Colors Sometimes, during certain moments, I feel so strong. At other times, I'm instantly overcome by such a deep sadness...Something I don't understand but that lives deep within me. It sits in my throat and washes down my cheeks. It makes my heart pound and my soul ache, reaching for something I will never know. Just as soon as it rushes into my mind, it leaves and I'm emptier than before. The sadness is something I crave and dread. It makes me feel alive and emotive, yearning for the depth of that dark ocean, the break of that unforgiving wave. It is the most beautiful thing about my #life, and also the reason I'm clawing at myself from the inside. I live in these quick moments of unrelenting pain until the numbness returns. I feel like I'm looking at a photograph of myself, taken from far away. My little secret: my seducing depravity. The loss of myself that I forget exists in the fleeting instant it falls away. My #life could be painted in two colors. The first: pale gray of numbness. The control and habit and forward motion of my everyday, with little blips of blue during moments of possible attainability. 'Maybe I can feel happy today...' The other color is a rich and vibrant oxblood. Beautiful in fleeting moments and deadly if I stay too long. But I can never stay too long. I plummet unexpectedly into these periods of such a hungry sadness. The hopeless recognition of something I try to deny that's been eating away at me all along. Acknowledging my hollow parts and feeling the release of hot tears on my skin, the choking anger building in my throat. My heaving stomach fluttering with fears of forever. My brain betrays, making me happy to just be feeling anything at all. How beautifully tragic that I have to find my desperate happiness in the deepest red of pulsing heart. Just as soon as I recognize this ache, it fizzes away, bubbling back to the steady gray of forgetfulness.

02.04.12 People live their lives on a thin sheet of glass. Some graze the surface and float effortlessly along,careless to the fragility. Unaware of what would ever happen if it were to break. The floor has broken beneath me long ago, worn away like a constant exhale of steel breath from silk lungs. My childhood consisted of fractures: words said harshly or not at all. The surface giving way like slow, terrible lightning. A quick fist to the temple, the back of my head to the cold porcelain bathtub. Another fracture in the surface. Until one day it broke, like a damn holding back a thousand rivers. My body, back to ground, fell like tiny drops of water from a rusted faucet, scattered into a million tiny pieces. I lived under it all. Like a bottom feeder, taking what I could. Trying to rebuild what I couldn't even see in the darkness, holdimg my breath. All the while, she looked down from the shards of glass with a split smile. At night she was a thief of purity and would escape to my gaping hole of a childhood and laugh menacingly, asking me how I would fix my ruined #life. That accusatory look from my own flesh and blood, who would ask me in a eerily calm and pitying voice, 'why do you do this to yourself? You need help' and in the next breath lean in and whisper in my ear 'no one will ever believe you, you little bitch'. Eroding my will and stripping me clean of hope.