victims of changeonly a thin slat of light falls acrossthe darkened room to rest on a wallas lonely as i am, a wall that couldtell stories older than the blood in my body.i think of how we are just peoplewho organize their lives and lovesinto boxes of respective sizes, andyet these boxes hold more than ourmemories - they hold ourselves.in this room, so many things havehappened: a lost innocence, a lostvirginity, a lost sense of self.thoughi cannot help but remember how thisroom was just a futon and bunk-bedswhen we first met, i alsocannot help but realize that thisroom has cocooned and evolvedwith me, over time.in an attempt to rid you from where isleep, i switch beds.in an attempt to rid you from myself,i chance myself nightly.and though i cannot see anything inthe unlit cave i call my bedroom, ifind comfort in the ceiling, for that iswhere my memories, bad dreams, andfaith lie.
winterxxiii. weeks and days and hours of recovery were instantly undone when that songcame on the radio in the cab somewhere 20 minutes away from home and i sat there sobbingin the car and i could feel the taxi driver feeling awkward with this girl in the back soundinglike a humpback whale, but i didn't know how to stop. i cried while i handed him the(slightly soggy) change, and i cried up the stairs, into my room and onto the bed.all that progess, dissolved in the first 7 bars of a song.
apart.and I was sitting in the gutterafter trying for the fourth night in a rowto drown you along withall my other ghostsand the churchwas across the streetcross lit up high in the skyand it feltlike the completeopposite of salvation.it was 4amand with the neon blueshining in my eye linei realised i was alonei was utterly alonein the saddest way possible.