Sleeping With Calamity

Now

Two bats hang off a rose thorn, dark, blood red, roses surround them. One bat is smaller, paler with piercing green eyes. The other is almost twice the size and darker with dark blue-grey eyes. The image swam on my forearm forever. Too bad one bat flew away and now the other can't stand roses yet loves them more than ever.

Walking into my room I looked around, this isn't yours this is hers, I shook my head, grabbing whatever I could get my hands on and throwing it at the wall. "Fuck, stupid fuck!" Ripping off the bandages I fell down, "Stupid. Idiot." Looking down I began scratching at my arms freshly healed wounds opening, puddles forming before they explode to more. Heavy breathing in between yells and scream. But no one hears you hell. Collapsing on the floor I curled up. Watching as the black took over and sleep welcomed me.

***

Waking up I realized it was dark. Dark coloured stains seeped through my clothes and dried down my arms. Grabbing clean clothes went to take a quick shower. Who even are you? Looking in the mirror, studying my face, noticing the flaws. Scars from growing up, scars from bad places, scars from her.

Water washed over my body the burning sensation I'd grown used to come with the water. This small space I've grown so use to being in, it's hard to notice the small things that change around you. The spiderwebs in the top corners of the walls or how the white walls look tan, man someone needs to clean in here. It's funny how things work in the world, we grow so use to things that we don't notice when we lose them to till they're gone. It kind of sucks, I guess I see why Cal says Life Sucks so much. It really does sometimes, I mean sure sometimes there are good moments but life sucks.

I get out and look at my body, Timor and Animo fear and courage, I study the ink that swims under my skin, pale skin with just enough colour to seem alive. This isn't me, this isn't who you were. Taking a step back I noticed marks, her marks, I quickly throw a shirt on and walk away. If my body is a temple and I can do whatever I want my my body with my temple, then why is it so hard to do what I want, why do others feel like they can tell me what to do, why?

Walking back into my room I glanced out the window, sunrise. My brain was running like a mad man, thoughts chased one after the others. Throwing things, moving them till I could find the item. Black, crumbling leather bound book the yellowing pages stuck from the sides, old writing on scraps and torn paper, the lock barely holding everything inside. Feeling around my neck I felt the string, pulling it from under my shirt I unlocked the book. Old words from an old flame came to life once more. More words chase each other and need to escape. I found a pen and went to writing.