being on the drip

just cause you mean it just cause you feel it

does not mean its true doesnt mean its there

my heartstrings trip over a stunning and crafty rock resulting in a dozen stitches or so. i don't mind the temporary pains. you have to feel life to truly live it right? well, i'm living it alright. alone never felt like this before. it was actually something i could enjoy in the past. now, being alone can only remind me of where i would like to be and who i would like to be with. tripping over that rock has blossomed a blistering fever inside of me that only more crashings can cure. just a light taste of the Good Stuff and i am left in such a state of crap. i tell people i am ok with being alone and i believe the lie when i am saying it to them. why can't i believe it now? i've dealth with time all my life so please don't even think of saying time is the best medicine. fuck you. sorry. time is my methadone and i am done being on the drip; it only makes me want to get back to morphine that much sooner. if you have already thought of time being the best medicine, then i forgive you. its natural to speak comforting words that have no meaning behind them when you have nothing else to say. you know, i am such a fatalistic bastard too (thanks Em, my self realization classes only took ten years to pass). i see something i want and expect to get it within a reasonable time. time again. my reasonable time is rightfuckingnow. i'm not really that impatient but i can be quiet contradicting. call me what you like just don't leave me alone right now. where are my post-its? do you know how good i was doing in my post-it period? really fucking good. i was working, surviving severe heartache, taking care of Bella, and writing instead of sleeping. i was alone then, literally then, figuratively now. life was ok. i was healing at a normal speed. post-its are another vessel of mine obviously. i'm writing now with no real success, the words don't help anyone else. not dealing with reality is a hobby. writing is just another drug of escape. i need more than a minor occurence this time. i need a rock to trip over and never rise from again. the romance has died. it is too short-lived to even want to write about any longer. i cast it aside but will return as I always do. what would i do with it? i am an addict.

what makes you ok with being alone?
what makes having good friends enough?
how do you do it by yourself so well; is it real?
you make me sick.