|I'm not afraid of dying, pieces of me die all the time...
||[Nov. 28th, 2004|07:50 pm]
There will come a time. A time when I'll finally tell you off for all the pain you caused, to me and to those that love you. A time when I'll break down and serve you with the dose of reality that might wake you to the world you've created for yourself. A time when I'll be able to apologize for all the things I did to hurt you out of fear of admitting that I still loved you, for all the things I did out of fear of what would happen if I let you back in to my fortress of solitude, for all the things I did when I should've known it'd only make it harder for us both to move on because I didn't want to move on. A time when I'll stop letting my past failures kick me in the knees, when I'll step through that door and become a real person again. A time when everything I touch will reach up for the light and thrive for life. There will come a time when the words will pour forth from my mouth and woe to those who should hear them, for the bullet wounds will run deep and will leave scars that even time will turn it's back upon.
I'm afraid. Thoughts are making their way to words, making their way to paper. Keeping my forked tongue held captive behind clenched teeth becomes more difficult as the days pass. The skeletons are clamoring for a coming out party and the invitations just need to be dropped into the mail. Hydrogen-fueled weapons of mass disruption, just in time for the holiday season. I never did find out what kind of glue is good for putting back together a broken face, but I'm told that 40 days and 40 nights of drinking and self-medication can numb the pain. I'm no masochist, but I've never been one to need something to drive out the sting and I'm not about to start now.