Dangerous, it feels. I’m diving into black water. The dead sea. I’ve turned away from what I know, from what is familiar. On a fantasy. A fantasy to keep me alive. And it’s working but it is delusion. It is parasocial. And i am ashamed. Because I have dreams and I don’t want them to end. I wake up and don’t know where I am. Who I am, what is my life. What I have to face on a daily. I stay complacent in the absence. The longing. It finds me before I search for it. And slender fingers upon hands pressed to lips, I can’t get them out of my head. It is unhealthy for sure. It is unbearable. To be existing in a dream and show up with feelings of reality. It makes no sense. I make no sense. I am drowning and floating at the same time. Slowly sinking deeper in to treacherous despair. I want to be wanted. I want to be beautiful. I want to hold a beautiful thing that has not punctured me.
Where did I go wrong? I ask what is wrong with me, nothing. It’s not me. How so? How is that possible? I must have done something. I must have provoked with lies and betrayal. I know I have. And I say I deserve the punishment. Because of course when you hurt others you deserve to be hurt in return. It is understandable. And she begs and pleads and I have no patience for it. What of it. What of it all. Who could know what is right and wrong. Too subjective. I ruminate on my contribution constantly.
Maybe if I sleep all day I’ll stay in my dream and never wake up.
Place of Leaves 