and i’m crying and the tears are dripping down my face and landing on the paper and i don’t even have the strength to wipe them away and so i let them pool on the table as i stare down at my own reflection in the glass and ponder just how twisted i have become because even as the world is collapsing to dust and it’s filling my lungs and choking and it’s getting hard to breathe but i can’t even find a reason to keep holding on so i just let go and i’m falling but i can’t even take a second to unfurl my wings and try to soar because the feathers are gone plucked bare and the shafts used as arrows against me and they sting against my skin and the skin is raw and red and i’m just falling spiraling down with no way of knowing which way is up or down and i’m waiting for the waves to consume me at any minute and take the pain away wrapping me in their tender embrace as they steal the breath from my throat and lull me to sleep my hair fanning around me as i sink down farther than i ever have before down to where the light doesn’t shine and not even the fish dare to go but i dare to go and the last thing i see before everything fades away is that same reflection in the glass hideous and rotten but i can’t look away and then it’s gone and i’m gone too

I'm not sure anyone would really want to know what goes on in my head for three whole minutes but I guess the people who are reading this are interested so here goes. I walked to work this morning which is a weird thing in this new world of ours. There are less people masked then when I walk to work during the week which I find interesting but there are still about 50 percent masked. I mask. It helps with my allergies. I'm not super worried about getting sick but I am worried about other people getting sick so I mask for them too. I am tired of homeschooling and I am so so so so so happy to get back into the office for a few hours every day even though I am annoyed that I was told my computer and phone would have to be returned if I didn't come off unemployment and come back to work but then I have an eight year old to homeschool so I can't work full time and do that. He's not that kind of eight year old. It takes us about 10 hours a day on average to get through our homeschooling. So we made a deal and I come in two hours a day during the week and five hours a day on the weekend days. I'm still on unemployment but I get to keep my devices. That's my time.

One-hundred and eighty seconds to write as much as I can. My time has been set and the seconds are ticking away.

Today is just another one of those Spring days, sun shining, a tad chilly, and excuse me for a second, have an itch ...

Okay, back. Pretty boring around here. No one to talk with (live that is).

Maybe, watch some news later on, check my email, play a little Slotomania (online game that's addictive).

Practicing my one-step since my two-step doesn't work so well right now. Sipping on some Pepsi and also trying to think what I'll post over the weekend.

Looking at the time I have 9 seconds left. So this means, bye!

all i want is to express my self in a healthy way, that also furfills all of my dreams and desires, is that too much to ask for?? really??? maybe, yes. maybe it is. i know that in real life I have to work for and at things i want to aspire to be, i know nothing is eazy so why do i expect it to be? i keep living in this wierd dreamworld that only consists of me imagining all of my potentiel being used for something, meanwhile all of the time when it doesn't, all of the time when it is wasted i blame myself for ruining my future and my life.

-- so this is really messy, filled with spelling errors and stuff, but pretty fun excercise none the less.

i’m scared i am slowly slipping away again. and this is not good timing but then again when is it ever good timing? we’re all just running without a second to breathe without a second to look at the flowers we’ve planted along the way but my garden is rotten and in its place are thorns. death when it is the most inviting smile i’ve seen in weeks. when i stare in the mirror i don’t smile anymore, not like i used to. and when i eat i don’t enjoy it, not like i used to. god, i used to not care. i used to not devote 90% of my mental space to how i look and what i eat and how much exercise to do and how to avoid going to restaurants that i can’t search up the calories for. i used to not care that i had hair on my legs and my arms. if i’m being honest i just deleted that sentence because i didn’t want to say it but it’s true. because i’m a human being and we grow hair in places women don’t in the movies, because life isn’t a fucking movie but sometimes i wish my story only lasted 2.5 hours because sometimes it’s just a little too much. every single time i think i’m finally doing better, my depression comes back. like she was sleeping under my bones waiting for me to remember what it felt like to be happy, to be alive, just to rip it all away. now i don’t feel anything anymore. again. i know i need to study for an exam on monday but i just can’t. i can’t do it because every day i do what i can and it’s still not enough, not even for the one person who was supposed to accept me. he says he loves me but i can see in his eyes it’s a lie. but i don’t say anything because i would rather settle for bruises and manipulation than be alone because i don’t think i could handle being any less lonely.

I am running from the pain

the pain left from you

you with your sickining sweet smile

and gleaming uncooked eyes

eyes that always made me wonder if you were truly thinking about me

me with the auburn hair, scared to leave your side

me with the freackled nose, scared to see what I'm like without you

me who looks nothing like this, wondering if I would be loved by you if I did

She has those things

She has the aburn hair and the freakled nose

and I have the wonder and the scared

And what to do with that is truly a perdicament

because you have always been in the back of my mind

so what if i let you go?

If i let you go what happens to me?

will I truly thrive on my own?

If I let you go what happens to me?

The pain of the spot that you left, too big,

too strong

to much

you are to much

you were always to much

for me

a me who wanted joy

and got pain instead

There is blood cascading in rivulets down my face and a part of me thinks it would make for a pretty picture if I could stop soaking it up for long enough to grab my camera- but I don't. As it continues to pour down my face, dripping down my throat when I tilt my head back I wonder how much more of this I can take. This is the third one today and the crimson tissues in my hands have stopped soaking it up.

It's splattering across the sink basin now. It looks almost beautiful as I turn the tap on, shoulders quivering with sobs and I wash the water down...

down.

down.

The water is pink now and I find it kind of pretty.

Y'know, pink was my favorite color when I was a kid.

I wanted to paint my room with it.

I'm glad mama stopped me.

Now all I think of when I see that color is watered down blood

spiraling- spiraling endlessly down that drain.

and I begin to think that I'm spiraling -just a little bit- too.

Three minutes seems like an infinite time when you're a child but the older you get the more you realize how quickly time flies. It used to take forever for Christmas to come. Christmas always brought home my dad. Nothing could ever top that gift. The tinsel. The lights. The glitter hanging from the tree and everywhere else. Somewhere along the line it seems to have all lost its shine. Everything seems to have lost its shine as I've gotten older. Nothing seems to glitter like I remember the tree glittering on Christmas morning. I can still remember the smell of tobacco on my dad's flannel shirt. A smell that forever makes me think of comfort and stability. I love to wrap myself in a flannel shirt on a cold day. It's like a hug from my father.

mysteries lie and they smell like firelight when they burn my skin they seep in my eyes. light that fire, let it lick flames against the hardwood floor where you buried us. we don’t belong here forever, do we ever? mindness, kindness, flowing rainbows of sin and lies, we were born here to die, don’t you understand?

this won’t end alone

dragging you down, i tell you, for the night bares down like teeth on spine, it spits and spins and likes to wear clothes made of feathers. we don’t watch it weep, it watches us.

goat milk on that far away field and the sheep skin wolf wearing father of the bride.

swim with us, you tell us but we’re too far away to hear

i smell blood in the water and it’s too late to move my feet

they’re stuck in the sand--that seaweed sand of so many inky nightmares

It's night, or near it. I never know quite when evening ends and night begins. 9pm is clearly night, and 4pm is clearly not. Though, 4pm is more afternoon than evening. 8pm is a weird, in between time. It's too late to be evening, most of the time. In the winter, it may as well be midnight. But on long, sultry summer days, evening lasts forever, and even 9pm isn't quite night.

It's spring now, though, not summer yet. Though some days the sun shines bright enough