Status: Working on it.
We All Fall Down
The before time
I couldn't blink, but I would have to now and then. I felt like I should cry. I tried to tell myself it was fine.
"This sucks," I would tell myself, "you can cry. You've had a shitty year."
I couldn't.
It was the feeling of wanting to puke, but only regret would come out. Every breath I took would be subject to my own contempt.
I would eye sharp objects, but not to kill myself. The real things that set me off were small; my computer would freeze and I would flip my desk. A shoe-string wouldn't fit through an aglet and I would just go postal on anything in my room, kicking and panting and trying to cry.
There were plenty of ways to die, I would think, without killing myself. I dreamed of jumping in front of a bullet to save Veronica, the sweet petite subtly cute blond, while a classmate was going postal on us, the student body. She would look down at me and say "Oh, Gerald, thank you" and we'd kiss before I'd die. The doctors would do everything to save the hero, but it wouldn't work. She would cry on me and never love another man.
I could get beat to death walking in the city. That one seemed nice because of all of the sympathy generated from that one. I just never knew how to get to the city.
I could drink and drink and drink, for ten years, and write the whole time. By the time I would be dead they would find all of my drunken masterpiece poems and I would be immortal- my writing prowess forever inspiring kids to drink and look at life differently.
I wouldn't kill myself though. I would drink and I smoked my cigarettes, but I was just sick. I would hear the bathtub and wish I could kill myself. I would listen to cars passing by, and wish that one would hit me. I would see a dog and hope that it would jump on me and rip my throat out.
some shit like that.
I didn't give enough of a fuck to die, though. I still cared about Veronica very much. she kept me going.
I would wake up and go to school and dream of her and wonder why she, of all people, was someone I couldn't speak with.
When I was prescribed Adderall I knew I could take it to get high so I did, and I fell in love. I stayed up for two days straight and then came down and took it two at a time before school every day from then on out. I fell into it so naturally you wouldn't believe it.
I wasn't so sick then.
I didn't want to die.
"This sucks," I would tell myself, "you can cry. You've had a shitty year."
I couldn't.
It was the feeling of wanting to puke, but only regret would come out. Every breath I took would be subject to my own contempt.
I would eye sharp objects, but not to kill myself. The real things that set me off were small; my computer would freeze and I would flip my desk. A shoe-string wouldn't fit through an aglet and I would just go postal on anything in my room, kicking and panting and trying to cry.
There were plenty of ways to die, I would think, without killing myself. I dreamed of jumping in front of a bullet to save Veronica, the sweet petite subtly cute blond, while a classmate was going postal on us, the student body. She would look down at me and say "Oh, Gerald, thank you" and we'd kiss before I'd die. The doctors would do everything to save the hero, but it wouldn't work. She would cry on me and never love another man.
I could get beat to death walking in the city. That one seemed nice because of all of the sympathy generated from that one. I just never knew how to get to the city.
I could drink and drink and drink, for ten years, and write the whole time. By the time I would be dead they would find all of my drunken masterpiece poems and I would be immortal- my writing prowess forever inspiring kids to drink and look at life differently.
I wouldn't kill myself though. I would drink and I smoked my cigarettes, but I was just sick. I would hear the bathtub and wish I could kill myself. I would listen to cars passing by, and wish that one would hit me. I would see a dog and hope that it would jump on me and rip my throat out.
some shit like that.
I didn't give enough of a fuck to die, though. I still cared about Veronica very much. she kept me going.
I would wake up and go to school and dream of her and wonder why she, of all people, was someone I couldn't speak with.
When I was prescribed Adderall I knew I could take it to get high so I did, and I fell in love. I stayed up for two days straight and then came down and took it two at a time before school every day from then on out. I fell into it so naturally you wouldn't believe it.
I wasn't so sick then.
I didn't want to die.