Because my heart is a wasteland. And my body is the cracked, desecrated earth my dreams lay barren on. I am a thing stitched together with madness and horror. Nothing grows in my fields.
Sometimes I hate myself so completely it takes all my scraps of willpower to not fucking blow it all up.
My heart is a wasteland from all the nukes I drop on it.
It's been a while since I wrote. And for good reason. I'm struggling to not go hollow inside. I want to succumb to my artwork, to be possessed by inspiration and creativity. I want the muses to take me and ride my skin like a battle horse.
But there is always a cost. The closer I am to magic, the more insane I become. Hanging on to reality is already a Herculean feat. And this month is like a play-by-play in my head of Kweeny's Horror Stories: The Christmas Special!
A lot of terrible shit is bubbling up from the rivers of poison in my wasteland. Flashbacks, fibro flares, nightmares, no sleep, nerve pain, panic attacks...you name it. I'm a fucked up Kweenybeast right now. I'm fragmenting too. Dissociation is a bitch. Been reaching out to trusted folks for anchors in the storm. I feel like I cant stuff it all back in once I open the puzzle box. The demons inside wait for me to drop my guard before they tear my world apart.
I dont think I could date anyone who cant ride some storms with me and hold my hand while we crash against the rocks. I need my lovers to be just as fierce as me, so when I test them unfairly for the ghosts who tried to destroy me, they dont run for the hills. So when I finally drop my armor because I cant be the strong one all the time, they dont trash my bleeding heart with carelessness.
I'm fighting the urge to nuke this new, budding relationship I've started. And it was me who asked him. Though he might have been thinking the same thing towards me. But my mental illness won't let me trust even that.
Fuck you my graceless heart.
