Make sense of it.

My legs hurt.
Why? I flew from Tasmania to Sydney, to Cairns to Melbourne to Hobart. In 12 days. The distance has seeped in. Unreal distances to have travelled. Planes. Plain easy.

My head is cloudy.
I’m off coffee, i’m flat.
Family is a hurt. A poorly stitched wound.
My girlfriend is off, coloured by her best chilhood friend hanging himself. How can I respond, feel or react.
“Let’s make the best of a bad thing”
What? What would they have wanted.
The suicidal, the selfish.
The violence against ones ego. “Self”
Punishment to the extreme.
Its innate, a viewpoint. Your own life,
How could this blessing be such a rapid for you.
Must you come to a close so soon?
The comedy begins before your character dies.
Before the curtain comes down, like a guillotine.

Hush. You are gone,
Over. Your action is our memory.
What about valentines day?
Its over, move on.
What about the suicide?
What do I fucking say, think, or do about that?!

Cry to that song.
I’ll laugh.
Hysteria bubbling away.
Eating away inside me.
The dancing.
Such disorder; drinking myself brain dead.
The pain,
Recklessly pounding around inside me.
When can I say: -Phew- its over.
Close one. Such malcontent.
The pain should stay or go.
Sick around?
Drink it away.

What will i feel in the morning?

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