I want to scratch my faceoff, i want to cry, i need to hurt myself.
I feel cold and empty. i, i just dont know what to write all of a sudden i got this insane rush of death over me. like id been thrown down a well, i couldnt breath for a second now im jsut hollow.
i cant copewith this i dont understant it. im drowning
so hard
i just want to keep typing its helping but not improvinmg fuck fuck fuck
im scared really really. ive only got something to used and thats it. its old and rusty and i'll get an infection but its that or a shard of mirror.
what the fuck is this about. im so scared i need to talk to someone. anyone. my mother.
my doctor. someone who will understand. i want to pull all my skin off my face and scratch stps up my back.
epic massive moodshift
i dont understand whats happening. i hate this. why is it happening.
Im just so scared. i dont know what else to do.

ive taken about 110g of amytrip and burned a bit. now im going to sleep

Out there somewhere a cat cries, the sound is carried up through the window on the breeze

Hazy indulgent days filled with sex, drugs and lust by the bucket full.

alive together in freedom of spirits, languishing in wanderlust, touch and intimate emotionless anguish filled lovemaking. 

between bottles and wrappers, lines and thighs a sharp intake of breath rings out, clear silence among the noise that one moment frozen, like a photograph of sound. 

Warm and beautiful, sticky from debauchery and perfect moments. 

A room full of sounds but still silent. whispered conversations, laughs, moans, tapping, cleaning, clearing, living.

And somewhere in the background a television buzzes with eternal white noise turned down but still audible, a constant droning presence. 

In this space nothing matters, no life nor spirit draining problems "issues" harsh and violent words are irrelevant life is lived as if nothing matters but the present. The here, now and never. 

Smoke rises to the ceiling. Social hang-ups are put to rest. the world tedious as it is, is still. 

Every corner of the room smells like cigarette smoke and desire. fingers traces the length of a girl's spine while she lays with her own hands entangled in the hair of another.  

The number frequently fluctuates, people come and go. manic street preachers. when they cross the threshold they become one with the rest of the inhabitants. the room in itself is a white void that lives and breathes and moves to its own rhythm, everything outside it is finite. 

A boy sits in the corner positioned upon a pillow, his back pressed firmly into the joining walls

a leather bound book is nested in his crossed legs, pen poised between his ink stained fingers.

the nameless boy, the emaciated looking boy. wears worn faded jeans and a deeply thoughtful passionate expression. He gazes at and through the scene that is being played out before him.

and only feet away multiple bodies writhe and groan on a stained, sagging mattress. like the monsters and ghouls that stalked your childhood dreams. 

oblivious and aware of everything else that goes on, a group of people play cards, drinking gin out of jam jars, bottles and antique bone china. A voluptuous girl, no more then eighteen. clad only in a nylon slip; mixed-race limbs covered in self inflicted scars, wanders the room exchanging looks and sharing kisses. giving out parts of herself to anyone who will have them.

taking a drink from another occupant of the room, she joins a circle of laughing individuals discussing nothing and everything. 

 joint in nought but the ideology of keeping going until they burn out. 

The slow atmosphere of the room. time does not hold court here, nor does it weigh on the shoulders and minds of anyone within it. a clock sits stationary on a windowsill, the hands covered in dust; point to three and eleven and always have done. time has no place here.

Light beams down through the opened, un-curtained windows, dust particles filter through the air only sometimes highlighted by the suns rays. everything is given an other worldly glow an untouchable calm. Nothing more natural then concentrated substances.

the floor is littered with all that is imaginable; tea bags, spoons, tin foil, ashtrays full to brimming, a curling manuscript lay's forgotten under a chair, fag packets, plastic bags, a mug in pieces where it came to rest after being propelled against a wall with extreme force, silk scarves fished out of a skip, candles, four bunches of wilted carnations still in the polythene from the 24 hour garage, pot noodles, the television still buzzing, acting as a table occupies a space, resting upon it is a rusting birdcage, its paint peeling as it sits empty and silent, newspapers, an acoustic guitar and all manor of things one could find in a place such as this. freedom is everywhere, in the air, in the glasses, in the spaces between entangled lovers, in the pauses between sentences, and the space that exists between dangling legs and the cold hard wooden floor.

.....

(unfinished)

She Ran and ran and ran, then when she went home, she wished she had kept running

I dont have the energy to write properly
just want to get it all down so i know that it was today.

"My Life is falling apart again. Living with my depressive manipulative unresponsive father is killing me. my mother came up for the weekend it took them all of seconds until they tried to kill eachother. im 4 years old again Their screaming at eachother over my head and i cant say anything. now my father claims hes moving and i can do this shit on my own, and im a lazy cow, whos ruining her life and its all my mothers fault for not bringing me up properly when he was sitting on the other side of london pretending we did not exist. Now my mothers threatening to uproot the kids again just because my Father cant live with me."

