john closed his eyes and turned his head away from me. you know, i can't believe it. i begin to roll a third joint, with fast and practiced motions, but they will never be fast enough to outrun this sinking feeling. i smoke as quickly as i dare to, lingering only on the sensation of smoke filling my lungs, holding it, savouring it. this is a feeling i will never let go of, no matter what else they try to take away from me. no buzz, no high, just a place where i can be inside and outside. i will surround myself in a cloud of smoke, a barrier, a wall. they will not get me. they will not take me away again. i can be whole while tearing myself apart.
i miss who everyone used to be. i miss seeing names inscribed in peoples' faces. i miss looking into eyes and reading their minds through them, or what they want me to think they're thinking, anyways.
alix, he cut himself in front of me. i've never seen it done so professionally before. it was a beautiful thing, although one i never want to see again. how do people do these things? where does this train of thought become valid, acceptable, whole and healthy? i feel the music in it, the sway of blood drops and the timing of the stroke.
i can see art everywhere i look, and it makes me want to cry.
i am looking at the world through the eyes of a girl named vanessa. don't crucify me just yet.
02:09 | Jun. 14, 2007