You Have A Week

In truth, I have died a long time ago. This is me trying to exist, and failing. 

What news will my cold, hard body bring to you?
Nothing, really.

This is not surprising. I am not the only one who's succumbed to emptiness.
The black hole swallowing me, deep within.
Deeper than that.
But no new beginning awaits. No transition to a White Hole.

I am finally free of the fear I have from doing so : I am okay with the thought that I will be forgotten. That people will move on. 

I am here, I am alive - and yet I am nothing.
An overused word we often use.
You hear it so much, you forget how scary it is.
To feel an entirety of blackness, hollowness.
So vast, no one knows the depth, the width.

People will mourn me for awhile. But like everyone we lose, we learn how to deal with their absence. People will remember the good times, regret the bad.
People will look back on the could haves. The would haves.  The should haves.

Facebook posts and Tweets starting with "Abbie, I wish we..."

Truth is, I am scared of the physical pain. To feel the pain in my final hour might just be my only regret. To "feel" at the very last hour of my life. Heck.

I don't blame any of this on anyone. People around me have been giving me enough love and attention. 

But all this is bigger than that.
It's everything and nothing.
It is the wide space between the Earth, Sky. The Planets.
It is all this, contained in my tiny frame.

My soul must be set free.
It cannot hold this all in.
Not for long.



I would write about us, but what good would it do? 
Our story isn't news. It's happened before, many times. 
We'd just be misunderstood. We'd be labeled. We'd be criticised.

I would write about us, but what's it to you?
You are my entire book - a trilogy, maybe more.

I'm probably just a page in yours.
A chapter. 
A sentence.

I would write about us.
I would.

I have been.

I try and try to make it sound special - our story. But words are not adequate enough. I cannot make anyone else feel how my core shakes when you are in the room. How your kisses make me quiver. How your touch destroys and rebuilds me. 

I do not know how to share you.
I do not know how to describe your flaws and keep you as perfect as I see you.
I do not know how to describe the texture of your skin on mine.
The way your eyes close when we kiss, the taste of your tongue.

I would write about us.
I would.
I have been.


You Are Here

I would go down that road again, but I have successfully dragged my feet to the opposite direction for years.


I know, as soon as the bright red flashes before my eyes, as soon as the flesh cuts into two, I would regret it. All those years of struggling would go down the drain.

Climbing out of a hole on the Earth only to purposely fall back into it.

But this pain of feeling nothing... what could be more painful than this? The hollowness? 

I need to feel something.
I need to.



I am so tired of you all.
I am so tired of you making me happy and then making me feel like shit, then happy, then shitty.

I am so tired of you all.
I am so tired of you coming and going as you please.

I am so tired of you all.


Just As Long As I'm The Name

I know right? I mean who would even dare?

But I was bored. I need to invest in a better mic though. I mean if I'm gonna make a hobby out of this, I should at least do what I can to make myself sound better. I just used my phone's headset! But yeah... I love you Ari.


Lies = Truths

Nothing hurts more than having all the opportunities in the world to tell someone you love them - but you don't.

Because sometimes, telling people the truth will give you the exact same result of telling a lie.