My brain hurts. Want to be clever, really I do. But brainwaves bellow, bark at me. Heartbeats holler like in a hard trance–can’t rise high enough to to let me walk 6 metres. Got 5.5 and collapsed. Took on 2 stairs today and split open my forehead. Took a bunch of pills, four bottles worth, and woke up in a rehab ashram and now I can’t leave until I make all 16 stairs. And I don’t know what to say. Embarrassed. To be a broken song, someone who can’t raise their tempo, repair its erratic nature. Feel like a person shaped, molded by too many tragic producers, all hitting me at once. Not even caring if I become a hit, just hitting me. And I’m out there in the world, still.

And some people want to, need to hear from me but talking is painful. And I made this playlist to say all the things I cannot say, to show the fragility and naivety that drives me to healing. The precarious hope that fuels you when you’re life is hanging on the edge and how that can turn on a sclerotic dime in seconds when you’re gripping those cliffsides with white knuckles, so damn long. And suddenly you let go.

PHOTOCREDIT// HYPERDECADENCE

68

Add to the story...