it’s interesting how i dream of death, yet the second i sense threat, fabricated or not, i feel a horrible fear inside me. i know i still have business here, things left to do
15
it’s 3:20am, i can’t settle down because i keep hearing noises outside. i’m feeling so lonely despite it. remembering that feelings wash over me like thin waves and if i close my eyes i am waterproof
15
each day i die many deaths. on occasion, i am resuscitated, but i most frequently revive myself. claw my way through the soil and let the dirt sleep beneath my fingernails. a spot perfect for little worms. let life find its way there
33
i want to be an author, a poet, a painter. a pauper, prince, trader. scientist, every kind, politician, changing minds. can i call myself a seamstress if i’ve sewn a single stitch? i wonder- yes. maybe so.
59
my desire is to be larger than the self. immaterial, a master of all trades. i want to ignore my body, not eat, sleep, drink. i want to do everything a thousand times. acceptance comes soon, i know it, but i wont be complacent. the thread between is thin.
62
it is both disarming and distressing to understand that i am truly alone in this world. there are connections of course, responsibilities that bind me to places, people, things, but truly they are not shackles. but i hate how the one that imprisons me the most is myself and body
53
when my parents tell me goodnight, i can’t help but weep. only when i hear the latch of my door click, and i know i am alone. do i even exist if nobody is perceiving me? yes, i know i exist, because this deep searing pain my bones lets me know every day
46
still it’s so hard to bear right now. i feel the burden would be lessened if i didnt have time sensitive deadlines to complete. i could mitigate and do them in summer, but that summer would be so miserable. i don’f want that for my future self
19
in reality, there is no option but to continue. i must exhaust all that life has to offer for me, even though it may be different to others. especially though, even. there is one direction and it is forwards. even veering left, bearing right, doing a little spin. it’s all forward
16
i can’t live with this pain anymore, now physical, not only mental. well, it’s always been this way, but it’s getting worse. stopping me from doing things i used to love, seeing people i love. i can’t, but i have no choice but to continue
15
the mould in the coffee cup beside me is the source of the yeasty stench. it sprouts a creation of its own, a beautiful fermentation on bitter soil. are the fumes harmful? i don’t know. but i’ll live won’t i. i’ll just live and keep living and keep living and keep livi
22
find your meaning in life she reiterated many times. what is it? is it nothing? i think about writing, art, and i don’t feel it anymore. i think i stopped being wholly, completely taken by those things ever since i had to create for someone else
16
she mentioned that she turned to religion for solace and comfort. i know you did. it’s okay, i understand, but i cannot partake. i do however enjoy the hymns that came from christianity. i like to sound like an angel, maybe it’s the closest i’ll get to divinity
16
when i called her, she answered after four rings. i was crying so hard i didn’t even care. but i cared enough to conceal my downturned mouth from the camera. i looked like a jester made redundant, or a shitty imitation of the joker
13
my mother has seen me in uncanny states. she has seen me at my death bed, begging to sleep. my father helped me clean my mould ridden apartment. he killed all the flies for me, where i would wince at the splat. until he handed me the spray canister
14
alright i have other people. in fact, people whom i’m more inclined to than my mother. too many people for my narrow heart to encase, where the excess frays out the edges. she has seen the terribleness within me more than anybody else has
13
this room smells like yeast. i called my mum because i have nobody else. i told her i’m so scared to die, but not too scared. that would imply i have a choice in the matter. the air is thick with bread
20
it does feel good to really cry after so long. my eyes felt so dry, sandy and desperate to be watered. it hurts so bad. to even exist, it wounds me
14