Tuesday, March 19, 2013

In an odd way, we are taking it slow and simultaneously rushing headlong into things

Tuesday, March 05, 2013

razorblade security blanket

I gather the sharp shattered bits of my life, broken like a mirror, about me like a blanket of thistles and glass shards. I cuddle up close in it, wrap it tight around me, the nicks and nips of the sharp edges the facsimile of a life I once knew but had cast aside for the shiny plastic existence I was offered.
I take my blanket of self-doubt and self-loathing with me to the beach. In the dark of the late night the ocean is a hungry mouth that wishes to feed on the leftovers of the me that once was. I smile.
I can swim out until my arms give out or the sharks eat me. Considering the lateness of the hour and the day of the week and the lack of interest in what part of my life is falling to pieces on the tile of my tiny dirty apartment, it will be two days before anyone notices I am gone. The idea of already being gone before anyone would even notice the departure makes me smile further.
I walk to the lapping ravenous waves. My toes are ice-cold in the bite of the water. I look up at the sky with  bitter blood-red tears, swallow up the stars in the onrush of the surf of my sobbing, laugh in a gulp.
And turn to walk home.

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