Open All Night #5
November 29, 2000

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to allow myself to feel the wounds. The loss of life and love, the harsh words spoken by my mother- the skinned knee's that are just waiting to happen. Sobriety and letting myself feel is like self inflicting wounds, and watching myself bleed without first-aid handy, a very tricky/scary idea. It's my lack of dealing that has rendered me soft and vulnerable to an array of thoughts- a slow decay of a healthy mind. My milkmaid skin is transparent thin and the more I hide, the more delicate I become. I have become the national poster girl for sunburn. Only I haven't seen the sun in years.

Day after Day I replace dirty bandages, torn apparel or clothing that has simply fallen off the edges of my psyche. It's a constant changing of the gaurds at my place, where each morning I lie to myself just so that I can get through the day. On the way to work I laugh at my own ignorance, knowing I don't believe half the things I say anyway. It just makes things so much easier. Haven't you learned the rules of the game yet?
It's when you're alone that they come for you; small fragments of chipped bone rubbing where you're most sensitive, where there is already infection. A small rip inside that never heals; a scab that never truly falls away. And so escape lights up, like a slot machine in the distance, a bright lime straddling the edge of the glass, black smoke in which to fill your lungs.

Don't mind me, I know I am a familiar face, someone you have seen before perhaps in your own mirror. I'm just transcending time, hanging out until the infantries arrive, hiding in a familiar hole I use to dive into for cover. Only the enemy never goes away and escape is simply a meal in the day to devour when your hungry, but you'll be hungry again and the kitchen is as always "Open all night".