Silver Metal Lover...

Under this gun metal gray sky, with the pressure and humidity enveloping me hungrily, I can only sit and wonder when I'll turn into a real girl.

Letting go of Andromeda.

I just came so hard I saw stars...

I wait as long as possible to touch myself. I'll go weeks, months even, letting the tension build. I'll wait until the last possible moment, until I'm vibrating with desire like a taut guitar string. I imagined I was in a sumptuous Bedouin tent, with glittering sharp diamond sands just outside almost within reach. I was crushing rare and expensive flowers with my body...and now I am here, in my loved but slightly shabby surroundings.

Brittle around the edges. Tender in soft spaces. And terribly empty. The emptiness inside me is vaster than anything I can fathom. It yawns open and out of me, a magnificent void. It's like an endless night, quiet and stealthy.

And it all started when I woke up tasting poppies. I tasted poppies and was reminded of him...I remember the taste and smell of his skin. Poppies, from the soap he used. II taste him when smoke and alcohol mix in my mouth. But it's not really him I taste, not this shade of a lost love from over a decade ago. It's loneliness.

I taste the rejections, the bitterness souring my breath. In my mind I was once the princess in a saccharine and perfect love story, but now I'm not a main character anymore. I'm the serving maid. The wise aunt. The potion mixing witch even, maybe. But definitely not the princess.

Duality? Or is just a craving...

I think I'm going to take hallucinogens soon. Things have become too sharp, too grating. I look forward to placing that tingly paper square on my tongue, and feeling the miniscule liquid movement that is the beginning. Melting and inverted, I'll collapse into myself. With a quiet sigh, and a secret smile, I'll ride the razor's edge.
Shifting and seamless.

I'll squeeze my eyes shut and see singing crystalline pinwheels imprinted directly on the backs of my eyelids. I'll suck my tongue and savor the tiny piece of industrial strength brain wash that assimilated itself to me. Through me. I imagine the intricate network of nerves and spinal fluid recoiling and ultimately being dominated by the alien compound, which will be feeling it's way blindly through the passages of vertebrae.
I'll have belladonna eyes, a slight sheen of sweat, and shaking hands. Delirious in my comfort.

I hope it will be like hard-booting a computer. I need to press my button. The restart button. It's spring cleaning in this bitch.

Can a soul gasp for breath?

Can an actual soul yearn for sunlight? There is a song lyric that I always identified with. My words are snowflakes, meaningless and melting. And it has never been more true.
Words pour out of me constantly, falling from my mouth and pen, tapped into my keyboard. I can picture them all in a confused and jumbled pile, shrieking that I betrayed them with my lack of care, for not polishing and selecting them gingerly. Instead they are flung out of me with abandon and tinged with a slight touch of insanity.
Madness used to be considered a curse, laid on the unforgiven for unknown sins.

I may be an unbalanced and unfinished person, but...

My secretions are beautiful.
I do not speak softly, nor am I gentle.
I am passionate beyond belief, to an inner level that frightens me at times.
I hide behind my brashness.
I am secretive.

Ghosts in another room...

He's been gone for forever, years. Yet I can still feel the sickly contamination he left on everything. It clings to the walls like cobwebs, and clings to me. It coats my teeth like flat soda.
I will scrub every inch of him from this house, from me. I will scrub out my chest cavity with sharp and sparkling glass sand, and put my ticking clockwork heart back in it's place. And I will start once again, tenuously, to breathe. Really truly breathe.