february 2005

Jesse laying on the couch
like a little ball of fear
and his face is like nothing
like he has absolutely disappeared
and you scream and you fight and you yell about something that isn't right
but it doesn't help you three years later when you're still crying in your bed trying to catch your breath.
You don't feel like a hero then, do you?
Nope. and what do you have to show for it? You are nothing.
You haven't felt a goddamn thing since February 2005 and there's no hope in sight
no stable little family life at the dinner table
there's still too much shit to deal with in the light of day to even get any sleep over your failed adolescent performance
the third act
the prestige is all rotten.
But its okay. We don't have to feel anything anyway.
You have just been a bad actress all these years.
The problem is I go between wanting to spend my life in France, planning it all out in the day, to all my suicidal thoughts at night. And people always ask me,
How did you come out all right?
Well, I didn't.
I can't feel anything folks.
I can't feel anything except when writing about february 2005.
You know, they always say suicide is a cry for help, but when I think of it, all I can imagine is the sweet excellence of nothingness. Absolute escape.