Turn Out The Lights

Last night boys and girls we discussed how my life is sometimes a great show that I put on, with some nagging true behind it. Tonight, I'm running on stage and sending everyone home. Piss off, no show tonight. I gonna sit in the middle of the stage, drink, cry, howl and smoke, on the black painted flatness of the desolate stage. I'd been doing so well, too. I mean you could see the little cracks under the pancake make-up if you got close enough, not that I let too many people get that close, but they were there. No one saw them because I was smiling all the time, my mask, like my fake glasses to hide my unpretty nose.

So, what sent me spiraling in to the swinging door of depressions raving pity party today? I could so easily play the victim. Honestly, I want to, it would be easy. For the regular readership, it's pretty plain already that I live in these idealized dream worlds of fairness and romance that DON'T EXIST. There is no such place, no such time, it doesn't happen. People don't fall in love with you just because you try harder, are tenacious, persistent, and steadfast. They see it as annoying or comforting in the fact that you are on their hook because they get something they need from you.

They don't love me, but I felt content to give, to be there wrapped in a blanket of denial and fantasy about it. I get it. In rare moments of clarity I feel the pain of this thing I have created. But, Wonderland is full of bad things that I think are pretty. Stinging flowers, poisoned chocolates, green grass made of stick pins. I put my hands over my eyes and pretend. I hide at windows, watching things unfold that hurt me and prepare how I should look and turn away pretty so that no one knows I die in pieces, turning off those quadrants of my brain in order to not feel it at all. Learn to cry quietly and to tell people that I don't do it at all.

My chest just aches. People say heartache is metaphor, but I've managed to manifest it somehow...heavy and aching, burning the back of my throat and knotting my neck up. I shouldn't take it so hard when I knew it was coming. That's the lesson on this one. Stop telling people you love them until they say it first --then you know you're safe. Stop caring and simply function. Putting ones heart out is ridiculous, especially when mine is so broken and beat-up. Who would want that old piece of crap anyway, it can't even keep a beat. The new show will be "Pretend We Don't Care: The Saga of Superwoman or Sadly Alone Girl". It's gonna be good, I've been rehearsing.

So, tonight I am claiming the word 'defective', it's an unhealthy four characteristic, but I don't give a shit. I have been working tirelessly to try and 'fix' me for so damn long. Tonight, I don't care about getting back up, fighting harder, I'm just gonna lay down here on the flat black, come up with a plan and play opossum. I was fine before, without either of them....I'll be fine. Time marches on so maybe I just sit here and watch the parade for a while, smoking my 50th cigarette and cataloguing all the things I regret, but say I don't regret. I'll tell you a little secret, the list is lengthy, but it seems like I have the time.