“I’m A Bad Person.” Done.


She’s 14-The age I was when this all started going down a slow, spiral drain. Her mother is calling me, frantic that her daughter is waiting for the psych evaluation ordered by her therapist. I don’t know how she got my number. We’d only talked a couple times and I gave her some of the bullshit advice I’ve learned in regards to her struggling daughter. She feigned encouragement- or at least I’m projecting myself in assuming she’s pretending. She tells me her daughter wants to kill herself and has a plan. I don’t even blink anymore- seems these days everyone is miserable and jumping off proverbial or literal cliffs. I try to encourage her. After all I can’t tell her that just the night before I myself was trying to get together a prescription cocktail to put me to sleep forever. 

          I assume that the paramedics took her, 51/50d her, and put her in the shittiest psych ward around. Yep. I tried to tell her she doesn’t want that kind of help. I guess she has to figure that out herself- this seems so familiar. Her mother is convinced that I’m a good, mature older acquaintance for her daughter to meet with. 
“Could you please talk to her?” 
Sure! I’m someone who understands what she’s going through- even the same fucking shitty terrifying ward. I’m someone who has been through it countless times, and has come out with nothing but a bunch of hesitation scars, theoretically useful adages, and a mercilessly unstable life. 
What the fuck could I possibly say to her.
What I would say to myself 10 years ago? 

Maybe I should just get a massive “Welcome To Life!” banner and tell her it very well may never get better, but your standards will have get lower.                                   Oh wait- I can’t do that when she’s already so fragile. I could take her out to coffee and teach her to abuse every stimulant in conjunction just to make it look like getting through the day.      Until they don’t work. Nope.         I’ll just listen, nod periodically, and ask her how that makes her feel. Fuck. No.

Nothing but bad habits here.          Do I lie?                                           Maybe that’s what friends do, dish out the everything will be ok bullshit. 

Sometimes I think depression is just waking up.                               Most times I think depression is growing up.                                         All times I want to sleep forever- just like a ton of other people. 
          I’ve got nothing redeeming to share with the people who ask. Nothing these days but a masochistic streak and an awful attitude. But at least I know how to look more normal.

     Maybe I’m a total asshole for not caring with investment or compassion in these kinds of instances anymore. Yet don’t ask me why strangers seem to think me an inviting individual to divulge their sorrows to. I feel like these are fucking moth to the flame situations. I’m so dead inside these days I don’t have any fucks left for anyone or anything. I’m going to move away to an island, build a tree fort, and never have to deal with pretending to be a relational being or fabricating tiresome grains of interest in something to sate inescapable obligations. 
“Everything will be ok,” I’ll tell her-Or it won’t. Either way, at least we all die at the end! I’m an awful person now.
 I’m dead.

 I’m done.

Advertisements

Your Skull My Bones

How does it feel to sit all alone
In the castle you built with your own bones

For your confused wretched soul

And all the ones you pulled along

Dragging down with an ignorant song

Don’t ask me for anything else now

Cuz you couldn’t manage to see through yourself

Was it all just an act

just to get by, to survive, to pass? 

Did your heart ever even beat with blood, flesh and passion?

How does it feel at the end of the line

To see with your eyes that you wasted your time

Chasing the things you thought felt right

From when you were then young and blind

Though once in innocence of mind

Exoneration run out

You only fight yourself now 

There’s nothing more that you desire

I’m sure

For you’ve used up my sympathy

And for you

There is no more.

Paul and Judas


What do you do when there’s still so much timeBut you’ve already gone and died inside                                                     All falling away in the years    Wearing and waning with the same saltless tears

Maybe its just finally opening your eyes                                                 Seeing the results of the culmination of the times             The way things rest when let alone  And that there is no changing  What all along was set in stone

Breath’s very purpose misconstrued, skewed, and slurred Maybe there’s no way to say another word                                     For in most places lately         there’s nothing new to even be heard

So hurry this time and make your choice                                               Raise no cry- silence your voice   Pick your path for your very last:

 Suffer with Paul or hang like Judas 

Yet both were hung for a jaded justice anyway                                      The question of “If” has faded away

Its a matter of when

A matter of how 

Are you going to kill the pain now?

Familiar Eyes


Days like today I ask myself        Why do I feel so much weaker   Than everyone else

When death beckons softly            As better than this                        Feels like I’ve died a thousand times                                                    but still can’t find

Familiar Eyes                                   That say home to me                     And so I hide                                           I don’t want them to see              That I can’t always try                        A thousand one times                Maybe I’m the fool for ever loving Familiar Eyes

I don’t want you to look in mine and see                                              That even after all this time I still bleed                                                         I don’t know how to try the way I once did                                              Tell me are you still so empty the way that you said

That death’s beckoned softly  as better than this                               Like you’d died a thousand times  But still couldn’t find

Familiar Eyes                                    That say home to you                       Do you hide                                   when you don’t want them to see That you can’t always try                  a thousand one times               Maybe you were the fool                for ever loving at all

When you think you know someone                                                 It all falls and comes undone              I remember a small child             Who once thought                          there was a home inside      

Familiar Eyes.