Where the fuck is this so called support network

Im about to ship out i cant DEAL with anyof this anymore, its like im drowning

CUNT

only you understand

This old house is a part of you, inside it youve cried a thousand tears and laughed so hard that you got that aching in your ribs that one that you only get if you forget everything else and just laugh.
You can tell what every little creek means and you judgre how many steps to take in the dark, that piercing doorbell the would only wake you if you had heard it a thousand times, you know where each and every plug is and exactly how long it takes for the hot water to go from hot to skin scalding, you know where your the best sound is and where you can go and be alone.

leave it all behind and start again, its time to go

The Routine

Putting my hair up and changing my underwear
getting out towels and kits from draws
walking to the bathroom getting bandages
Putting them on the bed and going upstairs
getting out ice and putting it in a glass
getting out the paracetamol and taking 3
Shutting the bedroom door and arranging pillows around the towels
laying out tools and embracing the eerie silence
deep breath here we go...
Rub the ice across my thigh just to get it wet so the salt sticks
applying the salt and pushing the ice down on top of it
Burning, freezing, dying ,numbing, Painless
tracing a finger along the thin line between the two different textures of skin
picking up a razor from where their layed out symmetricaly
is it new? how deep will i cut, how deep can i go before i hit something
the first is always the sweetest chooses a direction and stick with it
hot blood runs over cold skin and down onto the towels
as deep as i can until i cant go an further until the feeling starts to come back
picking up the cleaning kit and the saline solution
cleaning dressing and admiring the gash now holding pride of place just above my knee.
Crawl into bed, feeling satisfied and untouchable
until the pain hits and there's nothing left to do
but ride it out
Crawl out the next day unstable as a baby giraffe you forgot about this bit didn't you
dress around it wonder if you've bled through and consider the fact that you needed stitches
but you ran out of micro-pore and couldn't even butterfly it
This one will keloid, now the case is just healing and hiding
Changing the dressing and pulling off the scabs, back to square one again
Not baths or it wont heal, falling into old habits and thinking up a fitting excuse in case
someone gets to close, shut everyone while you have the chance


Now tell me you dont hurt yourself anymore

Funny how so much pain can inspire so much passion

Every act committed this week has been laced with a pain such as i never thought i would experience again, spasms and jolts of pure toe curling fist clenching blood boiling pain.
switching sides as if its toying with me trying to see how much i can take before i hold my hands up and walk down stark white hallways and tell the judge how much ive been drinking underage and what subs ive poured into the hollowed out emotionless shell im hiding in. my throat feels like ive had a dad size toothbrush down it and not known when to scream when, even if i can see blood and occasionally i gag so bad i think my twisted soul might run out of my mouth as well as the icelollys and self hatred i swallowed earlier.

i want to hold out my arms and scream someone please save me from this fucking pointless existence let me live your life for once let me crawl a mile in your jeans and see if your knees wear out faster then mine. The sun sets and moon rises and i see myself on a road and i walk out and lie down waiting for something to come and put me right and tell me if its my time to shine and face the ultimate liberation. Im no longer satisfied with the mundanity of everyday life, the soft warm and safe routines you fall into fuck them their not worth the bullshit their scrawled in on the hot tarmac that is your fucking pointless suburban existence, tell me please im dying to know do you want to watch tv or do you want to live, i NEED more then anything to run away and live some where hot and dusty where things happen and things dont where i can be alone to think and write and make as much noise as i see fit.
WISHING i had the option to pick up and take off with nothing but time on my hands, instead time mocks me like it always has, reminding me of what i havent done and how many seconds are in the rest of your life. but why dont i just do it then?

I dont want to put on the mask and massage someones ego that became damaged because they didnt get invited to a party i want to fuck off into the distance and come back in 10 years almost black from the sun with a couple of kids in tow and stories that will last a life time; from the rest of the world i want a lover in every port and tale as long as the list of my conquests. Elephants in India and all the rest of it. Happy and Healthy and Free to do what the fuck i want

FREEDOM alludes me nothing can be achieved if im chained to my shallow and false attempt to conform and settle into the spirit drained bullshit that others grow to love, have you ever looked into the eyes of a grown man and asked him if he could pin point the minute he knew his dream had died and been swept up and thrown out like Tuesday's left over pasta that his wife makes every week without fail, he will look down and tell you that he was once like you, young and hungry for sex and adventure and the unattainable but he had to work to cover costs because hes just to sensible to run on nothing, that job turned into a career and 2 years down the line he meets the pasta cooking wife, he is led to believe shes the one because his mother doesnt protest and that fact that he knocked her up might help...then long after the kids have grown up and the pasta cooking wifes dead, some kid with itchy feet and an excuse to run will ask him that very question and do you know what he will say? he'll say; "Its been so long now i cant even remember what my dream was" and thats how he let it die. He forgot to dream, every night when he got home he had so many things to worry about that that amazing limbo between awake and asleep that time thats meant for dreaming was used to ponder his tax return and what colour tie he might wear to the managing directors dinner next Wednesday and who was going to baby sit for he 4 little soon to be disappointments.

The last train from London to brighton leaves at 1am ive missed it by hours but im making a start school is all ive got tethering me to the ground when i so badly want to run, the shackles are scalding into my skin but i know in my heart that soon i can be somewhere i truly want to be not fucking about pretending im happy because i dont have to fight for a remote or pretending im happy that the person i trust more then anyone else in the world is so far away and that im happy with the fact i cant touch her when i need reminding that im real and this world that spins slowly around us only exists in the here and now which is unfortunately where were trapped until people realise that were all going to die we will eternally be forced to Be born and then die.


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