i live in a tiny day of regret
i go through different planets of it
cycling through
thoughts of that look on your face, turned to me on the couch
seeking my eyes
of the way that you could kiss me
the way that you held my face in your hands
the things you said
then i move to the place where
i wonder what i did
where i
tear myself to shreds
where i
can really beat myself into the ground
for losing something so big
then i reluctantly
slowly
turn to all the pain you put me through
slowly look at it like
a tragic economy

a misguided pamphlet
that none of this is worth it for me
not one single second more
that i should be glad to never see you again
that i should be rough with you
that i should be rude to you
but i can't.
the call comes to head to your house
and for whatever reason, I go.
and whatever i am expecting
i guess i never saw myself act like a dog before
i guess i never was unable to look someone in the eye
i guess i never felt so shifty-eyed
can you see what you did to me?
i came over to show you my stability
to show that i will always be in love with you
no matter how you push me away
to show you that i can be nice
that i can be normal
whatever the insanity
whatever the natural disaster
whatever the fire/crisis/bullshit/neglect
and what did i show you?
that i couldn't even look you in the face.
that i couldn't even look you in the face.

Whilst the entire rest of the world of domesticity, of normal life, inter-human relational fucked-upness, or even this whole tiny expanse of population is asleep in their beds, or drinking with friends, or buying stuff for a trip, or inebriated in some way, I am here, dancing with depression, dancing with my head, poisoning my pets with smoke and pretending to be talking to someone who's listening, burning my throat with tobacco (or wandering through wal-mart, gleaning whatever small diamonds of burning life i can from elle magazine and drew barrymore's distant galaxy of life). I'm thinking of proust, pretending to be a writer, pretending to think of myself, pretending to get myself back from this year of drinking and non-thought, pretending that all of this (this tea-drinking, this distraction, this isolation, this reaching out to tiny relationships in a bay of internet waves) is going to get me somewhere. Pretending that going farther into myself will somehow let me into someone's life, pretending that this ritualistic egotistical static soul-searching secrecy will somehow lead me back to intimacy, pretending that I will ever be jesus enough to have a real relationship, to be a part of someone's life. I pretend that I need to keep myself away from my sister because I smell like cigarettes and she can't see me depressed, she can't see my thoughts, or else I will ruin her. I pretend that all this selfish bullshit is going to make me okay enough to be around her in a week, every night. That staying up late at night and obsessing over myself won't turn me into a nasty Charles Bukowski late night superstar who growls in the morning and can't give enough of itself to actually love another person. I'm pretending that in a week I will be able to mix the two, that I will be able to be honest and kind and giving and committed when I'm in love with my burnt hideous insides, when the only person I want to think about is my work, my something outside of myself that is me. That my greatness will blossom and shower from all this external extopia, from all this non-interpersonal dealings. That I can be in love with a computer screen glow on my face and the picture of my face in the window sill, deep in scared shitless thought; deep, deep living in anything other than a human being. Ah well. At least I'm temporarily without cigarettes stuck to my acidic lip. At least I haven't thought about Andrew Ross for a whole ten minutes. At least I will be in a good mood at work tomorrow.
What is it that they made for us? They tell you to work and be good for your family, and then they tell you to be there for your family, and how are we supposed to do all this? How am I supposed to be happy at work and at home? How am I supposed to love people who will hurt me, withdraw, make me empty, make me not want to eat?
Today I ate a smoothie. Some fruit, a package of crackers, and a serving of goldfish. But that's just how much I pussied out today. Someday, I will eat again. Someday, or maybe not, I will stop constantly thinking of ways to distract myself from myself, and I will bask in the versimilitudinous shadow of people in my life. I won't think of myself at all. Someday I will have an appetite for banquets of savory fats and animal hide.

