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“That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all.”

--T.S. Eliot, The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock

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The Awesome Power of Procrastination

*Trigger Warning: self-harm The power of procrastination is so awesome that even though I have been without Internet access for several hours and I have things that I think I want to do, I have spent that time lying on top of my bed thinking about how I would do all the things I want to do if I were to do them. Very productive. I think that the ideas I have are worth so much more in my head, I can fetishize every negative feeling and pretend that it makes me special or interesting in some way. But when the thoughts become words that I type out and read back, I realise how banal everything about me is. That's probably the real reason writing blog posts and writing in my journal gets a little harder every time. Here is a quick list of the things I should be doing right now: On Tuesday I had a very intense dream that was terrifying enough to make me feel slightly separate from my body all week. Even now, everything feels a little unreal and abnormal; I haven't stopped
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The Mad Girl: Poetry Edition


Now 
In the last moments of my life
I lie awake, calm as a fetus to be
Stillborn.
I see, so clearly, my hand firmly
Fisted into the shape of my
Heart,
Rythmically pumping life out
Of my gruesome, gaping
Wound.
I hear, so clearly, in the other room
Is the lonely little girl crying
Softly.
I feel, so clearly, the rawness of
My throat; I have cried for
Her,
I have screamed for her, I loved her,
But I could not possibly protect
Her.
She sits in the dark, where she will always sit.
Her cries quietly fading, her heart gradually growing
Cold.
Far beyond anyone's reach.
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