my life: a ribbon unfurling
all the things ive done to get better.
i slept on my belly a week ago, to finally sedate myself, and i dreampt vividly. but now for the rest of this week my back is in so much pain, crimping and folding down. will i finally die now?
my sleeping is in tatters. here is a list of what i've tried to mend my sleeping.
୨୧ full body relaxation
୨୧ sleepy time tea
୨୧ staying up for 24 hours, then going to bed
୨୧ herbal supplements (chamomille, reishi, etc)
୨୧ hz, binaural, other nature sound relaxations
୨୧ counting backwards, repetition, mantra
୨୧ working out
୨୧ aromatherapy (lavender+rose)
but oh well. maybe the right combination of them will provide relief. i sometimes wish they'd just give me a sedative. i don't want to spiral into complete undone. i want to smell like sweet roses and lychee. i want long hair. i want soft hair. i think my hair is more of a briar tentacle. it is not like how hair looks on other pretty girls, and that makes me sad. in the complete darkness, i cry so much. i have been trying to drink more more tea, strengthen my core, though there probably aren't enough muscles there anymore. i tried walking in heels, and my feet were so white muscle i saw a sweet angels with skinny glasses and a black cappucino. i love lemon ginseng tea. it is some of my favorite. i drank it with a rose panna cotta, with raspberry. so delightful. i want a digital camera to see life in the dreamhaze i always see it in. can't i be soft, can't i be pretty. i want to smoke cigarettes so bad. i want to eat sweet things and drink nice tea.
woman in a black cashmere suit dress falling miserably on her hips and bony breasts, as she walks down the sidewalk. her hair bobby pin kissed up, black straight bangs, and spiky thistle curls reaching out of her bun. thin straight brows, and her eyes adorned like two ashtrays. and bright brown eyes. her lips round and dark, a smear of bloodied brick against her front teeth. her purse like cherry jelly, like an xray of her organs. she hurries down, supermodel chic muscles fluttering in those heels. her white blouse had begun to crawl out of the unbuttoned suit dress, like curling fingers peeling from the knuckle of her ribs. every step undressed her, into something unrecognizable as a human anymore.
this weather was making her crawl out of her skin. the sky was deliriously overcast, like the moon crashing down into the earth. like the white of god's watchful eye was leering against the city, and at any moment, the light would be evaporated, snuffed so suddenly, no time for suffocation as his pupil darted over to watch her escape the sin inside her. any second now, any second now, god's pupil would swell, as his muscles all grinded together, pulling his eye, rolling it in his socket over to her. she popped each hip while stepping, clenching the strap of her purse, feeling as the sweat rolled off her palm and against the smooth plastic. she pushed her glasses against her eyelashes, thin frame and slender lenses. she could feel each time she blinked, the howling dread in her heart begging her to keep this dark paralysis forever. her pace increased, her feet heavier. men passed, thin faces, tan faces, lost faces, the smell of hairspray, the smell of bad cologne, the smell of ugly designer, the smell of jasmine perfume. she watches the flowering green in the side of the concrete, and finally, reaches that white building. she ordered a cafe noisette, feeling the blood run over her brain and through her lips. the barista is looking through her clothes. she's looking through his skeletal system and into his plush organs.
she thought to herself, "the only way to pull off a baby doll dress is to have very long legs" flipping through her magazine. leaning over her noisette, her breasts push against the slick button down, the fat of them spilling onto the cool gloss of the pages. even with glasses she pulls the pages up to her face. she thought "men are so capacious" before using a pen to poke out the groin of some male model. the page sticks as she licks her fingers, and mumbled into her teacup mug, "velvet, or something sheer". her cup is now adorned with the arc of her lipstick, as she goes around back, and makes her way up the stairs. her apartment shudders at her approach, the door trembling, the walls pushing against her. her palms pale and lay flat on the wall as she drags her back against the wall, kicking off her heels, and grabbing on the coat rack. she feels her face cool, freeze, and suddenly lose sensation all together, she crawls against the hardwood, her tights catching on a nail not hammered in fully, ripping them down to her ankle, and down the flat of the top of her foot. the muscles of her shoulders ripple as the suit dress is pulled by her knees, and her bodice falls to the floor, the kitchen is past the next doorway. she grabs onto the countertop, pulling herself up, grabbing her kettle. she sets it on the gas stove, clickikng it awake, cupping her palms in the sink, then pouring the water down the throat of the kettle. until it finally is full. calm retains her, as she watches it steam, her glasses icing over, and she uses her blouse to wipe them off. finally, it begins to rise, and she clutches the handle, running to the bathroom. the tub is already full of water. she pours the contents of the kettle, the bath seeming to stir and catch the heat.
she pulls of her tights, lets her clothes fall off her frame, and steps into the bath. like walking down into a basement her body then seems to descend so far, like the bath is suddenly a trench, a well. her hair fluttering, her figure a far away whisper, she sinks down. endlessly. the white sun pours in the windows. the slight blue hue against the cream of the tub, gently ripples, kissing the edges, lapping and plucking the dry spots from the walls. and suddenly, she emerges again, her chest bursting, rising in a great swallowing of air, yet her mouth doesn't open, and her nostrils don't flair, and as she crawls from the bath, some dark and murky shapes rise to the top of the tub. and it keeps becoming more cluttered, strings of flesh, tendrils of red and umber. she pulls the plug on the drain, running her thumb over the beads of the chain. she sighs, her skin seeming to tremble.
she pins her hair up, her tank top gripping to her bones, banding and scrunching on the swelling and bowing of her body. she puts her glasses back on, and fills the bathtub again.