The first time I tasted alcohol I was nineteen and when you’re nineteen the world was a wonderful mess of insanity.
Last night I cried so hard I choked for air, and on most nights it is perfectly normal as the heart has been suffering and you cry when it hurts.
I keep waking up at 3 in the morning and I keep hearing these voices except that I keep losing it in the abyss during the split second between dream and waking moment.
My mother is concerned and feed me pills to help me sleep at night, but I just leave them by the bedside. When the heart is contaminated nothing can save the mind. What is sleep if reality exists on either side.
There was this one time I scaled the roof of a church – or this one night when I sat on my windowsill. Sometimes I am high, but most times I am sober and I am not sure of the ground but I wonder of the awkward twist of display that might leave a certain distaste in your mouth.
I think my favourite part about the night is the silence it brings. When you rage in silence, you just hope for silence to run parallel with your thoughts. That is why I practice my laugh in front of the mirror. The silence is mine, my alone, and I must mask my emotions behind actions I do not really mean.
Being an adult is such a tiring chore. When you’re sad everyone tells you to step out of it. So you pretend to be happy and everyone starts calling you out on being a fake. Who proposed such rules and why does society appeal to such degrading thoughts.
But it is ok because most times I am happy and sad at the same time and I wish there was a proper word to describe how I really feel instead of this post which serves no purpose other than to make me feel more vile than I already am.
Sometimes when I am upset I start shaking uncontrollably. It is almost like tectonic plates exist underneath my skin and an earthquake occurs every time they bump. The tremble begins at the chest and like dominos, crash waves upon waves that stretch all round.
Hands are my favourite part of a human body. Nose comes next. And then lips. Most times I wake before my lover does and get lost in the geography of his body. Maybe because peace does not come easy for restless minds like us and it is nice to see that for you finally, both mind and body can come to an agreement. Or at least in those precious moments.
It is almost 2am and I can smell the scent of my lover’s freshly washed sheets. Except that I am in my own bed and the voices have started again.