The Freedom Revelation

It’s 2am and I am lying on the floor wearing your shirt. Blood now soaks through the cuffs and the collar is tear stained. I do not want a single vein left intact. My bruised limbs shake as I reach for the pills on the table. I swallow fourteen in total; simultaneously. I want to escape this place. I imagine myself floating away to a field of thornless roses I’ll call nirvana. I imagine you there with me. No. That’s what got me here in the first place. You are not part of the equation anymore. Why can’t I bring myself to accept that? I hear your favourite music drone on in the background and I melt into the sheets. The sheets turn crimson. I want to turn the room crimson. I want to drown in pools of my sickly blood. Words I wish you’d never said spin round my mind, haunting, stealing the breath from my starving mouth. The only thing I want is peace and for all the hurt, all the lies and all the betrayal to leave me for good. I feel fainter with each moment passed. I feel safer with each moment passed. I feel euphoric with each moment passed. I want blood to seep from my neck too. I want the canvas of my body to match my twisted insides. I see your face in every corner of the room but I’ve ran out of lungs to scream and tears to cry. I feel the carnivorous wind creep through the crack in the window and I feel it feast on my skin. I want it to take me with it; out the window and into the open sky. I wish to feel weightless as it does. I wish to feel free. Only one route to freedom now transpires like a revelation. A revelation I had avoided for so long. My fingers curl their way around the razor rested on my left thigh. They squeeze the blade to provide me with the relief I crave. Next, without a thought I tilt my next back, hold my breath, clench my fists….and I’m gone.

Trembling

She was beautiful in the mornings,
Fresh face, green eyes and messy hair.
She was beautiful at noon,
Excited and bursting particles of energy.
She was divine in the evenings,
Dressed up and in her prime.
But she was perfect in the evenings,
Trembling and all mine.

Life Motto's From Edinburgh

Drink more
Because in shy stature
Only then will you be honest

Talk less
Because revealing a corrupted mind
Is dangerous

Corruption is a curse
Curses can be powerful
Let it empower you


Death is an aim, not a boundary.

Nostalgia

After you left me there was silence at first. Just utter melancholy silence that numbed me to the core.

Soon after came the screams and the cries as I slept alone in our oversized bed, I wept and wept until I eventually found myself comfort in slumber. I tried to drown out the pain with gin and your cigarettes but it never left. After all the noise I succumbed myself to feelings of numbness to ease the pain the ached through my tender limbs. I kept myself numb with the music. The droning music you despised so much as I let myself drift away from this cruel place. I didn’t know what it was exactly to be alive but I knew that I lacked it. I was missing something crucial and I lay my despair in your pillow. Soon after that my clothes started to lack that distinctive smell of yours I relied on to keep me sane throughout the long nights, ripping from me the false security that you had never left. Sometimes I dreamt that you were merely a figure of my imagination I had invented to protect myself, maybe that would’ve been easier for us both. Then, of course were the terrifying doubts that kept me turning in my likely grave. Did you ever even love me? It was so fucking easy for you to leave. I let every single wall and boundary down for you, I gave you absolutely everything I possessed. I kept blood flowing through my veins just so I could keep you warm at night. Now my blood runs cold and for no-one. Now I am alone.

Eventually of course, it grew easier. Did it grow easier or did I merely grow stronger? I began to sleep as required. I began to taste food again and I started to enjoy things.  I laughed again in the daytimes reminiscent of the friendships I had given up in order to keep you satisfied. I still cried in the evenings, of course. I clutched your photograph and sobbed until I could feel no more. But I was okay.

Sometimes dark thoughts would enter my head as I romanticised my own funeral and dying with only one true love in my soul. It seemed perfect to me. I guess I just read far too many books but I truly did believe that you were it for me. The only love I’d ever know, I’d say, but I was so fucking young, and in youth I was revived. 

"It's Life And Only Life"

It was all about the drugs with him but I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I think I quite liked it because when I was in the deepest darkest depths of my depression drugs made everything better. I suppose I always knew he never really loved me, for he was incapable of love of course. His heart was made of cocaine. Sometimes I’d tell him that I was unable to have sex with him again because my feelings were too strong and his were too weak, he merely shrugged it off until I succumbed to his ego. I guess I feared more than anything that I may eventually lose him. I didn’t sleep for a second the nights we shared a bed, I watched him, terrified each breath would be his last. I wasn’t willing to give him up just yet though. I suppose he was condemned to believe he was done with this world at twenty five years old and a notoriously successful author. He had so much power. Maybe that contributed to how I loved him so, I’d always gone for figures of power because ideologies of control terrified me. I was a terrible example of a feminist. He condoned my reasoning behind persuasion for him to hold a long life. I told him he could get married. He told me I was the only woman he would spend forever with. I knew he lied but I provided him with the necessary encouragement that I would never leave his side and I hope it helped him through the harder days. He loved that I admired him and he was in love with the notion of love but he didn’t love me. I could see it in his eyes and feel it in his touch.

He had other girls of course while I remained faithful, I expected nothing else of the sort from him. I was in constant pain of hearing his stories of the other lovers but remained hopeful in the fact that he never loved them. He never loved anyone. I was his best friend though and nobody could take that away from me. I was closer to him than he ever let anyone and as much as I knew it was entirely for my own good that I walked away at the first given moment I couldn’t drag myself away. I was simply addicted to him. I waited and waited for him to tell me that it was over and we needed to stop seeing each other but he never did. We fought when he was sober and had the time of our lives when he was not. He was never sober, thankfully, so we indulged in our exteriorly perfect relationship. We attended art exhibitions, literature events and film premieres. I felt different on his arm in public. Noticed. He could have anybody he wanted and here I was. I wasn’t pretty but I was unique and people really seemed intrigued by me. I loved that more than anything.

The inevitable day happened two years later as our relationship grew cold. I moved onto better things. I had friends outside of his world now and I was unwilling to allow the continuous heartbreak and the cocaine fuelled redemption continue. It was far more than I myself could handle. Again, I was sure I was able to handle this far more easily than what came next. Alarms were raised firstly after a desperate sounding call from his slightly younger brother came to me. The words, “You need to see him” hit my soul hard.

I kept myself away however for another three days before that call in order to protect myself. I struggled seeing him when he was at his worst before and I was informed that this time it was even more fatal. Fatal was too much of an ideal word to have used for this. When I arrived at his doorstep out of spontaneity and nostalgia he didn’t answer my calls so I let myself in. Climbed all four flights of stairs and let myself into his bedroom. Our bedroom. I’m not even sure how to describe it anymore but it was futile for there he was, sprawled on his mattress, the perfect picture of innocence. Stone cold. He resembled a sleeping child.. Empty bottles of whiskey surrounded his corpse. I knew long before I even walked into the room this was the reality of it, however, I couldn’t even cry, I was merely numb. I rolled him over to reveal his face that had frothed at the mouth. I knew then more clearly than I’d ever known before that he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen and allowed myself the company of in my entire life. It’s almost as if perfection can only be achieved by destruction.