Ethereal Musings: September 2013

22.9.13

Not Fair

And the next morning she's just as much a fool as the night before. When I yelled and screamed at her through my tears. Asking her why she did this to me and the rest of the family. Why she can make mistakes like this but I must be perfect. And then I realized she hadn't heard a word because in her drunkeness had fallen asleep.

21.9.13

Drunkeness

And thus my mom is drunk again. She came home and sat on the sofa and started asking me why I do this to her. She said its all my fault. I had to get her a trash can because she was throwing up and I made my little brother and sister go upstairs. But then she tried to get up and just fell down across the coffee table. I went over to help but before I could she fell over again breaking the sofa. She asked why she was so weak. I wanted to scream at her. Why do you do this? Why? Why? Why? Each time you get drunk I break apart inside. I just shatter and especially when you tell me it's all my fault I just can't handle it. I want to go stay somewhere else right now. I need to. I had to help her upstairs as she knocked over paintings and her pants drooped. At one point she fell back down the stairs. Tumbling until I caught her. Why? Why? I just want to get away from here and cry for hours right now. I can't handle this. I can't. Maybe I should go get a rope. Or pills. Or a gun. I wish. I wish. I wish. But I won't. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. She disgusts me like this.

19.9.13

Follow Me to the River

So follow me down to the river tonight, follow my footsteps through the wooded dark, white dress flashing, laughter floating, haunted in look and feel. We'll sit by the water and run our fingers in its surface. We'll laugh as we hold our breath underwater until the air comes bubbling up and our bodies splash into the river and we slowly, slowly sink to the bottom.

17.9.13

See

about cigarettes

The thing about cigarettes is they burn going in. Down my throat. Into my lungs. Killing me. Slowly. So I have time to savor that on last drag. Before the chemicals take over my body and blood. Comforting me, relaxing me to death. And maybe I'm inhaling all wrong. Like a rookie that thinks they're pro, but goddamn I enjoy it. I enjoy every sweet menthol breath that I pull into my lungs and savor. I feel the heat between my fingers and the crossbones between my lips but I disregard the danger I hold in my lungs. Like that quote from the book, you smoke for comfort, you smoke to be cool, I smoke to die.