Less.

(I hear it. My internal I-pod flicks and shuffles and throws his voice at me like a 90 mile an hour fastball.)

Everything is a trap.Everything wants me dead.Everything is an illusion.

I really cannot handle it at all and I miss it more than I can say.

I pulled my entire little toenail out.One down,nine to go.

I played last night.Shaking alone under lights so bright that you could still see them falling like radiation once you closed your eyes.People liked it or else they were just being polite.I err on the side of polite. Its Sunday night. I’m home and it is late. I’m only writing because I don’t know what  else to do with myself anymore.My foot is throbbing.It came away easier than I thought it would. You said it was ugly.I remembered. It’s not anymore.

I took care of it.

I turn my computer on and off.I do not recognize myself on the screen.All facilities and talents fail.I can smell my own skin and breath and I can’t stand it.My Corpse,my machine  disgusts me and I treat myself with the science of calculated loss.To fish out the Slavic bones from beneath my fatally flawed flesh once again.

If my body can keep up with the hurt in my heart will one cancel the other out? Is that what happens? I dreamt last night of rolling the meaty vein nestled in the crook of you arm under my tounge.You threw your head back crucified upon desire and begged me to never stop.I wanted to tear the pulse out of you.To swallow you raw. I loved you so much I wanted to kill you.

You are gone so day by day I kill myself instead.

I hear static.It takes me more time than is socially acceptable to tune in when people are talking to me.Why are they talking to me? Fuck off.

Long ago I presented my scars to the one I loved.He was dismissive. I hung my head heavy with shame. I wanted to tell him how my shoulders itched when he kissed me,how the keloid marks filled with blood and bloomed.I thought that he of all people would understand the poetry of damage….

If I had a dollar for every time I was wrong I would be a motherfucking millionaire.

I still shower in the dark.

I’m being weird about food and motion. Less and faster, in that order. Its getting colder here. I will dig myself in for the winter.Its the longest I have spent in one place for years.I can’t pretend to care anymore. I work on my music and I cry and cry.My brother and his girlfriend told me I played good the last night. That my voice is strong and he couldn’t believe how much …well,it doesn’t matter,they were just being kind. Some of my other peers and hero’s were there as well and they expressed similar amazement.Made me realize after being in bands for most of my life that nobody actually realized that I can sing.

Kinda funny.

(But I could never sound as beautiful as I did when I belonged to you…)

So I’m starving myself out again.Weight renders me lame.Not fight ready and my antennas are picking up danger on the fast cooling air. I have nothing left in my solitary life but this.I have to keep my machine right. I may need to run.To fight.To flee. Or none of the above.I just want to be ready in case any calamity chooses to befall me.

And I have a feeling that it will.

I have to do rounds of the Dr’s this week. New referrals,check ups. I can’t fucking stand it. I stay up.I keep thinking that I am going to die in my sleep. That’s the new one. Dying in my fucking sleep.I guess it makes a nice change from the stabbing one.It’s driving me totally insane. I leave my will on my desk.In case you know? Not that I have much to leave to anyone. I feel bad because my roommate will be the one to find me,ect,ect .

It’s endless and to stop it,and it feels so real,I stay awake which leads to bad encounters with my psychiatrist who in turn gangs up on me with my physician who wants to drug me as I am aways in a heightened state of aggravation.

Peachy.

(“Michele,you cannot continue to exist in a heightened state of aggravation” Says the Dr,words weighted with the lead of disapproval

“And?”

“Well,have you been doing your breathing exercises?”

She moves too fast for him to stop her,she mutters over her should before the door slams.”I gotta go” )

I’m so fucking tired.I add up the numbers on the walls of the carriages of trains.If they are a 13 or a 6 I have to move or go home .7,9,and18 are all fortuitous and I will continue to my destination under their protection.I set my I-pod to shuffle. If I hear his voice the day is cancelled and the phone will remain unanswered. The Ramones are safe,at times depending on the track.The Descendants,Motorhead and Rose Tattoo can go either way. I don’t train or I over-train to the point of illness. I puke alot.

I have been pulling the hairs out of my legs with tweezers.One by one.This takes hours.I have hours.I have nothing but time.My left hand and forearm are now dilapidated as well.I attack my face for hours.Tug on my eyelashes till they come loose.I have an industrial needle in a shot-glass full of rubbing alcohol that I keep on my bedside table.  I run it beneath my gum-line and poke into my rotten teeth as I stare into the dark ,humming tunelessly.My blood tastes of iron,pennies and decay.Plasma and plaque cake my tongue and mouth.My spit, red laced ,stains my face and pillow.

The less of me the better. I dry brush my skin till it is raw. Exfoliate.Wash my hair over and over or don’t wash it at all. I want to disappear.I hate people.I want to stay away from humanity.Its in humanity’s favor if  I do.

My toe looks much nicer now.

Well,it will once the scab comes off.