On depression

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wonder how I fell so far. How I became what became me. I think I was happier when I was more the liar, and more miserable now with the truth.

So I sat with my back to the stone pillar in the darkness. The moon just a sliver, and a bunch of paper bent against my chest, held there with my freezing hands. I thought that I had made myself with words, and that I was now damned with words. Words have become my own pleasure, the only meaningful things. From words I was born and words have become my prison. A few tears slipped from my staring eyes. The moon seemed to pulse.

I thought that I had two choices, and two alone. I could wait for something that might be my redemption, or I could strike a fuse to what might be and grasp something material. A dream with the promise of reality, or reality that may destroy the dream.

It all had to do with walking by Brett last night. Walking and not looking, just walking. He said something like, he liked to walk on the grass. Missed walking on the grass while he was here and it seemed he struck me with a blade. We said goodbye at the top of the stairs, the ones that part of me wanted to fall down today. I pushed my palm against my mouth, but that can't stop words. I said aloud "I can't wait for you. I won't wait for you" My eyes swam, but then I tossed my head and entered the building smiling.

I sleep and wake with one name pounding in my temples.

I dwell on what was. Home is always so cold, even in my memory.

When I was out there, alone my thoughts were nothing to anyone, not even me. They just were sucked up into the sky, such a dark blue. As I walked further it deepened, and I thought if you were here I could tell you so much. If you were here maybe I could let you see me. Because no one is allowed to see me are they, only the words, my blood. Trying to bleed the sickness out with words, but I think that only makes the illness spread. It isn't words I need is it? The words that gave release to me, and words that damned me. What I need is something else. But how can I begin to understand these things? I think I will just walk endlessly, until I reach a tunnel, filled with oily water. Like that tunnel I used to crawl through as a child with my little brother, when everything was still so amazing to me. Crawl through the rippled insides, the wetness invading the toes of my dirty sneakers.

I don't how I can make it feeling like this, Rising from the sea for a breath of air, only to sink again.

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About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Autumn published on October 20, 2001 10:13 PM.

Memories was the previous entry in this blog.

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