Sep 2022
the air is never truly fresh anywhere
it gets harder to breathe by the day
and my chest still hurts, but i can ignore it a little better now,
and i think i might be starving but i can’t really tell anymore.
(i go to the gas station i always do to ****. i get an apple and some cranberry juice, just in case—i check nutrition facts and choke it down, convince myself this is enough nourishment to keep me conscious. i know all the workers here—i wonder what they think of me and i can’t get it out of my head. i fight the lightheadedness and eventually it fades; i’m used to looking through a lens with black around the edges. i make it home before daylight tonight, somehow. this is peace, i tell myself—true peace means succumbing. when i get home, i throw it all up.)
I’ve been forced to learn to be comfortable placing my life in hands other than mine.
The truth is that I’m not clean, and never really have been since the beginning. In whatever capacity that may mean. I’ve always been chasing.
It is over when it’s over.
There is something about this that lingers.
(the sirens came before the storm. the air was blistering and the sky was clear as swimming pools but you knew it was coming, you know it when the leaves turn their back on the sky, when you can feel it thick and hot on your face.)
18
this moon, everything bloomed. the forests got so dense they obscured paths and openings, sprouted lungs and limbs, grew a head of hair so full that rainfall never kissed the dirt. this blessed season, a saint returned to me—i was high for months and months. i awoke each day like i hadn’t seen sunlight in years, clawing at window sills and locks on doorknobs; arching toward sunlight like a dandelion sprout. this was when i became part of it—grew roots deeper than the tallest tree and spread my seed as far as it would reach. and i was cool—i was so, so cool. you could smell it coming off me like a fever.
(the saplings i fostered bear fruit now; fruit that’s all pit and rind and meal and rots before it falls from the tree.)
(are you scared of me now? that’s all i’ve ever wanted.)
Was it me all along?
explore the possibility of a grey area.
whatever’s inside you lives in everyone.
sometimes there’s no one to blame and sometimes there’s no one that’s innocent.
stop seeking repentance—you’re far past punishment. there are no lessons left to be learned.
you need to grow now.
you need to move now.
forgiveness can be enough, but you need to start with yourself.
you’re not enslaved to this cycle; you’re married to it. it will never love you back.
this will be all consuming. i don’t feel bad for you anymore.
I don’t think any of us deserve this.
I love you all but I hate you so much.
19
dissatisfaction creeps in
ugly ******* staircases
crawling
nothing glows like it used to.
i cried and begged for rain to come. i slept on rugs and covered mirrors with silk sheets. the most evil thing to be is to be pretty.
this was the hit you take after the first time—the second dull head rush, watered down. getting familiar with sickness. realizing you will chase this forever.
…
this month it will be a year since you died. i barely have anything left of you—a couple messages on a long abandoned instagram account, a conversation on my old flip phone, a polaroid, a few grainy videos so old i barely remember the stories behind them. i’ve searched for every shred of you i can find—i hoard memories of you like a dragon guarding its wealth. i have a video of us laughing in my basement that i’ll never show anyone. i want the moment all to myself.
your death ushered in a change deep in my core—something far greater than personal growth or character development. a pillar of my very being broke down; a rudimentary aspect of my character shifted. im afraid it changed me in all the wrong ways. nothing scares me more than disappointing you. ive spent a whole year doing nothing to make you proud. ill never stop being sorry, and id give anything to tell you that.
it gets harder to breathe by the day
and my chest still hurts, but i can ignore it a little better now,
and i think i might be starving but i can’t really tell anymore.
(i go to the gas station i always do to ****. i get an apple and some cranberry juice, just in case—i check nutrition facts and choke it down, convince myself this is enough nourishment to keep me conscious. i know all the workers here—i wonder what they think of me and i can’t get it out of my head. i fight the lightheadedness and eventually it fades; i’m used to looking through a lens with black around the edges. i make it home before daylight tonight, somehow. this is peace, i tell myself—true peace means succumbing. when i get home, i throw it all up.)
I’ve been forced to learn to be comfortable placing my life in hands other than mine.
The truth is that I’m not clean, and never really have been since the beginning. In whatever capacity that may mean. I’ve always been chasing.
It is over when it’s over.
There is something about this that lingers.
(the sirens came before the storm. the air was blistering and the sky was clear as swimming pools but you knew it was coming, you know it when the leaves turn their back on the sky, when you can feel it thick and hot on your face.)
18
this moon, everything bloomed. the forests got so dense they obscured paths and openings, sprouted lungs and limbs, grew a head of hair so full that rainfall never kissed the dirt. this blessed season, a saint returned to me—i was high for months and months. i awoke each day like i hadn’t seen sunlight in years, clawing at window sills and locks on doorknobs; arching toward sunlight like a dandelion sprout. this was when i became part of it—grew roots deeper than the tallest tree and spread my seed as far as it would reach. and i was cool—i was so, so cool. you could smell it coming off me like a fever.
(the saplings i fostered bear fruit now; fruit that’s all pit and rind and meal and rots before it falls from the tree.)
(are you scared of me now? that’s all i’ve ever wanted.)
Was it me all along?
explore the possibility of a grey area.
whatever’s inside you lives in everyone.
sometimes there’s no one to blame and sometimes there’s no one that’s innocent.
stop seeking repentance—you’re far past punishment. there are no lessons left to be learned.
you need to grow now.
you need to move now.
forgiveness can be enough, but you need to start with yourself.
you’re not enslaved to this cycle; you’re married to it. it will never love you back.
this will be all consuming. i don’t feel bad for you anymore.
I don’t think any of us deserve this.
I love you all but I hate you so much.
19
dissatisfaction creeps in
ugly ******* staircases
crawling
nothing glows like it used to.
i cried and begged for rain to come. i slept on rugs and covered mirrors with silk sheets. the most evil thing to be is to be pretty.
this was the hit you take after the first time—the second dull head rush, watered down. getting familiar with sickness. realizing you will chase this forever.
…
this month it will be a year since you died. i barely have anything left of you—a couple messages on a long abandoned instagram account, a conversation on my old flip phone, a polaroid, a few grainy videos so old i barely remember the stories behind them. i’ve searched for every shred of you i can find—i hoard memories of you like a dragon guarding its wealth. i have a video of us laughing in my basement that i’ll never show anyone. i want the moment all to myself.
your death ushered in a change deep in my core—something far greater than personal growth or character development. a pillar of my very being broke down; a rudimentary aspect of my character shifted. im afraid it changed me in all the wrong ways. nothing scares me more than disappointing you. ive spent a whole year doing nothing to make you proud. ill never stop being sorry, and id give anything to tell you that.
