LOVE IS THE DRUG!!!!!

It's been an opera. It was more than a opera. It was gore theater and I was the leading lady. I became obsessed with angels and ballerina's, things of grace and beauty after sonny and I broke up. I would cry about every fifteen minutes. I was a makeup nightmare. I wanted to be the swan in swan lake and flutter, crumple, and disappear.

Imagine this: your peaking. your in your youth. At the prime of your life. You've finally met someone. and your in love with him. You have a best friend. You have a soul-fucking-mate. And he's the best fuck that ever walked. And he wants to have babies. and what you want is babies. You've wanted to have a baby forever.

And he understands everything you say. and he completes your sentences. And he's lazy but he's spirtual. And he's not embarrased about praying. and he's not embarrased about god, jesus, none of it. He fucking thinks it's all kool. he wants to be enlightened. everything.

And there's even room for you to fix him, which you like, cause your a fixer-upper. He's perfect in almost every fucking way. The only fucking happiness you've ever had. And then he starts slamdancing with Mr. brownstone(herion)..and it all gets taken away from you...

He was in a coma for twenty hours and I was hysterical throughout. I mean, they had two tubes in his nose, two in his mouth, things coming out of every avaiable artery. They had to put the glucose through his neck that night. All of his life functions including pissing were done by a machine.

I mean, I seen him get really fucked up before, but I've never seen him almost eat it like that. And I knew that night as I layed with him praying he wouldn't leave me that I could never see him like that again..and that this would be the end of our story..I've been a zombie for eleven months now. For so long in my relationship and afterward. I've been in isolation, oblivious to everything but my darkest hedonism and darkest hours.

I have to start feeling my heart again. I'm finally returning to the land of agoraphobia trying to purge myself of my vitriol for every man that has hurt me in the past..I did lady macbeth..all right..now it's time to get back with the living....

MISSING HIM

Sychler Cates was not terribly nice to me. None of that matter, though. To me, he was dark and handsome and dangerous. Needless to say I had an enormous debilitating crush on him. When I was in the sixth grade I fell in love with a boy. The boy nobody could break. A boy strong and shining among a crowd. I watched him lean against the wall and smoke a ciggarette. When he lifted his head his eyes would fill my heart.

The boy had blue eyes as do I. His were far more striking. He dressed with style. He didn't dress to show off his wealth or beauty, though he had both. He dressed to show who he was. I danced with him once, on a rooftop. It was drizzly and cold. We climbed up there to smoke. I sat shivering and smoking. We waltzed above the skyline stumbling and giggling.

" Wear that to my funeral." He whispered. "you look beautiful." I felt beautiful. I promised I would, never believing I would have to. I talked to the boy one night. It smelled like spring that night. I crouched behind my house smoking.

The boy I loved wraps leather around his arm. His body tightens. His lips curl. The rush flows from the needle. I can feel it dancing, sweating inside him. The river is sex, climax, and ciggarette. His eyes glaze and then smile. The boy I loved died. He died with a spike in his arm, injecting venom into his body. He died alone. He closed those blue eyes and died. Poison killed him. He loved that evil potion that made him fly free.

I dreamed of the boy I loved. I was wearing a ball gown, with flowers entertwined in my hair, walking on a spring morning. I walked too far and fell in a blue lake. I am beautiful in my dream. I fell into the blue water. I opened my eyes as I suffocated. If only I could have saved the boy. If only I could have set him free.

I have always wanted to be free. Soaring, alone, without inhibitions. I tried to fly away from his funeral. It was classic-raining, hailing maybe. I drove up the hill, the boys house looming ahead of me. His house with the father inside. He got those blue eyes from his father.

I pulled up girl music playing behind me. I started walking. The boy said I looked beautiful in these clothes, these shoes. I was wet and cold and not pretty. I sat down and smoked a soggy ciggarette. I walked three miles, before I went to his house and looked into those eyes, his eyes, the father's eyes.

Then, I was alone. Alone was bliss. Alone was power. Alone was self-loathing, hatred. I had forgotten how to be with people. The world was spinning. My eyes burned red.

Summer comes. The air was fresh, but somehow bitter. I walked with flowers entertwined in my hair. I don't think the hurt had actually faded. I think probably I just forgot how it felt to be normal. I felt guilty when I laughed. The boy I love will never laugh again. It was summer, but I was cold.

Those eyes, his eyes, the father's eyes still haunt me. I suspect they always will. Over too many glasses of champagne and a pack of a ciggerettes, I made a resolution . I will be happy. I will not forget the boy I love. I will allow him to become the boy I loved once, a memory.

LOVE

I think love is the most beautiful thing in the world, and I don't give a fuck because I have no orginal ideas. I've seen a man jack off to a gap window display, so don't tell me that love isn't important.And maybe you didn't get that series of lines, that's okay. Most of them are subtext designed to impress people who know too much about art. All you need to listen to is the twelve percent which contain words like "fuck".

They say cupid loved "my so called life" and when the show was cancelled cupid cried and cried and cried and decided he was going to fuck up all of humanity, and this is why China has trouble with the birthrate and Arkansas rhymes with date rape and iraq is iraq, and the fat lipo-sucked out of california could be it's own island.

But this isn't about geography this is about love, the bane of my exsistence, the reason I hate Valentine's day and Halloween, which is about ghosts and I think you know where I'm going here. I'm going to the land of boyfriends of halloweens past, and maybe I only got three ghosts in this land, but this doesn't mean they don't bring their friends, who are the ghosts of boys who have rejected me, because boys rarely travel alone in this land. Sychler is from this land.

I used to kiss him while listening to the cure's " Just Like Heaven," now I don't see him anymore, so that song makes me sad, why must we associate music with our love lives? I'm not trying to be profound here, I'm just saying that music really takes me back, way back, And I can't explain the memory process involved in that, because I'm not a pychology major.

It's not fair. And love is not fair. And war is not fair. And I don't care what anyone has to say about any of that, I feel unloved. I'm sorry I need people to tell me I'm cool. I'm just that way. Aren't you? Am I the only one? I know that I can't be that misunderstood.

But you don't want to understand me! This is not the direction I wanted to take this. Honestly I just want to be in the arms of my true love, in a house, in a room, in a wonderful perfect world with our two children, but maybe I shouldn't have said this, Woody Allen taught us that Marriage is a death trap.I don't have any answers and I'm looking for help from anyone, because love has got me fucked up and dying, because I feel retarded without anyone to hold me, and that's sentimental, but what's wrong with sentimental? I just need love.

to self: fuck you! I'm okay!

you see I can't even decide what I need much less understand what I'm saying.