Nose Bleeds.

For some reason, for the past few weeks, I have had the most intense urge to have my nose broken.

Whenever I get tired or bored, I start to hear things. I live in many lucid dreams during the daytime.
Recently, these "dreams" have been centered around a fight. I can feel someone's fist smashing against my nose, I can feel the cracking, I can feel the blood pouring out and the pain that follows. The noises are often, the sound that a boxer makes when their glove comes in contact with their opponent's body. It's not a loud crack or anything. It's a nice and dull punch.
I feel this so deeply that my body will spasm from a deep tremor in my chest.
Is this a reflection of my self-hate?
Is this a reflection of my boredom?
Is this a reflection of my psychological troubles?
Who knows.
All I know is that I've been craving the pain and the anger that flares from a fight.

Not that I'm an outwardly violent person or anything.

Five Senses.

I woke up today with the complete intention to forget about all of my preconceived notions of the five senses and live abstractly today.
In this, I will attempt to say what it felt like....and most likely fail.

My mind had been off somewhere else during work. My words slipped and trembled, lispfully I fucked up saying many orders back to customers. However, they were all correct. Just the communication lacked clarity.
When I got home, I felt the urgency to call her, thanks to promptings from my good ol' pal.
But I couldn't even remember the nickname I had given her on my phone. By the time I found it in the contacts, my vision was flipped upside down.
I felt a strong tug that struggled from the pit of my stomach and up through my esophagus.
My phone fell to the floor.
"Maybe this is with drawl from your medication.."
Violent shivers took control of my body. My insides turn on each other, it was now a game of "whoever lives, wins".
I am still fairly convinced they all lost.
Somehow managing to crawl onto the bed, I let myself sink into the mattress I have been laying on for fourteen years. My eyelids felt heavy so I let them give way to gravity and darkness consumed me.
But it wasn't darkness I've been familiar with.
It was more than a lack of light.
Oddly enough, I liked this.
Every breath I took was an extension of my surroundings.
I felt the floor's heartbeat, I felt the wall's natural patterns, I felt the sheet's rhythm.


I might still have a fever.
I don't care much.
Today was a blur.

Dear wall,

(footnote: this is for a small series I am writing)


Dear wall,
It's a good thing you are completely fixable.
A quick jog down to the hardware store, a few hours spent smoothing your surface, and no one will ever tell the difference.
But I will.

When my skin sunk deep inside you, past the plaster, past the padding, I felt an emptiness.
All I ever wanted was something to grasp at, to yank at, to crudely snatch and tear at.
To replace my own insides. But I guess you can't fill yourself with another's lack.
You were my last hope.
Everything around me has failed, no matter how many times I attempted to glue it back together.
I just needed connectivity.

I put the photo back in its frame.
I put the shelf against your off-white surface.
I repaired the glass of the window.
I kept covering everything up until it was unnoticeable to anyone. But me.

Five months ago, my smile was genuine.
Five months ago, my blood only flowed within my veins and arteries.
Five months ago, my memories were intact.

I won't kill for this,
the vessel.