I don't really write that much and I was so exhausted yesterday. But somehow, I found this. I never really write about what's going on around me because I usually use writing as an escape. It's pretty dark and you're welcome to read it. I don't know what I'm really going to do at this point, I just need some time to think. So here's something I guess!

here goes nothing

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It made me sick. The ache that lives in the bowels of your soul. Awake, never sleeping, at eight in the morning. Wood scratched my toes, creating minuscule splinters of the woes everyone held in their hearts. Soapy water ran over my dry hands as I cleaned every dish. Every cup. Every shot glass.

It started with the drinking, the laughter that bothered my ears. It was fake and designed on an artificial high. Driving through the dark streets with drunk girls laughing in my seats, not worried about their future. Not worried about their lives. Not listening to the words I said with patience and comfort. Instead, eating boxed sushi and powdered donuts I had spent my money on. Thanklessly.

Iced water clinked in my glass, shielding my burning nose and mouth. Minty death surrounded the air, suffocating and squeezing my insides. She said she hated cigarettes, yet they yellow her teeth as her lies dusted the mucky atmosphere.

The beginning was always the worst. I never spoke. I just waited for the complaining to stop. The endless droning of how drunk they wanted to be and weren't getting there. The ashes littered the ground, creating a milky film over the pool. I didn't bother to clear the blurriness from my glasses. They drink to take the pain away. Little do they know, they don't take it away. They just hand it over to their parole officer temporarily.

Next thing I know, I have a girl speaking in a fake country accent with a man cracking open beers in the back of my car. My cute car. Bags lined my eyes but no one cared. No one cared about safety or how their words, laced with spiked whipped cream, haunted me in my dreams. The wishes to be with the devil. The wishes to give away their bodies without a bow.

Outside again. My legs pulled up in the chair, cut up from holding people. He laid on the floor, two menthols hanging in his lips. Smoke squeezed my insides. It would've been better if I stopped breathing. If I leaned my head back, and turned blue. They wouldn't even notice. Her hands down his legs. Their exchange of jack and tequila.

Try drugs before you die, they said. Life's too short, they said. All I could think about was the reaper in the form of a pill. Staring into the endless pits of the abyss. They were in paradise in the presence of death. The more I listened, the more my stomach flipped. The tears of a suppressed emotion running down their faces.

I believe in ghosts, they said. I smiled and nodded, looking at the dancing skeletons in front of me. I remained in my chair, staring into the dirty pool in front of me. A hand resting on the greying dog beside me. I could hear the crunching of the soil between knees, crying and wailing. Drunk words of empty comfort. Words that she never meant. Words she never remembered.

It was numbing. He was laying down on the ground, his cigarette floating in the water. I sipped on water. My money circling the drain, the useless favors I had partaken in. The couch was my new home. Staring into a blank television. I listened to drunk murmurs as they went upstairs and slammed the bedroom. I hoped it was only the groaning of the house.

I need my call, she cried. She fought me like I was a prison guard. She never realized that it was the opposite. I couldn't wrestle the phone away, mocking laughters filling my head with hollowness. Hang up, I said to the devil's advocate. A mass of  scarlet glared at me, telling me to be quiet. Be silent.

Then, it was over. Noise died and the people in it. I scrubbed the floor, feeling the sweat build up on my forehead as I fought back the feeling to vomit as candied vodka stuck to my fingers. Unpainted. Untainted. Not like the red fingers that clawed at my legs and swiped at my hands, searching for the release.

A raccoon glared at me while I flicked at the lighter. In complete darkness, the sun almost peeking out from behind the trees. What should I do? What do I do? I flicked it over and over and over again, thinking of Kurt Cobain. Was he crazy? Was he tired?

I laid in bed, the ceiling fan cutting away the string holding together my sanity. I inhaled, knowing they all invited a demon to lay beside them. Maybe they weren't sinning. Maybe they knew how to find company. And why I felt my head lull in the morning.

It made me sick.

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thats all 4 today, I'll probably be over this spell by tomorrow.

xoxo, sigs