an old one.
March 1, 2018.
“Exhaust the little moment. Soon it dies. And be it gash or gold it will not come again in this identical disguise.”
— Gwendolyn Brooks
I've since found people who can make it bearable, but more importantly, I've found some sort strength within that allows me to reach for them.
Advice from him: don't write a song, write a feeling
Advice from her: we have our art, we are the lucky ones
Advice from him: don't make this into a competition
Advice from her: this is better, I promise this is better, even though it doesn't feel that way
First step, dial. Second step, pour.
"My brain feels like it's going to fucking explode.” (crying) "My brain feels like it's going to fucking explode." (inhale) "My brain" (crying) "feels like" (exhale) "it's going to" (crying) “explode." (inhale)
Third step: shower notice that you're breathing in out in out slow and deep under water like you once studied and that, yes, sometimes your own mind fucks you, but other times – it loves you.
You! Are breathing! Under! Water! Go!
Advice from her: Spring will come; with it, change
Advice from him: it could be bad, or it could be good, but it could be bad, but it could be good
Advice from her: don't chase your antidepressants with Guinness.
We're gonna get ghost tattoos this weekend, him and I, the stranger.
I made it to the show and saw someone else like me
And saw that my bedroom is a stage
And heard that other people feel the same
Felt safe in a crowded place tonight