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Thankstaking (with Hunger Pangs)

 I should know better by now, than to give into the solitude.  The familiarity of self-destruction, but once more I choose to celebrate only Me.  Another holiday where I stay indoors, where things never change, where I stay in control of my environment in the same way a fish can move pebbles around its bowl.

I know better than to smoke, but I bought another pack today.  One last hurrah, except this time its Cowboy Killers, red on white, an exciting stranger in my home.  I take the world in 5 minute, burning breaks, lungs tense and aching, and I suffocate the bright sunshine, the riotously colored trees, and the unseasonable weather, which somehow helps me disconnect myself from the experience outside of my front porch.

My head aches.  I am sick, but I am too disassociated to care.  It is a Feeling, and like many others, it can be suppressed if I smoke until I'm dizzy and drink lukewarming coffee until I'm jittery.  It's the closest thing to being high I've managed to find, and the longer I go on an empty stomach, the higher I feel.

I know today should be a reflection on togetherness, and family, and feasting, and allowing the warm feelings in to burgeon us against the coming chill, but... 


I feel it is going to be a long, cold winter.


One.  Last.  Hurrah.

To Self-Destruction.


((Yes, it burns when it hits my stomach.  Poison always does.  I feel my face involuntarily screw at the rotten odor of the stuff, but I purposefully bought cheap, because this isn't about taste.

I think. I could still stop, I could pour this out now, what's $10 down the sink when I'm pissing my life away but that would be a waste of a good waster.  I'm in it now, and the drink takes a drink.

I say goodbye to all I knew, and throw myself down a third drink with panicky abandon.  I apologize to the cats, to my lost lover, to the events of the past month, and I cry: This was a mistake... this was all a mistake.

But I cannot go back, not on any of it.  I cannot stop living there, so for now, Forget-me-All, and blot out this wretched, warm, sunshiney day.  Unseasonable November, what even is this day?  A Thursday?  A Yesterday that finally caught up with me?  A Tomorrow that regrets to have came?  Sunday, maybe?


i am Mute.  i am mute within my sadness and my regret.

this is symbolically how i feel, i cannot speak to you, i cannot feel you, and i have no way of knowing if you'll receive my message, or if you'll even try.  Please don't try.  

I miss you so much.  But I don't want you back.


it strangles me, and I persist on.  Better than to think of You.



How sad.  I don't even want you when I'm drunk.))

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