Someone just said "good night" at 1 o' clock in the afternoon.
Jess 35.
No additional text.

Room 2101.
Print.

He's a suffering man.
I try not to let my head come out to play.
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Presenting and displaying your findings.
Alcoholic Uncles Anonymous.
Ben shape opt.
No additional text.

Pineapple juice,
Coconut ***,
Cream of coconut,
Penitentiary.
No additional text.

Animal welfare.
April 6.
It's not about being smart.
I tried to smile.
No additional text.

Isolator, validator.
Jul. 21 3am.
LAX415.
No additional text.

Rooms we can book for
Stop left,
Straight left,
Follow it back around.

Going in, going in.
Idea for script: the kiss.
No additional text.

The moment I called,
Chilled to the marrow.
I wish I had some drugs.
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BURN BURN BURN
Turned the cold shoulder.
Transducer.
No additional text.

Paralysis by envy.
Has it always been this way?
Today, I feel asleep on a table outside.
To speak is to sow.
No additional text.

We both know it's over,
Though we haven't spoken a word.

And I hear your sleeve rustle
As you run your fingers through your golden hair,
Nervously. Impatiently.
You don't want to be here.

Our eyes meet;
They match the coffee sitting on my bedside from this morning.
Cold.
Bitter.
Unfinished.

My hands rest in my lap, clasped together;
As if to pray to some obscure divinity
That can't hear me.
Gaze fixed on chipped, red nails,
Trying not to bite my tongue.

You knew it was wrong;
You knew it would come to this.
You knew all along.

Didn't you?

Jaw clenched,
You stare out a window,
Plotting your escape.

I try to remember the good times,
But they all seem so out of context now.
Your smile seems so crooked now,
Your eyes seem cold and distant now.

Your charm,
But free deceit disguised as cheap love,
A poor alibi for worse decisions.

You don't love,
You lust.

Because that's all you've ever known in this world,
That's all you ever learned from your sick father figures:
I want.
I need.
I have.

Human connection,
A waste of time.
Love and affection,
No worth to speak of.

So, tell me.
Was she worth it?

"I love her," You say quietly.

"I know," I reply.

You knew I didn't care,
I never could.

Forcing a cold heart
To feel human warmth,
And you never did.

Willing your fingers
Through my ribs,
Hoping to feel a pulse,
Warmth,
Love,
Life.

We knew it just couldn't be.

I look into the mirror.

What have I done?

Swayed by subtle persuasions
Of my founding fathers;
I've allowed them to shape me
Into some distorted replica
Of everyone else.

I am an American girl.

A mirror image
Of the ideal human being
Blankly returns my gaze.

I am an American girl.

I am growing her long hair,
I am painting her face,
I am grinning her shiny-peach-juice smile.

"Lovely, lovely, lovely," I whisper.

I am an American girl.

Nothing but a confined chameleon,
Resting on a tree branch constructed of
Magazines,
9-o-clock television,
And reality shows.

I know reality,
Or at least I used to.

I am an American girl
Longing to wake
From the American dream.

Apathy washes over me
A cold, numb tide.

And I sit here and ask why,
Without really caring to know the answer.

Scar tissue decorates my heart
For all the times I cared.

To be the broken one,
To be the defective soul;
The privilege is mine.

Incapable of socializing,
Of making empty conversation,
Of feigning appropriate feelings.

"Come back inside,
Why have you left the party?"

You try to smile,
But never quite good enough.
Never quite believable enough.

"They can tell," You think.
Except they can't.

Your time is wasted
Becoming what good people think you should be.
Saying what good people expect you to say.
Hiding your sickness away.

"Come have another drink."

The cold, glass bottle
Presses against my colder hands,
And suddenly the world is warmer.

And now, the sickness presents itself on my face.
It arrives in the form of two dark circles,
The color of a stranger’s shadow,
Which linger beneath eyes
That have seen too little of the world.

It arrives in the form of skin so sallow,
Of cheekbones so sunken,
Of a mouth too tired to open
And say all the words I wish held more meaning.

And I long for sleep,
I ache for sleep.

As the hours pass,
My limbs become as weak as my will.
If I only had an enemy lesser than consciousness,
I could have won by now.

But every time I envision the sweet escape
Of unconsciousness,
My broken-record-mind violently hurls me back
Into my abandoned realm of reality.