last night i woke up on the floor. or at least
i think i did, and even that was maybe a year ago because
time isn't real, and anyone who thinks so or lives by the minutes will die before any sane person tells them to ignore the ticks. ****, they don't even realize time doesn't make noise. the slow inevitable marching? that's silence.

i remember when i was about eight or nine, a very young girl in a very blue school, my hands practically glued to the wood in front of my face every day for morning prayer. and hell, i swear, religion is delusion and time isn't real. anyone who prays to anything other than what they can see is only making excuses.

i remember being this young girl and loving the pain i was in, yet later learning this pain was called **** and this **** would be the next nine years of my life before i recognized it in the dictionary.

i did not stray from this pain, i did not stray from the abnormality of Christianity as a way of ****,  i did not stray from the fact that a woman wanted my body as much as i wanted a friend. i did not stray from the fact that a woman could ****.

even though i knew Adam and Eve loved each other, i hadn't ever heard of Eve and Eve and Eve and a little girl like me, and so on.
i knew what *** was before this, but of course considered it holy and equally unholy, something my small and shaking hands didn't get to feel.

was i wrong to assume that? maybe.  i think i remember loving it, or maybe only because love goes with *** and *** is beautiful and it happened to make me. was i a victim? of ****? of love? i cannot think much more of this at a time, it makes me feel as though i am crazy.

i have definitely lost control. i have made dents in the walls, smashed and shattered objects around the house, not even my house. i have screamed, yes, and cried till i can't hear myself cry and i have shook and shook until im surprised i don't fall apart or bite my tongue off. but how much control did i have to lose?

i do not write as much as i used to, perhaps i am too concerned over aesthetic, do i sound poetic? even if i don't, words are words, however abstract or ugly, they hold truth
perhaps i should write more.
i do relish the occasional purgatory.
releasing sin is necessary, even those you never committed.

we all need a little guilt in our lives.