There is something about the morning after a night on the town that blurs the lines between dream and reality. I awoke this morning to sort my dreams and my dramas...and I liked the dreams better. Curling up in a small ball and sleeping more of the wretched day away...I told someone last night that I wanted to throw myself in the river like Virginia Woolf...and to be honest, at that moment, I really did. It would've been easier than continuing the conversation I was in...but I didn't...and I never will. I have this feeling that I cannot feel enough. When it hurts I want to feel it so bad that I can't move and when it feels good I want euphoria. The constant nagging pain of conflict with no visible resolution is worse that any other pain- being in the thick of it with love, anger, frustration- unstoppable cycle of madness, spiraling downward to the deepest of all pains...is that guilt that I feel? Is it regret? Anger? Loneliness?

I lost my senses in the back of the bar and regained them as I hit my pillow. Yelling heads and softened mouths-- prickly nervous interventions of bystanding eyes. Staring gazes met with raised voice and twitching eyes- while other eyes- unknowing, unseeing- meet and fall in love over the rolling rocks of DJ tunes. I should've worn brown shoes I suppose, then maybe no scar, no hurt to show for my time out. Where's the fun in that? There's fun in not dreaming that a love bruises himself at your honest words. Lashes appear from blank pallid white skin- I can't feel you cant feel, now running to the pain for solace from the hurt.

bottom line:
looking to pain to assuage the deeper hurt
longing for trauma to normalize everyday difficulties
leering in the face of truth, pulling her five ways to nowhere
all to be left- emptiness