2-2-6

oopsies,

lost it.

it slipped between the seats.

somewhere,

last night,

it got away from me.

dead air,

no sparks,

in our in between.

fresh eyes

see it

perhaps this shouldn't be.

not sad,

joyful,

cascading with happy.

power,

control,

because i am now free.

fingers,

pulling,

detached from him and me.

smile,

heehee,

and all the dead is green.

Will someone please make me better? Water and snot keep pouring down my face and I can't stop coughing and sneezing. Being ill is the worst.

What is a Community Service Officer? The title is worse than rent-a-cop...and according to the SUV that keeps driving past me, it's actually official. HA!

Lies

I lie to me

So constantly

It's hard to know the truth.

I fantasize

Through fibs and lies

I love my sweet untruths.

These Belong Together...

Skin

Shame.

Squeeze,

Fingernails,

Breathe in, 2, 3...

Not me

Not me

Not me

Then who?

Then who?

Then who?

Smooth skin slipping

Like wet stones

Beneath these fingers.

What strings pull them

That way, then this

As I try to find those lips?

Mistake.

Stupid.

Nothing there,

Merely smoke beneath my fingers.

That silken marble just as solid

As a broken promise on the breeze.

It isn't mine,

It's not for me,

But in a certain frame of mind

I let myself believe

With a dead drunk, sad caress

That this wrongness

Between we two

Could be a little true.

Murder

Lies, lies, lies

So sick of breathing LIES.

Look me in the face and

See the truth here in my eyes.

I cannot say the words;

They scare me.

(That's the truth.)

Hard as I try, I can't free me

And it's all because of you.

You knew, you knew, you really knew

I heard it in your voice.

Then, of course, I knew you knew

So I had no choice.

I laughed and called it stupid

Cocked, aimed, and I shot Cupid.

He fluttered, hit the pavement.

And with an ultrasonic crack,

That little darling Cupid

Broke his tiny back.

"I Was" Series

Going to Tell You
I was going to tell you.
Not the time you tried to ask.
I was going to tell you.
She (I?) convinced me you should know.
I was going to tell you.
Because I love the way you feel.
I was going to tell you.
Because your smile's like the sun.
It doesn't make my heart melt.
(But makes the ice around it start to run.)
I was going to tell you.
Was going to give it to you straight.
I was going to tell you.
But it will have to wait
Until it is no longer true.
And then when all its color
Has faded into blacks and blues
I'll still refuse to tell you
Because I hate to lose.

Getting Better
I was getting better.
It took me way too long.
I was getting better.
Things didn't feel so wrong.
I was getting better.
But it got obvious so
You killed it.
Now it's dead.
You say you want me happy
And in a way I think that's true
But unless it's happiness on your terms
You've made it clear you won't approve.
I was getting better.
Both in myself and in the world.
I was getting better.
Glee had been unfurled.
Its colors were so stunning
It shone both light and dark.
I was getting better.
Now everything is stark.
I was getting better.
But now I've lost my way.
I was getting better,
I breathed deeper every day.
The air was clear, cool and sweet.
The ground smoothed out beneath my feet.
Everything was better.
Then you pushed.
I fell.
Defeat.

Sleep is for the weak.

Sleep is one of my favorite things in the entire world. I have a habit of sleeping too much, because I have epic dreams that I enjoy participating in. Being in a world where violence of epic proportions is acceptable, painless, and generally non-fatal is pretty fricking sweet. Everything is technicolor and simple and accessible and controllable. Interpreting dreams is one of my favorite past-times, not because I think dreams themselves can tell us anything, but because I think that what we think our dreams are trying to tell us is incredibly indicative of what's actually going down in us. Never would I ever seriously ask someone to interpret one of my dreams for me, because I would get an interpretation of their inner-state instead of mine. Once upon a time I wrote down a dream and coupled it with an interpretation. About a year later I stumbled across the dream and started interpreting it before I got to my old interpretation. They were black and white different. Try the same yourself. I can tell you for shizzley that your interpretations will not match unless you do not change as a person, in which case...I'm sorry.

RAMBLING.

POINT: I don't just love sleep because I love dreaming or because it is invigorating or because it's healthy...I love sleep because of what happens when you DON'T. I think it's cool that there's a dude who has gone 35 years without sleeping. Not sleeping kills some people, but he makes it work. I dug The Machinist as much as the next gal and I fricking love the questions it raises. How badly do we need sleep, really? What brings on sleep deprivation? If we don't sleep will dreams start to overwrite reality? Someone once told me that everything that people feel via drug use can also be achieved through sleep deprivation. I don't have a source for that one. HEARSAY.

We can go about this experiment however we want. If you want to overload yourself with caffeine, do it. If you want to pinch yourself whenever your eyes start to get heavy, sweet. If you want to hire someone to follow you with a horn (me! I need another job, yo), perfect. I'm going to go the natural route. I'm going to eat as natural of foods as I can, with as few preservatives and caffeine and unnaturally occurring sugars as is humanly possible in this day and age. A website just told me that people die from sleep deprivation. The record is 11 days. I don't plan on hitting that because spring break is only a week. Regardless, if you feel on the cusp of death, hit the sack. Holly will not be responsible for your untimely, sleepless demise. But I'm going to see how far I can push myself and you're invited to join. I will be starting on Friday.

Sleep is for the weak. Shun it with me.