so, the $100 for a gram of chocolate later, I feel like shit, but I'm not terribly bummed. Got the sniffles, gotta suck it up and make it to work.

I miss pre-Madison 2003-4 mornings with Emily, orange juice and giggles.

Steph still tries her best.

Ty spent the night last night, first time I had a guy stay over night in my own apartment.

{My Chemical Romance, "Welcome to the Black Parade")

he's annoying and I call him Ty when all his friends call him Tyler. I don't mind, he's really skinny and short but good in bed and has sweet Arkansas intentions towards me, he pictures some really cute small town sad life with me in it.

Sometimes I think after all of this I really will wind up in Oklahoma anyway.
Hiding away working at some Motel 6, remembering when I used to be the person going somewhere instead of always standing still.

(Staci Orricio, "More to Life")

The chills are starting, at least I can play it off like the flu at work.
Sometimes I wonder if I got a $300 hamster to go with my chocolate.

Ah, when life was simpler and all I had to do was sit in class.

So last week I tried a half a tab of acid ontop of coke and heroin.
Fun as fuck.

Dealing with my h dealer being out of town, not so fun.

So, snow white has stepped up to do a dance with me and distract me from some of this withdrawing. This time she is so strong.

This is 2007 again, alone in that bedroom, listening to Placebo, feeling different dark layers of myself that I never mind when I feel the numb of miss white slide down my throat.
I become more interesting, less angry, I understand how writers wrote their best work on substances. Let me see what I can do.

sunken-eyed-boy, tangle me up
phone chords and whispered secrets
you just wanted to get caught
and each pair of pants gets bigger
and long forgotten songs
melodies of teenage angst creep up
beautiful poetry again I feel you
memories of when the world was fresh
still a light gloss of morning dew lingering
finger tips that found different spots perfectly
a man I'll never speak to again
I used to be able to check up on him
but now he has disappeared
and my heart is no longer heavy for him
I can smile and know we had something real
I can cringe at the way the parade has gone
one after one after him
they all have story lines and long goodbyes
they underestimated me
as I underestimated me
wrap me up in a blanket of memories from New York
I'll sit on a roof top at dawn and tell you secrets
I'll whisper stories of where we used to dance
remembering the way the light spilled into the room
tempra paint, so much has been lost in ten years
but I'm not so angry anymore
I remember what the botanical gardens were like in Brooklyn
I'll close my eyes and walk through the roses
the idea of what love might be when I would get older
the idea of what life might be like outside of that city
the ache of being outside of that city for more than eight years
missing so many places, poetic injustice
pearl paint and canal street
the blue ridge parkway
the horse trail behind the apartment
red rock national park
and here all I have is a view of the Rockies
and a brand new chapter to write

well here we are again, at the end of another binge, another road block... not necessarily running out of cash, or running completely out of drugs, but knowing that this is stupid... it comes to a head where I want to just overdose and die but it doesn't work. I try my very best and it doesn't work. So I have some left, not enough, I know I've got pills coming to me tomorrow, and it isn't enough to bury these feelings.

the pain of knowing he won't ever be mine and now, I can't even have him for a little.
the pain of knowing he was never a good person to begin with. The nagging at my gut to find another person to latch onto. This is the sad repeat of the pain in my gut that has lingered since the day David walked out in 2010. And even going back, it just never goes away. He's the glass shard that is dragged across my skin.

Let's admit the pain and suck on a little piece of heroin like candy, hoping it might soothe something.

I need to clean my room and start over.
Do laundry. Get out of the house.

When I get here I get scared because it is so dark, so empty, like I can feel the Earth is missing my bones.

tonight, first speedball iv.

last night, first time getting to 2nd base with a woman.

Wednesday, amazing sex with Dakota.

trapped inside this shell

*** this was the last time I would ever have sex with him. his wife found out about us and he quit, I never saw him after that Friday.

I have built a life, got a job, friends, an apartment... and she has found me again.

Heroin is the only great love I think I might ever have. I've loved the opiates for so long, but her perfection in each deep breath surpasses all other kinds of happiness.

City and Colour, "Coming Home"

I wake up not disappointed anymore, but in a very slow, soft cocoon of acceptance. The more I think about Dakota, the more I know that was just an unrealistic conquest, maybe just reached simply to see if I could get what I wanted. He just turned 23, he's married, and the bits and pieces of his past he has revealed are all big red flags-- then getting that message in the middle of the night from David, "I love you beyond the confines of distance and time," beautiful and tragic. Being sober isn't so terrible any more, I've started to feel better about breathing. I know that none of this will last-- this job, these friendships, they all will eventually curdle and sour, its just a matter of what sort of shelf life they might have. Which is sad because I sincerely like the job and actually love Stephanie as the first real friend I have had in years. The problem is, Colorado isn't home. The next problem is, I don't know where home is. I get twisted up in little bits of the past but not so much lately, I just have been logging them in-- these experiences, these foolish thoughts, just jotting them down. Just like the list of names in my journal.

