I need a drink of something beautiful. A cocktail of inspired loveliness, a glass of brimming breathlessness, a shot of pure aesthetic bliss. My heart has grown hollow and is choking on fading echoes of hope and guilt and panic and pain. I don't know what to do, I don't know how to make this awful feeling stop. My breaths are fraying like rags on the gasps of my inhales and shimmering like rippled reflections on the shaking of my exhales. It doesn't have to make sense, there's no necessary coherence, no tradition of wordplay in poetry. I want that piercing strike of the violin to stroke my soul, I need the fine hairs of the bow to tickle my lips as they drag their seduction over me. I read and reread all these words, from fresh to fading, falling backwards through time like I can erase all the bad back until the times when I believed it would all be ok. I've never been this terrified for myself. And it comes at a time when it all seems it might finally be ok. I actually went crazy, I snapped for real and finally lost my grasp on what was real. Maybe it's just a matter of time. Will I miss me when I'm gone? I'm reeling from embarrassment and guilt and horror and naked fear. What do they really think of me? Do they believe I am who I am or I am who I am when I get to that state? What have I done that I'll never remember? I wish I could change the world and rid this lifestyle of its tantalizing desire. And yet I know I'll get over it and in a few weeks it will happen again. Mark my words it will be the death of me or someone I love. Or even a stranger, tragedy marks us all the same. Does anyone in this fucking world know what they hell they are doing? Cause I sure as hell don't. I want to go home but if home is where the heart is then I'm screwed because my heart is shattered and shamed and hiding and now I'll never find it or home again. I just want to leave, want to run, want to make it all stop but anywhere I run to will be the same. I want someone to hug me and make me feel better and tell me it will all be ok, but there's no one at all to help. My friends are all to far to want to help me without obligation or regret. I can't tell my family because I can't tell them how bad I am or my mother will have a breakdown worse than mine and my dad will lose the last bit of respect he's holding out for me. And now there's him but he's too new to care, to fresh to burden, to unstable to startle away. He doesn't know me at all, perhaps when he really will he'll run like so many others. I thought I could write myself down, soothe myself with the twisting of these words, maybe prick my heart back to giddiness over this new flirtation. But it's spiraled me lower, frightened me more, drained me of my last flicker of resolve. Snap me down to my base and when there's nothing left perhaps I'll sit down, sigh, close my eyes and release. When it's just me, and the noise and the pain and the regret and the fear subside well then, perhaps then I'll be able to get up, dust myself off, and move along. So ok, this is me, shutting out the world, wrapping myself up in the arms of the truth of my utter aloneness, shielding my heart and standing up. I'll brush myself off, kiss the silence goodnight, and walk away into the blackness. Tomorrow is always another day. Take 9,411...roughly. It's funny, I remember crystal clearly the moment when driving home from my brother's wedding I was deliriously happy for him and for life and the world and my future. I remember thinking I've never felt so happy and good and that I hoped nothing bad would come and take it's place in the name of karmic balance. I should have knocked on wood. Stupid me.