It’s a strange dance. Being in the break of total chaos and talking yourself down off the edge. Blame the tv. Blame the Internet. The need to feel something. To relate. To a killer. Anything. Blame the boyfriend. Blame the cats. Lazy mother fuckers. Anger. A flame that was once a tiny candle is suddenly pictured a solid smoking tower. How did it get here? A Journey you didn’t remember taking. It’s almost like that time you were high in pills. Sure on the outside people only saw the weed. You hid it so well. So you thought. How close the truth came out. How close you wanted to scream it out into the open. Those chances you had to come clean. Those chances are long gone. But you’re not on pills. Not this time. You’ve been clean for over a year. Almost two.
It’s the cramps that get me the worst. I told boyfriend a few days ago that there was no hope for him. I really don’t mean to get so mad. It’s flares every damn time I look at him. One second I want nothing more then just lay on him. The next I’m on the other side of the room. I keep forgetting I’m allowed Advil. But just two. If it was just me I would bare the pain as a form of self torture. Letting my own body just self destruct. I just wish it would hurry up and get over itself and just unleash to full furry.
Dancing helps. After all. No one sees what’s behind the curtain.