Thursday, March 30, 2006

The second time you saved my life

The second time you saved my life, it wasn’t as romantic. On the 2nd anniversary of my suicide attempt, you held my face in your hands and told me, “I know what today is and I am so happy you are here.” You then kissed away my tears. Two months later, you wouldn’t even acknowledge my existence. You cut me off with no notice, no explanation. I had called asking you for help. I was sinking, the voices were getting louder, I was plotting again. And you forgot to meet me. And then, you stopped talking to me, stopped calling, stopped everything. And it saved my life. I was a mess. I didn’t know what to do with myself, but I was damned if I was going to have you at all linked to my impending destruction. Nights were the hardest. In two years, hardly a night had gone by when I went to bed without talking to you. The silence was brutal. But being in public was worse because we kept up some sort of appearance. We would stand near each other and not speak. Once, on the street, you kissed my cheek so that your friends didn’t suspect anything. I was a mess. I didn’t know what to do with my anger, my disbelief and my anxiety. I started running to try and channel the energy. And every day, I got a little stronger. But, I loved you just the same. It would be a few months before you actually spoke to me. It was late; we were drunk and alone outside of a party. You said, “I care about you, you know. Funny that I actually care about something.” And with that, you slipped inside. It would be another two years before we actually talked again. Another year before we could call it friendship. The day I knew that I was no longer suicidal, that things had changed within my brain, I called you. And even though I didn’t say it, you knew. I haven’t seen you in two years now, or talked to you in one. But I still love you just the same.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006


the creatures

Slide over here, listen to me
Rippling wordstreams to unlock dreams
Take up the slack... loosen these bonds
Unzip and undo, untie my tongue


It’s sucking out bones through a melting phone
In a whispering eddy, I am undone


Turning to liquid, starting to float
Everything’s easy from now on


Unhook and unhinge in a river of dreams
Rippling wordstreams unraveling
Uncork the wine let’s toast the unborn
It’s my unbirthday, untied and undone

Unwrap this gift in a state of undress
The future’s uncertain, nothing less


Tuesday, March 21, 2006

The first time you saved my life

I am amazed that you asked me to go out after work for drinks. We hardly ever talked to one another. Oh, and I had just gotten out of a mental hospital after a few days in a coma. 150 pills can do that. Yet, I didn't think your motives were disingenuous and I agreed. Most of my close friends were still away at college, getting ready to graduate, and they needed a break from me. This wasn't the first time I put them through this. I missed them and I needed to be with people. We met others from work and I was both happy to escape my current reality of having had to move back in with my parents, but also terrified at the prospect of spending an evening as the sideshow freak. Yet, you made it seem ok. You. With your tattoos and piercings and “fuck you" attitude. I think the first thing you ever told me was that you were a dick and people should deal with it. And yet, you brought me to this bar and made sure to keep an eye out for me. You got me drinks and continually asked if I was ok. I didn't know you, but I loved you. And I felt like more than anyone else in my world, I wanted to explain to you. Because I knew then, as much as I still know now, that you understood me. Finally, toward the end of the night, we sat at a table. You reached across and grabbed my hands. I started to speak, and then to cry. You told me I didn'’t need to talk, you knew and it was ok. You walked me to the bus, when I was ready to leave. You waited to make sure I was safe. You. With your tattoos and piercings and “fuck you" attitude. The rest of that summer, you were my escort. We went to bars and parties together. When I reached the point of overwhelmed, you appeared, grabbed my hand and told people that we needed to go. You waited for buses with me, walked me to another friend'’s house, or let me sleep in your bed, while you slept on the couch. You kept me going when I really wanted to stop. You saved my life that summer, more so than the paramedics. You. With your tattoos and piercings and
“fuck you" attitude.