I’d die without you

or hell in five stages

I had gone to bed at 11.30PM, feeling quite ready to sleep, after having taken a warm shower. But I couldn’t fall asleep. Tried thumbing through a magazine but I ended up reading the whole magazine instead. I got up and decided to watch a single episode of season 4 of The 4400 but I watched 3 episodes and I still wasn’t a bit drowsy. So now I find myself in front of the computer at 3.30 in the morning, listening to PM Dawn, and trying to write the post that had been gestating in my mind for the last 8 hours or so. it doesn’t make any sense. these feelings.

denial

Honesty is something  I try to practice in all aspects of my life. Honesty to others, and to my self. God knows how I eluded it in the past, behaving the way I did then. But things that happened to me in the past months have led me to believe that there are certain crucial truths that I am not admitting. Truths that threaten to impact greatly on the life that I have made in this foreign country. Is it time to come clean finally? Take some responsibility?

anger

Not really anger, or wrath. More like frustration: this seething feeling that won’t go away. There are many things that I want to change but I cannot. And many things that I want to remain a certain way but they do not. Other people who deserve to be happy but are not. While the less-deserving people remain happy over the fat of the land. Friendships that one nurture and cultivate like the most delicate plants, that bloom only with malodorous flowers and rotten fruits.

bargaining

So take every little piece of my heart–as the song goes. Take every little piece of my soul. Death is nothing compared to this stagnation. This apathy that pushes and pulls me in many directions all at once. My weathered heart is a dark-feathered bird whose wings flutter furiously against its stifling gilded cage. Feathers tinged with blood float through the air. Take them and use them to line your pillows. Let strife lull you to the deepest kind of sleep.

depression

The night is dark. The moon is old. And so close to death. I want to sleep on the cold earth, buried in dried leaves, my heels making small circles in the dirt. Beetles and centipedes crawl over my skin, their little toes tapping some gentle rhythm I feel inside my belly. Fireflies sparkle in the gloom, silently observing me. I want to sleep under the gaze of stars but I can’t. The wind blows through my hollow parts, whistling on its way out, the sound keeping me awake.

acceptance

I am not a good friend. I am an unfaithful lover. I am a lousy worker. I am nothing like the person I pretend to be. I am stupid. I am everything my enemies say that I am. I’m a fraud. It is 4.15 in the morning and I am still awake, my heart heavy with burdens placed long ago by my self and recently by others. Piano notes tinkle in my ears. The sound gives me hope. I can take apart all that I am and come together a new man. Misery has almost killed me many times before. But without it, I will surely die.

surely, the ramblings of a mad man

Or just some sleep-deprived bitchy fag.