome for a while but you didn't think i'd actually take it past the fantasy and do it. we were waiting to surprise you when you got in from work but got a little carried away, i love the touch of her soft body... i've known about my bisexuality for a while, but i've never really acted upon it, until now. 

it all started with a kiss, we felt the stickiness of our lip glosses collide and could taste each other well before me locked tongues. you open the door then and see her, a pretty blonde with a mischievous look on her face. her legs are spread on the bed and from where you're sat you have a clear view up her long tanned legs to her pussy which glistens with moistness. she's clearly dripping with anticipation of the night to come. 

we see you then, my face lights up like it always does when you come home. you see that devilish look in my eye as i open up a bag of sex toys that is laying at the side of the bed and take a thin pink vibrator out and turn it on. i get on my knees on the bed, sluttily spreading my legs for you. i reach around my panties to pull them to the side and plunge the vibrator inside me, letting out a moan. you can see the pleasure on my face. i take the vibrator out, its so moist now, no lube necessary, and i plunge it into the sexy blonde whilst at the same time kissing her and reaching into her bra to rub her nipples. 

i havent forgot you though. i always give you a kiss when you get in from work, tonight will just be a little different. with a moan from her i pull out the dripping dildo and greedily start sucking it, making sure  i lick every last drop clean off the plastic. she tastes so sweet, or maybe that was me, our wetness has blended together on my tongue. you're already hard by this point, i can see your jeans straining against the swelling of your huge cock.  flirtatiously i climb off the bed and walk towards you, cheekily adjusting my panties back into position so you can't see my lips. as i come closer to you you meet me halfway and i kiss you, passionately, you rape my tongue in your mouth, savouring every drop as you suck clean our juices from my mouth.  

whilst we're kissing i work my hands down your body from lovingly playing with your hair, to feeling your smooth chest, to unfastening your pants. i reach inside your boxers. you're so fucking huge i can't control myself, i have to put my hand around you, gently i feel your girth and a naughty look crosses my face, i know you'll be stretching my tight pussy so much tonight, i moan in anticipation.

the blonde wants to hold your cock too, but i won't let her, you're my man. the thought of another woman touching what's mine makes me jealous as hell. you look pleadingly at me, i can see you want to taste her. she looks to edible laid on the bed with that glistening moist pussy. you can see the disapproving look in my eyes, and i tell you "no". you dont like being told no. you want to put me back in my place so you grab me by the arm suddenly and tightly. it hurts me and i whimper a bit in pain. 

you forcefully push me towards the wall, violently ripping my panties from under me and setting my tits free from the corset that was confining them. you snarl at me "no slut tells me what to do" and you throw me at the wall, banging my head on the plaster and catching my arm on a loose nail in the wall which draws blood. i love it rough, and seductively i lick the blood off my arm. this drives you crazy, you take it as an act of disobedience. forcefully you spread my legs, i'm protesting by now, telling you to stop, but it only spurs you on. you reach inside my tight pussy with 3 fingers and feel how wet i am. you're not gentle and it hurts. you take your dripping fingers out and summon to the blonde to lick them clean. shes a good slut, she doesnt protest. she looks at me bitchily, happy she can please you in some way i can't. it makes me want to tear her hair out. i give her a look of daggers. you catch this and slap me across the face with the same hand she was just licking clean. 

you've decided by now that you need to teach me a lesson.  you liftme up hard against the wall, sinking your hands into my fleshy tits, making me scream, then you force my legs apart yet again and pound your cock inside me with such a fury its hard for me to gather breath. i scream louder, and more violently, but you keep pounding, every thrust forcing my hips into the wall and jarring my body with pain. your cock is so huge inside me it feels as if i've been ripped in two. 

you pull out then, and don't even catch me as i drop to the floor like a used rag doll, a washed up slut who's purpose is fulfilled. you dont look back at me, you've taught me a lesson, and you move onto the blonde, she's been a good girl, you'll be a lot more gentle and giving with her........

disposable.
from your white board life.
erase me.

Sometimes, I get so consumed by depression that it is hard to believe that the whole world doesn't stop and suffer with me.

Told I talked too much
made too much noise

I took up a silent hobby
Bleeding.

it's funny, how someone who is exhausted can simultaneously lust after sleep and also detest it.

night - a brief time, to escape from the thoughts. yet so vulgar and cold are the dreams that haunt my nights.

peace and war. every night. my dreams as bipolar as me.

nothing is harmonious. my cells even split too fast.

one big schism.
one big contradiction.
one big mistake.

Let us be like
Two falling stars in the day sky.

Let no one know of our sublime beauty
As we hold hands
And burn

Into a sacred existence that defies
That surpasses

Every description of ecstasy
And love.

A thousand times I’ve
traced your name on my skin, on
damp windows, summoned.

His voice touches places inside me like someone moving through a house, flicking light switches. ... And even if it was dark and there was shellfire or an arctic gale blowing, I’d still be able to understand him, because our thoughts nestle against each other, like pigeons on a wire....