Uncovered.

Sometimes you find old journals and read things and think to yourself "Damn, a lot has changed." Found and read this and am really happy about how far I've come in just a month. But there's something important about putting these things into the world. Here goes.

Part of me is still dead.
It's the part that holds on to people. It's the longevity of my caring. It's the lifespan of my patience. It's the muscle behind my trust. It's my belief in planning for the future.
It's what I see in the mirror. it's what keeps me in bed until the last possible moment. It's my newly short temper. It's my scorn and cynicism. It's why I don't believe in anything any more. It's why there's no heaven or hell or before or after. It's every ache in my body. It's why I suddenly feel frantic and disjointed and like the air in my lungs isn't enough. it's why these words that I'm writing are being screamed in my head. It's why I will never be enough. It's everything I've lost and what I'll never gain. It's why I fear weakness more than anything else. It's how I learned to hate.
Part of me is still dead.
It's been almost a year.
I've moved on and along from what I thought was love. What I can't let go of is what was left behind.
I've fucked two others and I've moved 350 miles away.
But everything still hurts.

There's a furnace in my chest growing too big for the world, let along my tiny bones.
Burning everything down.
Destroyers, destroyers.
I am a monster.
Lose weight, clearly think.
The pounds are rolling off, but the fog's rolling in.
Destroyers.
An ache for touch and caring.
Spreading.
Crying makes me ugly because it's my inside showing.
This is the sound of one girl dying.
This is my holy ground.
And maybe I'll rise someday,
but it won't be some day soon.

I wish you would hear me.
You out there: elusion, illusion.

My bones are made of sand.
And my mind is sliding down the walls, making tails that look just like home.
copper on my tongue.
I don't want to hear another word.
Forgiving comes naturally.
Forgetting is hell.
Forgetting is impossible.
Absolution is a myth, a wet dream.
All I want is to slide my fingers into the caves of freedom and redemption and make them come with me.
My hearbeat's echoing through my chest.
Nobody's coming to save me.
No answers are wirtten on pages or walls.
Burn the world, clearly think.
No masters, no fortunes, no omens.
I'll paint my own life [clearly think].
I can still taste your judgement, even with this distance writhing between us.
You are no mbetter than me.
You have no high horse to sit on.
Clearly think.
This'll have no end, til I spit the beginning out, full with blood and teeth at the side of the street.
I'ts not over. This fight isn't over.

Clearly think.
Clearly think.