different days of waking up to the dark.

1. i guess it’s been a pretty long damn night. the dark is the only place I seem to find myself
or my writing anymore. it’s making me sick. it’s giving me that same pain in my head
that you get from trying to read a book with the lights off. it’s an exhausting drunkenness
and constant hangover all at the same time. it’s living not within or outside of the lines,
but not being able to see them in the first place-- not knowing if they were even there to
begin with.
2. i think the world may just be starting to wake up. i can hear the sun rising again. in the
light, i can see the pigeons flocking around the breadcrumbs of this little life that i have
left.
3. days have started running together, good and bad. or i guess it’s more like they’ve bled
into each other, coagulating into something like a bruise radiating out of the sky, which
has remained a very deep purple.
4. i’ve used a lot of this time in the dark to do some thinking. some thinking about me, some
thinking about trees and bees and being and being hurt. i’ve decided that we’re all no
more than side effects of one another. though bees have never hurt me, i’m sure at some
moment in my life i have hurt a bee, and trees can exist in both being and being hurt. i
think we all hold hands in our pain, as if it were sunlight to be bathed in. i think maybe
that’s what life is-- bathing in the pain.
5. i won’t hurt you, i won’t hurt you, i won’t hurt you. say it to me over and over again until
it means nothing to me anymore. say it to me until there’s no chance in hell that i’ll ever
believe it out of anyone’s mouth ever again. say it to me until there’s nothing left to say,
until we fall asleep and wake up to different skies in different beds.
6. i woke up from a dream about songs we used to sing together. they tasted like old dried
up leaves in my mouth, leftover from that cold autumn december. it’s now springtime and
i’m still throwing them up.
7. the dark was a murky green today, like if sea sickness was visible on the color spectrum. i
can’t seem to stop rocking the boat, and water is starting to flood in through the windows
of my room, leaving me with no room to breath.
8. i think my eyes are finally adjusting. i think someone finally told them that this darkness
is now the place that we call home. i think we’re all learning a little more each day about
how to see through the night.