A Stranger's Life

So often I have all these fractured thoughts strumming around my mind. Ideas, doubts, curiosities, possibilities, potential goals, memories . . . You get the point. The reason I started this blog was to have somewhere to record these things. And yet, so often, these thoughts are fragmented - bits here and bits there, all pooling together in the center of my mind, trying to assimilate; Trying to piece themselves together to form something coherent - something worthy of sharing. So please, forgive me if what I'm sharing doesn't make sense. Despite my numerous flaws and short comings, I am trying and I am doing and I am hoping.

On my way there I don't look up much since it's already dark. I just walk quickly, following the dull beam of my flashlight down the winding trail. Once I get out into the woods. I climb inside my tent and sit alone in the darkness of the night. The tent is just fine and I don't mind the lifestyle, (and yes, I work before you think about roasting me). I don't however, like the woods, at night, alone. If you're wondering - no, I'm not afraid of the dark. What I do fear are the hundreds of other homeless or homefree (and often unsane) people who may also be out in it. Sometimes when I'm not sure what I hear, I shut off my light and sit wide-eyed in the muggy blackness, willing my breath to be shallow and inaudible. Times when I'm truly afraid, I set a pair of scissors next to me since I don't have a knife. I then take my belt and wrap the end of it around my wrist so that if needed, I could use the buckle as a weapon. I'm not

Sometimes I just want to get naked and lie on the cement in the rain, Like some well thought out cleanse To be there in the moment and let the water wash away my pain, I think it's funny how people swear up and down and talk a lot of shit, And yet, who's there when it truly comes down to it, So far, there's no one I can see, Except for maybe that one man who stays because I know him and he knows me, Just please don't ask me why Because I don't fucking know, I say if you have nothing, then what of do you have to let go, If once I had something to lose It must be gone away for sure, So let me just get naked and lie in the rain and maybe the heavens will find my cure . . .

I went for an interview at this fancy day bar today. I arrived quite early and took a seat at the bar as directed and sipped on the glass of water the bartender had given me. I fiddled with my phone a bit, all dressed in black with my bag in the seat next to me. It didn't take long before a man with a buzz cut in a pink shirt introduced himself, his large eyes directing around the small eatery. I turned to take a look at what he saw and realized immediately that they weren't going to give me a chance because I didn't fit in. I left with a smile, saying I would be back though of course, we both knew I wouldn't. So much for equal opportunity.

I'm not gay but I'm not straight either. In fact, I don't care what your gender or orientation is. If you wanna hang out, fine. Be friends, fine. You wanna get close, great. If you wanna fuck, even better, but don't think for a second that I can't live without you. Don't imagine that I'll miss you - because chances are - I won't.

The first time I shot up, she did it for me. In the front seat of her black car in the Walmart parking lot of some tiny ass town, no less. I laid my arm on her center console, offering her my veins and trusting her completely. I felt the needle as it slid through my flesh and popped into the vein; marveling as she pulled the plunger back and the blood spiraled like a cloud into the pale liquid within the syringe.

So it turns out I'm an addict and an alcoholic, but that's nothing new and who cares. I also happen to be a bit of a bitch though most of the time I rarely notice. Like most people, everyone I've ever loved has let me down in some way or disowned me; all except for my socipathic husband, who refers to himself as a "serial killer personality." Watch out dear loves, the devil comes in threes . . . I medicate and sweat whiskey and beer and try to eat less, just hoping I disappear. Will you show me the true meaning to life? Help me find my way, I'm sure I'd sell my soul to the devil for an answer to this sharade.