yellow

Always yellow light nowadays. I was somewhere. Leaving people. Goodbye. Coming down off a high. It was a path. Curved. To the end. So deep but I can't remember anything. A stable, for sure. Jessie. And cough suppressants. I was back. It was disneyland. One of those shooting ranges. I think the path and the stable may have been in the range. One of those beautiful cupcake stores. Grossly overpriced and well designed. We couldn't afford one.

This came to me last night, when I gazed upon those 27 pills, next to the pair of scissors I always lose and the small "shit to get done" notebook I keep. I thought I shouldn't. I reasoned it was harmless and better than sitting lonely in the room. I thought about Mike. And how I said I would stop myself. I thought of my goal to clean the room and my life.

AND I STILL TOOK THOSE FUCKING PILLS

I'd like to believe that my resolution yesterday, while I was lying naked in bed and thinking about the experience I was having, was real. That deciding I was better than that, was based on more than just this faulty sandcastle of meaning I've built injecting myself with your words as I fill my syringe with them. Now I'm sitting here with my knife in one hand needle in the other wondering what happened to my frisbee and my paintbrush. I would like to believe one day it will come from your lips and not this disease ridden needle. But then what will I be left with. Why can I never fear this question until I'm already ruined. I can't escape one prison until I've stepped into a new one.