I'm not gonna lie I feel pretty F-ed right now on Klonopin and I want to go to a party and talk to people as a different person. Should I take Eliza out into the world? What is she like there?
That's all I want to do. Something tells me that will be the most memorable, the most conducive to a union with the Earth and those upon in.
A memory sticks clear as if I am in it, acting it over and over (note...acting...it can never be the real thing). I see your face looking up and the slow smile spreading upon my return. I see it over and over. It's a muse. A demon that crawls into bed with me and whispers it into my ear. All the words I have to write and will write. But I correct them. My hand draws control. Its fingers push against vague instances of uncertainty.
That I can't ever tell you the truth on a page. That bothers me too.
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