Thursday, March 22, 2012


The Collected Poems  by Sylvia Plath
Weight: 12.8 oz
Method of Disposal: Donation

This loneliness is heavy.  Keep me in the bed, wide awake, heavy.  It is searching and unimpressed.  I have always loved and clung to my independence with full-on claws, but I just want to fall asleep with someone’s arms around me right now.  I want to have that trust that you develop with a person where you do not even have to cry and they know you are falling apart.  They know to just be there.  The older I get the less I feel I can find that.  Each month, I build a new wall.  I develop a new personality quirk or reason to distrust.  The list of my attractive qualities goes into decline at an alarming rate.  I am left with a quiet desperation. A finely tuned pathetic persona.

I have amazing friends, for days, so I can distract myself until it gets late.  Wrap myself up in their comfort and compassion, but it is at night, when I am agonizing, that I feel Alone.  Or it is this particular night. 

Are you claustrophobic?

On Another Note:

At work, if they cut into a dog and find cancer they have to see how far it has spread, where will it spread, and how fast.  What is the quality of life?  You make a decision before the animal ever wakes up about whether or not to euthanize.  What is more humane?  What the fuck is humane?

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