I was drinking.
With friends.
Just the other night.
And what happened is making me on the verge of tears right now.
We played 'ring of fire' and someone, made the rule that everyone had to say what they were on the spectrum.
The gay spectrum.
Gods, as soon as the words left her mouth I started clamming up.
Did I lie, and say I was like, 1 or 2, like everyone had before me, defining themselves as fully heterosexual. Or did I tell the truth?
Did I accept these people enough to say, yes I'm about a 4 on the spectrum you've just explained.
So what did I do?
...
I trusted them.
I told the truth.
...
And what happened?
...
I got a brof
Lip trembles.
Stabbing her heart.
Crushing her insides.
A breaking soul.
Tears run.
Blood shot eyes.
Red puffy sockets.
A salty residue.
Shaking hands.
Reaching for friends.
Beg for release.
Pray for nothing.
Lines cross.
Silver over peach.
Red over pink.
White over tan.
Forever there.
A constant sadness.
A daily reminder.
A memory forever.
If I said I'm fine,
would you turn away?
As I let the poisonous emotions,
drain from beneath my skin.
If I said I'm fine,
would you look in scorn?
At the new scars
destroying my flesh.
If I said I'm fine,
would you believe me?
Knowing it's simpler,
if you just believe the lie.
If I said I'm fine,
would you know?
That I'm lying,
that I need help.
If I said I'm fine,
that I don't want to talk,
would you talk to me
would you make me speak.
Procratination.
Such a long word. Perhaps because it takes longer to say that than lazy.
Because lets face it. Most procrastination is laziness.
I'm sat here. Thinking, "You have a script to write." But at the same time, another part of my brain is saying "You've got another day. It's fine."
So yes. Here I am.
The mass procrastinator.
Thinking about ways to make this procrastination last longer.
You see, each line is another minute that I can waste.
Doing anything but this damned script.
Oh my Gods.
Like seriously.
It's a major problem.
So far?
So far I've:
Checked on Facebook for family I've never met
Thought about family an
Promises.
They lie in tatters at my feet.
I guess you could compare them to butterflies.
So small, so weak.
Or maybe they should be compared to moths.
Even the light of the sun can destroy them.
I guess this is what I'm seeing.
The light of the truth.
Hitting my moths.
My moths that I held so close.
And their tiny bodies are just...
Unravelling.
Unravelling as I hold them.
And then they slip through my fingers.
Hitting the cold hard floor.
Unmoving.
Broken.
So I can feel it.
Slowly slipping.
Out of my hands.
And I know it's going to hurt.
My heart, it's falling in slow motion.
And you aren't there to catch it this time.
You won't be there to pick up the pieces.
And as it shatters.
I will think.
Of you.
Of me.
Of all the times we shared.
And as I slip.
Further into insanity.
You won't give a damn.
They say it's not the end.
And I can't help but wonder.
What on earth they are on about.
To me it's the end.
To me it's goodbye.
To me it's the end of everything I love.
They say change it good.
To me it's only good with you by my side.
But now I have to face it all by own.
And I don't think I can.
I don't want change.
I don't want the end.
I don't want to say goodbye.