Plan B

I've got plan B and ciggarettes in my top drawer. 

The smell of alcohol on my breath..

drugs running through my veins; with no throughts running through my head.  Paranoia setting in.

The feel of death cold on my heart. 

Naked images in my mind...the feeling of cum inside. 

Lust is gripping holding tight. 

My heart beats fast as emotions rage, feelings surge, thoughts release.

I light a candel by my bed. Listen to a sad song as I hang my head. 

I try to cry, but nothing comes.  My tears run dry.

I have no soul, no emotions to spill. No cheap movie thrills.

Nothing to save me from the me inside.  Nothing can hide me from my own eyes.

I'm naked in front of a mirror.  I look myself over before I turn to slip away.

A flash of a naked man.  His throbbing dick, his hard calloused hands.

He's vulnerable then, just for a moment.  I step in and take the lead.

I'm vulnerable too, but I certainly can't show it.

I'm dying inside I cry all the time.

My heart is an anchor; it sinks to the bottom of the deapths.

Old friends come to mind.... Old times remenice through the waves.

The problems, the up's, every low, single high's..

Spinning a circle, a web for my thoughts.  They twist and they tangle as I sit here alone.

Alone in my mind; alone in my soul.

My body is tired, but it longs for a touch.  Someone's. Anyone's. Preferably his...  He can't, he's away.  He ceasts to exhist.  If I dug a hole through the world I might get to see him...just a for a bit.

To touch touch, to taste, to smell.  My senses alive, each at thier peak.

Uninhibitted, uncontrolled.  Free to extend to every part.

I listen to the beating of my own heart.

I feel it thump inside my cheast; a hand held close to my breast.

A blank stare on my face.

I'm alive.  At least I'm still alive.

I should be dead...a thousand times over I know.

But I did die...many deaths through this span called life.

Death in life.

Life without death is not life at all....

But death has it's grip.  It's cold and it's hard, it chokes from within.

It never lets go or gives in.

A pointless battle, an endless fight...it drowns on in circles as we pray to win.

But death is stronger, and stronger still.  No man can stand against it in his own sheer will. So why try to fight it? the question i ask...

I ask myself, as I look in the mirror.

A cut.  I bleed.

In facination I watch, as the blood trickles down.  Down my chest to my stomach and down to my clit.

The warmth of it tingles the senses of my skin.

I bask in it's pleasure, but just for a moment.

I realize I'm hurt.  I'm bleeding from within.  Somehow it has escaped through my skin; through the razor in my hand.

But I had to let it out. I had to let it go. Released from it's prison to freely flow.

What I sight I am in my own eyes.  Disgusting, and bleeding, and fucked.

I can't bear to look any longer.  I leave, this time for real, for good, forever and permanent.

I look at my clothes in a pile on the floor...just a puddle of me; of what I once was.  And I feel like that's me, for real....and for fake.

A hollow shadow, and empty shell.  A mangled little pile of thigs called my life.

Little memories; all my actions; every arrow from my past.  Every demon I've tried to forget...

It lies there staring at me through the holes in my clothes.  They bear the secrets of the soul locked inside.

I'll decide to pick them up, mechanically entering one foot after another.

The buckle of my belt cold on my bloody skin...

I forgot to clean myself off! To hide all the evidence ; to hide all the pain...

How could I forget!!?? I never forget!

Myself is not me and this depresses me too.

I can't even be fucked in the right fucking way!  I can't mess up a mess up... but I can and i did.

I grab the towel hung carelessly on the dorr and begin to scrub the now drying blood. "iIt won't come off!", I scream to myself inside.  I'll rub harder till my skin is burnt raw.

It doesn't really matter.  I don't really care.

My throat is parched and my tongue needs a drink.  Immediately dirty thoughts come to my mind.

Quench my thirst with his cum. Shove his dick down my throat till I gag and I choke, and I can't hardly breathe... "But who cares?", I think to myself....

Shaking my head, I finnish to dress.  I walk out the door and peer down the hall. No one's there.  No signs of life nor exhistance.  But I know it is there.  It must be.  It is.

I decide not to care, to be brave, to walk on....so I do.  My thoughts in a jumble, but so on a roll..there's no turning back or stopping. No disappearing.  If I die now who would write? 

I think to myself to come to the facts.. I'm sitting here writing as this pen flows my thoughts and my words.  Words that are first to come to mind...to settle...to drag onto paper...to stop at no end.  There's no sign.

The drink in my blood...in my system, in my veins... It want's to come out, to release.  I slouch to the bathroom, blood stains on my shirt, on my jeans, a drop on my shoe.  I made sure not to get any on the carpet.  I was tidy and clean.  What a twisted way to think of the thing I just did.  But it's twisted in itself...so that's all that remains.

That's all that will be.  That's all that can come.

My eyes are now clowdy; my vision is blurred.

I crave a cigarette in my mouth; the smoke in my lungs...poisoning me deep.

Once again, "who cares?', is all I can say.

A wieght in my head...I call it my brain...my thoughts...a headache, a never ending pain.

My eyelids are strapped to a cinder block too.  As I sit in one spot for too long they begin to fall.  Where will I go, except straight to hell?  I can't go there.  Not now.  Not ever.

Another thought of him flashes through my brain...A tingling sensation sweeps over my clit.  A throbbing...a ponding heart.

I think of his face when he laughs or smiles.  I think of his chest, and his arms, and his waist.  I want to hold him.  To wrap my arm around his waist...

I imagine burrying my head in his shoulder and his chest as I brethe him in...slow and deliberately.  He knows I'm taking him in and it turns him on too.

He looks down at me with that look in his eyes.  He tells me I'm beautiful; I'm perfect; I'm right.  But inside I know what I fear, the inevidable, the truth... they are lines and that's all they are.  I hear them again and again and again...and every time I fall hard..to the bottom of this bottomless pit.  This thing some call love..I know it is not.  Too good to be true..a fantasy is more like it..a little closer to the truth.

Darkness falls outside my bedroom window, as the last bits of daylight I eagerly soak up...with my pen, with my paper...my eyes, my heart and my soul.  If I hurry I can get it all down.  If I don't stop it will continually flow till the poison is drained from my mind, my body and my soul.

I'm afraid to stop.  Afraid if I quit it'll never come out.  I can't stand the thought!  It writhes me inside...

But reality is I must quit.  Some day, some time we all must come to such a point.  No one lives to be 192....

I fear I may die sooner than I think.  The blood that I've lost on this day alone makes me weak.  A dizzying loss of my mind...of direction, of sense and sobriety.

I can see no longer, so I'll pour another drink.  One needs no light to bring the glass to his lips.  One needs no reason to stop.

So I break, as I know I will...over and over and over till there's nothing left to fill.

Empty I will be.....

drained of myself, of my life, of my past and my present, of my future...of my enemies.

No walls to cage me in.  No fortress..no stable stone....

nothing but me, being me all alone.