August 27th.
exhausted revelations.
is what gets me through the night the enemy or the accomplice?
what makes me happy...?
monuments falling, crumbling.
we wait for the dust to clear,
tell me we didn't build these monsters on nothing.
falling debris like the worth of the past
(nothing)
praying that we've spent our budget on
concrete foundations.
booze for breakfast, with irony i think
that this is awfully late to get my drink on,
with irony i remember
your drunkenness bringing me to drink.
am i good at this? will I be an ok mother someday?
even though I bitterly think that this is your fault and deserved?
am I a jerk, or just ridiculously tired?

August 25th.
getting nervous.
clock is ticking.
muscles aching.
throat burning, please just
let me make my own drink okay?
please can I just have it like that?
can you wire it to my veins even?
I dont even watch your car pull away I just
scope for spies and take a swig

August 23rd.
summer dies but we wont.
i just have to forgive him, okay?

August 22nd.
tide takes the castle.
pulling away at the bottom first, smoothening out and
digging its sneakish little molecules into my foundation
the one i so painstakingly built.
your strength like an omen
my weakness like a cure.
tu m'erodes

August 20th.
almost started to write a song.
sort of thinking about calling in sick to work on it.
but thats ok, I dont think my train of thought will take a different track even with other passengers...

August 19th.
you are eroding me.
like the sneaking waves of rising tides you
force your way effortlessly forward
digging out my legs,
collapsing these supports.
without a word. without so much as the
hint of your shadow
everywhere and nowhere all at once.
constant reminder that
i am incapable,
constant fear that
you will be unyielding

August 17th.
instead of cupping your hand you
inhale exhale closer louder warmer.
ecstacy and torture!
asdf

August 15th.
everything about this day is the same as before
i promise i will try not to be so quiet

August 13th.
so angry.
no point in even trying to relax because I might just have to go back to work,
even though I just worked a 7 hour shift,
so that I can work for another... 5 or 6 hours.
jesus christ.
numbers on the scale pissing me off.

August 11th.
this will be exactly like grade 12

August 10th.
when i drove past your hometown all i could think of was
that there has never been anybody i have wanted to hurt more.
i saw you in the face of a stranger,
jawline beard, inquisitive expression.
i wanted to hurt him too

August 8th.
three days and I'm right back where I started, this place I swore I would never be. it rests hard on my stomach, crippling me; I want to crush my shoulders forward into my ribs and destroy it. devastated. completely fucking devastated. what is it that I've got to do? I'll do it, I'll do all of it. I dont fucking care anymore. this was always about me, and I dont care what is normal and what is sick.

fucking sick of being so fucking ugly

August 7th.
A couple days ago I saw a house in town and it struck me as beautiful, inviting. As I continued to stare I realized that it was the same color as your house, the same color as your shutters. We go downtown everyday and everytime, I look for "your" house, as if something as simple and pathetic as a color combination could hold some of you.
I read something in my book that made me think of you, too:
"Matty is a wreck, a shell of the man
he was two years ago, when he was one of the best boxers in the World. At
the time, he held two championships, was rich and famous, married and
had two young boys. At a party celebrating one of his victories, he took a
hit from a pipe he was told was full of pot, but it was actually loaded with
crack. He got hooked immediately, fought one more time and got destroyed,
and he disappeared."
I flipped to the back to read about what became of him, and it said "Matty was shot and killed outside of a Crackhouse in Minneapolis."

August 6th.
I have slept 14 out of the last 24 hours.
need a scale so baddd

August 5th.
fucking sick of people dissecting my sex life and my eating habits.
disgusted by people invading my personal space,
and not too appreciative of this obese fucking lifestyle.
i want to go home, do you?
your silence reaffirms my lack of importance to you.
feel like youre leading me on.
jesus CHRIST i want a fucking cigarette.

August 4th.
III.
did I ever tell you about those 2 tornadoes I saw on
our last day? the funnels dark omens above the
emerald ocean. they were there for me, I was
destined to stand there and watch them approach
over the water with a feeling of dread. they
were sent to devour me, and even though I ran
they followed while I slept. In my dreams they
devastated and decorated, touched down, tearing
murders of crows from the overcast sky, pooling
shadows of light across the threshold of my home.
did they ever really happen, those smudges over the
water? (there is no photographic evidence...)
they touched down and mutated in my scream

II.
are you dead?
i am mourning you.
old things you said keep coming back in my insomnia.
i wish i could fight against them now but I cant afford
when these stakes are already against me.
i worry so much that you will cross the same mistakes I did,
but i worry more that you will call her "beautiful" instead.
you're going to leave me, aren't you.
you wont be the same when you come back and
i dont think i will be, either.

I.
is this what september will be like?
are you dead?
i dont want to save september.
fuck september.

August 3rd.
you said you'd keep in touch when you went away
but youre away now and I hear nothing.
it is as though you are gone and I have to mourn you.
slowly realizing
you will doubtlessly forget about me.
why dont you even try?

August 2nd.
am i foolish to hope to hear from you?

August 1st.
half of my canadian summer has expired, and
one more quarter of it will expire in your absence.
when you are
gone,
I want nothing more than to be gone too.
all these roots i have so steadily grown into the earth are
turning black with age and I am
sickened
by the life with which they ceaselessly poison me.
when you are gone
there is nothing left for me here