shopping for myself
2002-07-17 ~ 5:58 a.m.

when i'm slipping, natural reflex tends to want to touch out and reach something. and so i latch on to the indigo girls and tori amos and dar williams and ani difranco because they are close, they are handy.

they don't help the falling for shit really, but they make the landing softer. i hope.

cause i am slipping.

it won't show...i'm not gonna let it, but i am.

i guess ash got tired from making comments in that snide, biting tone so she passed out on the couch.

and i yearn for her to be gone, to get her stuff out, to get her out...to have some peace in my own home...maybe to be able to sleep.

but even while i want that, i know it is yet another string in the constant unravelling that is my undoing.

yes, gamy...me. gamy and wily...all over the board. play with all you've got, cause this is your last round.

me, alone again. alone with my demons and ghosts. alone with the darkness that i can keep at bay for others, but not for myself. alone with my nightmares, until they become daymares and then i am dead.

the walking dead? guess so.

no one can stop the bleeding. no amount of pressure, no turniquets, maybe some good whiskey will dull it...but either way you still bleed to death.

not the seductive slice from something sharp on my skin...no, still been good.

a different kind of bleeding...the kind that is slow in it's promise of delivered death. the kind that causes as much pain as possible first.

sounds just like something i would order for myself.

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