Oldest and dearest

Last lecture's done. I stack my scattered notes,
fold up my beaten binder, close my book,
throw pencil, cracked with use, away. My coat's
slung on, then ragged bag. I turn to look
around the quickly emptied classroom where
I studied some, disrupted class a bit,
took piles of quizzes, toyed with frizzing hair,
all while I tried to listen. I admit
I haven't put the effort that I could,
or been the most exemplary student,
but it was fun, this place. I know I would
do nothing differently. I loose a pent
up sigh. It's over, now; all things must end.
I close a gentle door on school, my friend.

Broken

In my hands was a thing,
valued, but very unimportant.
I slackened my grip on slippery edges
and cracked the screen.
It's hard to see now, but I can use it.

In my hands was a possibility,
gleaming, but growing slowly.
I pushed too hard and scarred tender pride
and hurt his feelings.
We talk now, but it's not what it could have been.

In my hands was a life,
precious, but panting for air.
I poured too fast, surpassed its tiny appetite,
and drowned a kitten.
I still cry about it now, but it's dead.

In my hands was my time,
unformed, but unrelenting in its progress.
I let it go, was towed into chaotic ruin,
and wasted the years.
They seem pathetic now, but I can't get them back.

Not even trying.

Tingling fingers twisting up into my innards had me frantic to be staring anywhere but precisely where my eyes were glued, so it was a hopeless case. That was the last thing I needed today, just so you know.

Don't you know how hard I'm trying? Very hard, is my answer, if you bothered to ask. Though I'm really hoping you don't and won't.

You're not helping.

Longest convo ever

I am becoming one with this chair

she mused to herself

slipping into lethargy


I am melding with the metal and musty fabric

she yawned behind her lips

sinking into lassitude


I am fading into dusty browns and caustic brickish reds

she sighed long and quiet

seeping into lovely

nothing

a cry for help

ummmmmmm so i keep remembering things that make it about a hundred times worse.

i'm going to . . . pray some more.

(that is a quote, and i can't place it. help?)

Too transparent by half, but what can one do

I didn't think it would end this way. I think I'm getting worse at it, and I didn't know that was possible. I only managed two days. I had hoped it might last a bit longer, if I'm being honest, and though I rarely am about this sort of thing, this is an occasion for it. I began with nothing, so I've got nothing to lose. 

Actually, to take the cynic's perspective, I think I see improvement in my performance. Lying to myself has never been easier. I know what I want to hear and I say it louder and faster than the truth can squeak out a counterargument. The lie is what sticks. The lie is what ruins it. I write the lie on my mind with my own hand, and my pitiful heart believes its appealing deceit. Then I act the fool and there's an end.

Argh. This sucks.

Throwback

Will someone please punch me in the face?

I am begging anyone to punch some sense into me, because I have none. I ruin everything because I think too much, or maybe not enough, or just the perfect amount to smash to bits anything I am trying to keep balanced, fragile as it is.

It was a secret, she said.

There's another bubble burst, I replied.

Code accepted.

Self destruct sequence initiated.