ravages of predetermined snow -
��������� �����a sharper knife -jumbled knots & rapidly unravelling skeins of hatred, like all of my nerves were once a huge tangle of yarn and then someone unravelled it all to make the spider-webbed network within my body, closeted tightly inside the unsensual layer of groily skin & shirksome, shiftful muscle -
terrible spitting anger, a spatter of reddishness against a white wall, then quickly erased by the nether end of a pencil. frustration of a dire sort, the gnawing-fingernails sort of bewilderment. the "muse" that so often plagues me is hellbent on destruction and maiming. or maybe it was innocent once and has been warped madly inside my head, rioting off the walls of the gray skull -
it's one of those "sunset ricocheting off the walls of night" nights. it's not cold enough to be bitter and yet my tongue is like winter in a mouthful of dryleaved autumn - i left the room in a shattersome tornado of hatred, spilling over my mouth like a glass of water being tipped - michaela & corey sitting on his bed in the relative dark. something about the words corey was saying - the way they were coming. dug under my skin like earwigs. and so i suddenly scream, hoping the sonic pressure is enough to shatter the sudden perceived terror -
listen here's the clever one speaks before his thoughts are done // why can't you make up your mind? // watch your mouth - hold your tongue - some things are better left unsaid
and, in the sudden needing to be told it was okay, needing something so badly and yet refusing myself that basic need of comfort, knowing i'd just have "who's the clingy emotional person NOW" thrown in my face, i swallowed it and shook with barely restrained hatred - and then i think i must've said something like "i don't want to be here, wasting my life, wasting - "
and corey said, quite simply, "then why don't you go somewhere else?" and continued talking with michaela. at these words, i literally silenced myself. got up. put shoes on. threw a jacket on. and left. i fell asleep in the relative sanctity of the costume shop, clutching my cell phone, and waking up a half-hour later with a horrible taste in my mouth.
but before that even, i'd run into jason & casey & erin. i went so far as to follow them back to the triple. and - i don't know why - i felt the need to spill to them. and ... i don't know. i left. and curled up into myself, a bitter fiddle of a person, sawing away on my own strings.
ravager. berserker. i have come up with a name for myself, i have established myself as the angst-ridden, jaded Cynic whom everyone knows as the critical, bastardly asshole who just goes off at the mouth about everything & everyone. i get "you don't like anyone / anything" from different people a lot. and it's so untrue. i like so much, but it's so often eclipsed by the glaring horrible natures of things i hate -
or something? i'm slipping again. i walked back to the theatre with some horrible dirge playing round and round the inside of my carnival-head and thought to myself "oh god, it's happening again, i don't have anywhere to go - " and those moments of pure isolation, when even your breath is trying to escape you, everything gets so tired - your eyelids and your step sink ... and nothing is worth anything.
i feel like a meteor entering the atmosphere and shrivelling up to nothing, burning alive before i even hit the ground (trying to make an impact) and only ending up another pebble on the side of a dirt road.
there is so much worthlessness inside of me. i don't feel like people honestly would care even if this frustration (half because i'm so blocked creatively and half because i'm so sick of "stupidity") because it's not a change from the norm! i'm always angry, or so they see - it's the "persona" that i am here.
and i'm fucking lonely. this is turning into more & more bitterness as the days pass, as the eyes shift away from me to other poets, to other charismas without the baggage. without the sudden psychosis of moonlit nights & choppy fall days -
i feel peculiarly helpless to alter my situation, and yet it seems that i have so many opportunities available to me - i am writhing, groaning and grimacing at these ridiculous invisible shackles that i'm binding myself with -
i'm beginning to hate life.
and i'm worried about the winter.