And we've just passed the quarter-quell.

I took a shift I didn't really want just so that I could secure my place with Steph. I want to make art but have no real way to do it and don't feel like just arbitrarily tracing. Maybe I will anyway. Something to do with my hands.

a rush of blood to the head
a thing of beauty, a puzzle
your eyes smiled back at mine
through obstacles and hazy blue skies
crossed telephone lines
a thousand miles or more away
sounds just like my yesterday
and one slow, sweet kiss
reminded me of temporary bliss again
that surge of life in my veins
as you bit my lower lip
and my fingers traced your skin
but we only could ride the elevator
from floors 2-5 so many times
before we knew the tide would wash this up
I saw the chance and grabbed it;
but really I was caught up in the snare
a long lunch time, deep brown eyes
and a body that'd never be mine to own
and my body tensed with nervousness
sixteen, twenty-six, it felt the same
the beautiful, untouchable boy
still just a boy, indeed
and how he actually wanted me
and before I could count the turns on the twisty road
in his car on that warm winter day
we pulled up, pulled in, crashed in
the backseat wasn't all I had imagined
rushed hips, tight lipped, barely a moment of truth
pacified, not satisfied, the moment drained me
like a cell phone battery
and now my lights have gone dim
desperation turned disappointment
dissolved my day
so I'll stop checking to see
what you might say next
because even just one more time
adds to that pile of baggage at the curb
with your name on every tag
but I will smile each time our eyes meet
knowing our secret still breathes heavily
and still your smile was brilliant
as I left I could feel your eyes on me
and the main thing we have in common, darlin,
is just not knowing how to be;
a man, a woman, a friend, a lover,
a promise keeper
so I'll try this time for us both
keep the unspoken promise to hush my words
and replay the movie-like memories
of you and I tangled together
in my mind on rainy days
and smile as best I can
that rush of blood to the head
might just've been a wound I didn't see

I watch the same movies when I'm sad
Because her death, her pain
Reflects my pain like a mirror
It isn't ludicrous that a man could
Go on to terrorize someone's soul
Reach deep down into her pores
Scoop out something intangible
Draw an invisible line in the invisible sand
I made other plans, listened to that song again
Remembering the edge of every sharp thought
Every little emotion with a razor's edge
I know my faults, the things that make me human
I know I'm surrounded by broken people
Maybe if I scrub hard enough I can wash it out

"Oh I'm so tired of playing these games
We'd just be running down
The same old lines, the same old stories of
Breathless trains and, worn down glories
Houses burning, worlds that turn on their own" - James Vincent Mcmorris

Day Old Hate by City and Colour
So let's face it this was never what you wanted
But I know it's fun to pretend
Now blank stares and empty threats
Are all I have, they're all I have.

So drown me and if you can
Or we could just have conversation.
And I fall, I fall, I falter
But I'll find you before I drift away

Now you still speak of day old hate
Though your whole world has gone up into flames
And isn't it great to find that you're really worth nothing
And how safe it is to feel safe.

So drown me and if you can
Or we could just have conversation.
And I fall, I fall, I falter
But I'll find you before I drift away

The things we do just to stay alive
The things we do just to stay alive
The things we do just to stay alive
The things we do just to keep ourselves alive.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Getting high in the shower
just to hide my darkest vice
underneath trees that bear sour fruit
in the brutal heat of Arizona sunshine
which melts my heroin into a glob
black tar tragedy to be scraped and diluted
in water that always runs right down
like the tears, I sat so still
you made pizza and I sat weeping
silently, for every night is a minefield
every action is a slight

I just can't fucking do this to myself any more.

Uptown, a date right off the small screen
$40 a day, Rachel Ray, a long train ride
someone I don't recognize in my memory
sixteen, fine wine and live jazz
unraveling daylight hours
did we ever have ice cream on the Promenade?
underage at a comedy club
the horse and carriage ride that cost too much
(don't worry, I went another night;
this time it was cold winter air in Memphis)
and my life has been one well traveled
perfect polaroid memories of swings in the park
a rusted see-saw, jolted memories
boys pretending to be men
branded with childhood colors,
tattoos of dice or symbols of some underground
a secret alliance of underdogs
broken men wishing they were boys,
branded with bad color portraits
and stupid choices that live as present ghosts
I've let them slip between my thighs
in cars, beds, beneath clear starry nights
and I can't remember you any more
my brain tells me vague things but you're a haze
intangible touchstone for where I went
you set the bar
or lowered it
and I will be satisfied with your silence
I was once a loyal lover
but you taught me about all the others
I pretend to be used, but I'm self-centered
or demanding it to be that way
someone in my pocket to tell me I'm beautiful
even when it means nothing at all
empty words and empty glasses
I guess that's just how the time passes.