dizzy...

the messed up thing is that, at the time, she was willing to work through everything, to figure out a way to make it work. i thought it would be too painful, i thought it would make more sense to break apart. love doesn't think. what was i doing thinking? now it's all come back to rip me apart like a thousand razor sharp boomerangs, a fate of my own making.

i haven't eaten in five days. or slept more than a couple of hours a night. i'm a wreck. my eyes are black. my skin is loose. my spine is in rigor mortis. i finally ate a little bit of salad this morning, but i don't think it's going to stay down.

i finally spoke to her yesterday. i won't tell you about that conversation, except to say, that at one point, i could see her smiling, and while it made me happy, it also felt like swallowing poison. i wrote some things in my journal last night...

"this is what she needs.
she needs to laugh.
she needs to have a good time.
she needs to relax.
she needs to not have to worry.
she needs to be loved in light.
she needs to be touched in every possible way, and my hands were as weak as my ability to cope.
weak.
my love wasn't honest enough to make it's presence felt behind the clouds.
if only she had the same blessing - the same curse - that i have,
to feel her from a lightyear away.
in my dreams i could feel her life, but she could not feel mine.
i don't expect anyone to, i never expected her to.
the truth - the truth - for the first time i'm telling myself the truth - and it's too late to make a difference.
the girl.
the girl.
the woman.
the love.
the love.
the love.
the truth.
the connection.
what she needs.
she needs laughter.
she needs light.
light as shining and light as feeling.
i hate that this is it.
it seems we never had a chance, but it makes no sense to me,
why did we go through everything we went through?
for this?
no.
there is more.
there is more.
there has to be, or it was pointless.
all of that pain, hardship, torture, only there to test,
to strenghten,
to bond,
to fortify,
to prove,
to prepare.
yes, to prepare.
no, to appreciate.
to appreciate.
the hard times were a service to the good times to follow,
and we both gave up on the promise of the good times.
in so much darkness,
under so much weight,
the impossible seemed - impossible.
i gave up first.
and she gave up the day before i knew i was wrong to give up.
and it was too late.
we have both given in.
her to immediacy, and me to forever.
if only i could have seen forever sooner, when she could see it.
when i finally recognized it's face, it was no longer looking at me.
and for this,
i will suffer,
i will see it's face in everything i look at,
i will make masks in it's image and force them onto the faces of everyone who crosses my path.
i am a fool.
i am the broken bones of an old man, blood poisoned by regret.
i am a family of unborn children, mourning their own deaths as they fade from my imagination.
i am an unwelcome guest in a house in a place i've never been.
i am a telephone number i don't want to know.
i am the voice of the man i despise most in the world,
singing in the shower the sad songs of the knife-makers.
i am ten thousand arrows, fired from the same place into every direction,
slicing the skies into pieces so thin they can no longer support the heavens.
i am a ghost, dreaming that is is alive, dreaming that it is a ghost.
i am every memory made into an endless slideshow, repeating, projecting itself onto my entire world.
i am what pain feels like when it's in pain.
i am the insomniac's morning, as insignificant as the anorexic's bowel movement.
i am a man convinced, willing to die for the right to die fighting.
i am a decaying corpose, seen as a work of art when looked at through a dirty mirror.
i am the end of endings, and it's only the beginning.
i am the first time feeling, thawed blood rushing to the skin of a man who was born cold.
i am a slave named love, once locked in the belly of a cargo ship, through mutiny now captain.
i have now become the thing she thought i was, only after she started thinking.
i am a man made of paper, painting her image on my body, my brush made of matchsticks.
i am the severed hand of a dead man, holding on to the idea that he is still alive."

i all just keeps spinning around and around in my head, it won't stop. i feel dizzy. nauseated.