Entry 1# I'm not suicidal am I?

This city reeks. I love it and I hate it.

Sat by the window. Light fazing out like a lonesome child defeating homeward in twilight walks after a long winded winter day of school. Hard breath, red cheeks, cold icy hands. Yes.. it's like that scene, the cloudy glow of a hidden sun is sinking over the edge and I sit in this partial darkness, able to see but losing visibilty as day turns to night.

Drizzling rain.
I watch the orange alleyway flicker, from my ghetto townhouse window I can hear an ambulence wailing in the distance, can hear cars, and can even hear and taste the wet, cement grit.

I can feel the old spirits, the dusted away spirits settling back in.
I miss that laughter. Remember when we played hide n go seek while adults sipped wine on hardwood floors and ate expensive cheeses. We, like circus performers waving to the adoring public with a seal balancing a ball upon his nose as we showed off your golden retreiver spiffed up in the outfit we had picked for him.

Remember how we danced in play, imagination and all, until the last possible moments. Until it was time to go home again, my parents at the door and you and I hiding under your bed.

Its one of those nights again, the long rainy screechy kind,only your dead and the garbage pile outside my house stinks extra hard.

Cozying up to the window, I am a cat, a fat grey house cat who spends the hours water eyed listening to specks of gods droplets tinkling upon leaves. Its good to be home, to be blanketed in a cuccoon of comfort. Of familiarity.

Scraggly memories crawling from behind my ear I hear the rangly cuckas of the jungle and its ancient misty spirit. I miss its danger and exotic excitement. I miss my smile, the genuine one.

I put my things away so I could sit and write in peace, placed my guitar in the corner where it belongs, and hid my now empty backpackers backpack under the bed. I don't want to see it, my spirits greater than my mentality.
Like air, like wind, I'll sweep away, I'll run for hours just so I can feel that high. I'm not grounded, maybe I have issues.

So then I sat in frustration listening to the rain, its like an annoying tap. Creativity gone.

Pulled my mess back out of the box and scattered it everywhere. You know when your young, when your a child and you just kind of do things?

I thought back to when I was little, to the moments of my greatest joys.
It was always when I was at the top of a tree, at the peaks of death, or when I was running, running away from the world my conciousness was born into,
  it was when I jumped out the window and got the ministry phoned on us. Although the latter one wasn't a joy, more so an annoyance on my freedom and a burden to my family.

I could spend hours staring out this window at night, I did it once too. My first all nighter at the age of 5, when I simply had to see each snowflake fall. And then it was sunrise and the neighborhood was pure white.

I miss my mom, shes still here but not as young. I miss spirit, I miss soul, I'm getting older but am I wiser? I think I was smarter when I was little. When I would run for freedom, when I would pit up a fight. Not submissevly recline to my other side as to ward off any inner resistance.

Now that my ***** scattered all over the room I find it easier to write. At least thats something I've always known, everything has a home. My guitar is happy on my bed and I've always been happier on the edge of a cliff, flying high with my heart in the heavens and my head in a cloud. Just waiting to jump.

..
..........jump.

Oh the misery of an air spirit.

Is this the end
Of which you spake -
The wind's alarm,
The night's opaque,
The city's blind,
The people dim,
(The ambulence offers
The final hymn)
My soul run down,
Run out of light -
Or just bad weather,
And the winter night?

the love you have is reckless
and the mind sets fallen too
and in your madness youve pulled us
down this spiral of a chute

we put you before our own love
when the truth we can never conceive
like the cold, plastic, mirror you hold
to stare at yourself and tease

we know all about your weakness
and weve fallen for tricks of despair
yet the truth is theres too much love
for yourself, theres none to share

you threaten the world with a razor
text all your friends, "nows the time"
"im gonna do it for real, i swear,
because the love i have aint worth a dime"

yet deep inside your pockets
the gold and silver grows
your heart burns in its fire
while your voice prepares for the "low"

the actress you have dreamt to be
slithers out of you every day
while all of your 'friends' stand here crying
waiting to see your body pulled, from the bay

though your mind thrills itself with laughter
as it thinks of all of those fools
who stand in the crowd waiting
as the ambulence takes out their tools

but your body has slithered back home
with the purpose and love held with pride
it is selfish of you, ******* selfish
when you think of those who've really died

quit playing the part, lifes no thriller
nobody likes the antagonist *****
and everyone knows deep inside
your body will never end up in a ditch

the marks on your arms are your make-up
not funny to those who feel the drag
of the razor so sharp it can sting you
while you walk with your shopping bags

i know this game, which your playing
in all terms its become rather pathetic
and when you run to me begging
ill stare, and then laugh, im apathetic

towards this character you have created
from the bottom of your selfish mind
i know not to trust you ever
because girl, youre one of a kind

One,
there’s an ambulence outside my front door
And two,
my parents are watching the evening news.