i am unsure about what is to come
but one thing is for sure
I have to stop staring at the computer screen
eyes unfocused
feeling empty

the game

I want to create a game
and laminate each piece of my life
on little cards
these are my recurring themes

i never met a sunday that wasn't gloomy
a heavy gray depressing
the walls of my lungs, an iron band like
a yoke around my shoulders.
I never met a sunday that didn't bring
the sinking airless feeling
in the pit of my stomach
the way i feel when Mom opens the present
she put under the tree for herself.
I never met a sunday full of shine
and excited planning for the day to come
only sunday
of penitence, and waiting
for the refreshing monday to come

i grok

i feel as though i could break into a million pieces
right now, and it would be all right
each tiny silvery shard
a perfect likeness
a whole of me.
And as you smile, I know it
perfection
to cease to be here
and exist everywhere

the world keeps getting smaller.

song quotes

"'Cause when I looked into your eyes,
and you dared to stare right back
You should have said,
"Nice to meet you, I'm your other half" - Reliant K

"I am thinking it's a sign
That the freckles in our eyes
Are mirror images and when we kiss
They're perfectly aligned" - The Postal Service

the shower

this is how i fix myself:
a shower cleans my dirt
my guilt
erases the sadness
as tears are indistinguishable from water
and lying here everything
is warm, safe
here i am protected
and i lie in the tub with my ear pressed to the water
hot pins and needles on my bare feet
nothing moves, except the water
so ceaseless that time stands still
i cover my eyes, my nose
curled fingers against my lips.
I can no longer move
and breathing is no effort

until i tell myself to stop being
such a fucking pathetic piece of shit
and get out of the tub.
but the worst part is
that no one will come to save me
(No one ever, ever comes)
because they will never know
i needed them.
And if they did,
I would pretend everything is fine.
What have I to grieve for?
I am perfect.

and the cruelest trick of all
is that i was right all along.
I thought I'd outgrow those foolish fears
But you showed me I wasn't wrong
if there's a gene for happiness*
then i didn't get it.
Mom & dad, you might as well forget it
I was never really yours.

I tell myself It's as common as divorce
Stop the pity, stop the pain
But it's different because it's me
and like a child
I cry again

So I shall live my own life
if I can
it's so much better
to be free - alone again

Once upon a time

Eyes glittering, he lunged forward with an angry growl. His sweat-soaked hair whipped across his face as his fist shot out, catching me unprepared. I tried to sidestep, but despite his size, he was fast. His hard knuckles collided with my solar plexus, and the air rushed from my lungs. I cried out as I stumbled backwards, off balance, momentarily numbed by pain. But this was no time for defeat. I launched my counter- attack: a swift kick to his thigh, followed by another to the head. He pushed forward to catch my foot, but my kick connected with the rough skin of his cheek. I drew back to take advantage of my point with a kick right under his guard. But as I jumped, suddenly the world shifted, the ground spun out from under my feet and my body went horizontal, the mark of his heel burning against my collarbone.

I was out of the game for the rest of practice. I have been fighting Marcus for weeks, and I can never seem to beat him, no matter how hard I train. It's humiliating. My rank means I am supposed to have better technique than the new arrivals. Aching, I change my clothes and head out of the gym, avoiding the gazes of the others. I don't want to speak to anyone tonight. I think of the unopened book waiting for me on my nightstand, undoubtedly beginning with the words, "once upon a time." The world is a cruel place. It is not a place for stories. These stories are useful only as an escape from the bleak reality of the city. But no, perhaps this is the wrong place to start. There was a time when the world was full of stories.

My name is Aria. Perhaps my parents were fond of music, or they wished to name me after something hauntingly beautiful that would escape the mundane world of filth in which we live. But I doubt it. Beginning with "A," Aria was probably the first name my mother came across in the baby book.