grief

things are dying inside me, I'm grieving
there is quicksand where I stand no matter where I go
Like Charlie Brown and a raincloud.

It doesn't matter where I am,
I only want to be free to do as I please.
What future with the constant argument of my present?

Damnit, I could easily fall in love with you.
I run to protect you, not myself.
I run to protect myself, not you.
I can't think anymore because I'm so. fucking. exhausted.

I don't know what to do.
I can drug myself and live in its neat shadowland
lost short term memories and online engagements with people who don't exist.

Who needs to sleep?
Who needs to remember?
Who needs to be loved?

I will grow older and then I can relax what's left
of my vigilance over my mind and slip away
into a haze of the solitary lunatic senior citizen
who one day dies of heart failure from accidental overdose.

I'm not exaggerating.
Just writing stories, as usual.
Who knows, my Cassandra reflex has a short
and all I can do is be believed
without having any real idea of what the hell is going on.

Please.
Where is that brute who can lift this dead weight and know
it is only in hibernation?
Damnit. I am a sad sad girl with a broken heart,
darling.
Your arms are just not going to hold me together.