and now its 3am
and look where you've gotten yourself.
into another man's bed
who won't just hold you in his arms
and now you're twenty three
and look where its gotten you
you are sitting up
glass=ashtray
the birds are chirping
head pounding with nicotine
blue and white comforter
wrapped around you and your tiny computer screen
your glowing light of nothing
shining on your face
bargaining for time with a
fucking asshole
bargaining for just time
with someone who doesn't want you
for anything but sex
and now not even that
bargaining on one iota of maybe
on feeling like nothing
just one more time
kara brick is lost
think back to the last time you were happy
how many years ago was that
how many times have you
done this
depression narcotic cigarette late night
puppy dog face pity big earrings beautiful angry authority
procrastination failure loser worthless
worthless
worthless
how many ways
how many
boys classes jobs songs blowjobs idiot pains cigarette boxes
lost in something
that won't even make you happy
lost in bullshit
and people that don't even care
i quit eating
until i am so hungry i can't even think of anything else
then i smoke a cigarette
what else?
did it all begin with chris?
wouldn't it be easy to think so?
but
it didn't
it began with letting yourself be the other woman
and then someone fucked with your head
until you almost died.
why would you
get drunk and try to kill yourself
why would you
lie to me
why would you
tell me that I was amazing,
why would you ask
why you liked me so much
and touch my face
and then stop calling me
why
why
why
is it because
i slutted out too fast
because i slept with you
is it because
you are retarded
is it because
i am not worth your
time/money/drunk sex/couch space/respect
is it because i can't stop shaking
is it because i can't stop thinking
about you
is it because i cannot get my goddamn act together
because i am angry at everything
because i require justice and cigarettes
because i require apologies and communication
and no bullshit?
will i be able to survive in the world
in a relationship
in a marriage
in a future
with no bullshit tolerance?
am i too much of a hardass?
is this all me?
you made me doubt myself
you motherfucker
and now here i am
still going over it in my head
twenty three years old
and up at four in the morning
putting together pieces of what other people have a hold of
will i spend my life
piecing together concepts
cut/paste relationships
substitution recipes
never asleep soundly next to someone
never trusting, never feeling that feeling
is this it?
this cycle of okay then depressed then manic then angry then crazy
better not be it.

there is always a promise of pain
they will always get you in the end
so don't go thinking
don't go holding out for some perfection
for some flawlessness
because even if its good for a while
expect the pain
expect life
expect milk and honey
expect deep drowning

1) I show great dedication to my work and to this group.
2) I value my family, and love them.
3) I'm loyal.
4) I'm mature.
5) I take care of the people that I love.
6) Honestly, I'm too good for all of this, and to avoid further madness, I should just stay away, stay the hell away from him, which will be easy, for the most part. Its the sleeping part, the feeling of something being taken away, thats the part that I don't know if I can handle. I have taken all necessary precautions, I have deleted all evidence in my phone. I have planned to go to meetings, I have planned to speak up. I have spoken up. I have felt better, temporarily. I have told myself that this is not the last time I will feel this way, and that hopefully next time it will be for someone who actually means it when they say that I am flawless, that I am exactly what they are looking for, someone who kisses me like that.
7) The problem is that part of me feels that, in spite of the above, it won't happen again. I will not feel this way for someone for another 6 or 7 years, that it will be fuck and run until I'm so empty and shallow that I won't be able to stand myself anymore. Part of me feels that I don't deserve even the torture that I have gotten, and that I should take whatever pain comes along with it, take it, as the price for being with someone who makes me feel worth something in the first place.
8) That is so silly, obviously. I shouldn't be with someone who doesn't make me feel like the lowliest piece of shit on the planet because that person sometimes, in the recent past even, makes me feel special.
9) I don't remember what nine was, but
10) I guess I just don't have faith in myself or the people in my life to fill that nasty hole inside of me. I guess I'm scared that I will continue to feel this horrid emptiness for months. Who's to say? If I'm crying everynight over some asshole I met three weeks ago maybe I'm more of a weakling than I thought. Bluh.

well i drove by all the places
acting like i was columboed all aces
so have fun with your weed and your needs
and your news feeds and i'll just be
sitting on the couch trying to find something besides all that weak shit
you put on me like a reeking fit of kamikaze pizza
and wanted to know if you seen her
if you been with her
if you lean her
over the tabletop until you pop
now don't stop just tell me the truth
i don't want no lines just spit a couple lies
like a couch and splatter
see the whole plate shatter when i hit you with wednesday and thursday
like you care
like you'll even be there
but thank god if you won't
thank god if I don't
break open on friday and leave you covered in me
thank god if i can get away from all this
if i can escape all this and that and bullshit
this and that with my escape routes and shit
why do i always love the psychos

I'm trying so hard to be strong about it, strong to be hard about it, to know that I can want what I want until I'm done wanting it, that it will pass but its hard. its hurting. i don't know why its so bad. I don't know why i fell so hard for him. i don't know. i don't know if i can even see him tomorrow. i don't know if i can do anything. i can hardly keep myself from texting him right now a bunch of bullshit about how nobody's perfect but i just want him in my life. which is true. it doesn't need to be said, and i wish i could just get back to feeling okay with being along but suddenly my entire being is consumed in feeling like the only point to all this is something real like that, something like when i was near him, something like him, something frenzied to the point of madness. something stupid. i just want him. and i want him to know that i want him, and i keep coming down harder and harder on me and syd's words are running through my head like a slow sad song, people do what they want, so he must not want me. the thought that he doesn't want me is the worst one; i can go on thinking about everything relatively painlessly, desire is less painful than rejection, self-denial is easier than denial, superiority is more conceited than the nastiness of inferiority.