I am energy and that is all.
Energy feels good.
Atoms bouncing off of other atoms.

This morning I was called a drug again.
If I am the drug that makes addicts out of men,
then as the drug, what am I addicted to?

Being used? Roll me up and smoke me then.

But today I am running on just a little sleep, coffee, excedrin, coca cola.
And I can't speak.. Words are heavy and I want to cry.

My head hurts, I'm tired and I am a carefully standing still statue of composure with a maelstrom whirling inside.

Sun Manic Clouds Depressive
Wish sometimes I was still on meds.
Wishing to disappear. Wishing to run away.
Wishing for another chance at another life far away from this one.
Wishing for a farm somewhere I could escape to and write.
Wishing for a digital video camera so I could make digi movies.
Wishing for someone to tell me that there are psychadelic mushrooms for sale somewhere.
Wishing I could painlessly amputate.
Wishing I could find beautiful ankle strap sandals.
Wishing I could find a job that didn't break my spirit.
Wishing I could show someone all the faces of me and not have to hide what I think people can't handle.
Because you only hurt people when you tell them something about yourself that they will never be able to understand.

Fistful of pennies and a big ugly fountain next door with no water in it..
Can't find any dandelions or stars to wish on.

I feel self-destructive. I can't eat or sleep.
But no one knows that at home.
No one knows that at work.
Friends, family and Hugo are all safely reassured that I am fine.

Am I behaving oddly, I wonder?

My movements, my actions are calculated, methodical, perfunctory so as not to betray my turmoil.
Someone please drill a hole in my skull to let the steam out.

Or maybe I'd feel better after a good bleeding?
Oh wait, that's next week.