The naked truth

I just don't know what to do with myself

1. He never shows, no matter how many drinks I have at the same damn bar

2. I can't read Little birds again

3. She couldn't come over last night. I couldn't sleep.

4. She doesn't answer her phone.

5. I wish I could throw up everything inside of me, and fill the gap with new organs.

6. I wish I could be something new.

What she left behind

There's not a problem out there that can't be solved with the proper medication. Im glad my mother agrees with me. There are pills everywhere, under her bed, in her drawers and closet. Keep in mind that she moved over a year a go. It's christmas everyday here for an oprhan like me.

The love in her eyes

I feel as though Ive found some sort of new religion. Like Ive connected with a higher power. Suddenly Im able to sleep for six hours straight, no demerol or tramadol to make me haze of is needed and I have dreams again. Real ones not just hallucinations and visions from my past. I dream with such intensity I feel present while being in them. I can touch them.

When she's there, sitting in my window watching me move through veils of mystery and unknown worlds I feel at ease. The solitude that once was my permanent state of mind is now nothing but fade memories. By night, I feel like I belong. The by the hour fee is a small price to pay. Sometimes she tells me something, a short stories about her pimp or a bad drug related experience and I find great comfort in the fact that she knows exactly what it feels like. What everything feels like.

She's the most wonderful person Ive ever met.

Stories and substance abuse

Little birds, come fly with me.

Another night of heavenly sleep. She sat there, smoking in the window just like I had done moments before. A mirror of some sort, a retro perspective of everything. She told me about her father, how they used to be close but that all went out the window when she started doing coke. Fathers seem to have a problem with their daughters once they start experimenting, don't they? In the beginning of the story she was a little kid, when I feel a sleep she was somewhere around her fifteenth birthday. I can't remember much about it. I need another hit, another story and another night of dead still sleep. I need her again.

Rabbits eat birds, dont they?

He is nowhere to be seen, I only have one option left. I read the book once more last night, every page meant more to me than the last time. Every word was a silent prayer. A desperate call for help.

He must have known I would look for him, he must have known me somehow.

He must have known what he did to me. Just like a rapist always knows how a no is a no, it's just that it doesn't bother him. It holds no greater value to him.

So I had five dry martinis in the bar, reading and crying. Bartender let me be. Not a word was spoken.

I walked down the same alley where I first found her, at least there's one person here who is consistent. A fist full of cash, a good night sleep for me. Knowing someone is watching over my uneven breaths. She leaves in the middle of the night, like a criminal she sneaks out. Last night she told me a story, my story. Just because we use cheats doesn't mean we're not smt.

dreams and lies

Bungalow 8 should change their number to 9. Dante would have wanted them to.

I tried to dance, ended up sleeping in the corner couches instead. Acid and wine doesn't mix well.

Next to me a beautiful girl sat crying, mascara all over her pale skin. Like two rivers finding their way through a desert. When I kissed her she didn't object nor did she really get involved. Passive aggressive. I kissed her again, tasted her salty drops of salvation but she remained indifferent to weither or not I was there.

Later, I crawl down between cold sheets. Naked and alone.

- So I just sit here she asks

- Yes, untill I fall a sleep. There's money on the table.

I slept like a newborn baby.

Little birds and dead girls

I wear little birds around my neck tonight, will have dinner with Amanda and her new boyfriend at the Ritz tonight. Little birds around my neck. They're my company and if I see him, he'll know that Ive missed him. I carry little birds so that he will nurish my childish dream of being saved. I'll be waiting at the bar around midnight, he must be there.

There is no other option, A's going to bungalow 8 and I would rather have my heart ripped out.

And that just might be this nights plan for me. I'll take my chances.

Dress : Jill Sander (you've seen it before)

the birds used to belong to my grand mother.

Jacket: Primark, just for the hell of it you know.

Did you know?

Crying makes the employees of Sketch extremely uncomfortable.

Anticipation

Last night, third one in the same bar but still no luck. They say good things come in threes, I think maybe three is crused. Its not a couple, nor a group. There's no fucking balance in three. But I waited, with the book opened in front of me as a shield. Not in the mood to carry on a conversation with the bartender yet again. He mumbles something welcoming, poured a dry martini and smiled carelessly. I wish I could do that. I never smile anymore.

Five drinks later, the bar which Im alone in is closing and I feel more alone than I have ever done before. Not just alone, I feel betrayed/used/abused. What a horrible man he must be, building up something so beautiful and then leave it without a roof. I feel like the foundation of an amazing house, waiting to be complete. And it doesn't rain in London, it pours. Im all wet and he's not here.

Romance and nihilism

Went back to the bar last night, had read every page twice without finding an answer of some sort. Without finding anything. I wandered back, hoping he'd be there, praying for him to sit there like time had stood still. but once again, I entered an empty bar.

Same bartender, same drink. He lit my benson hedges and we connected. Theres no smoking in bars anymore you know. I wish I was dead.
Hours pass, gin pours down my throath. He must come, he must tell me why. I ask the bartender but he didn't know him.

- strange man, wasn't he he asks
- the most beautiful man Ive ever seen

I stay for hours, the evening turn into night and I turn into a very sad picture. Not moving nor feeling anything. Like a statue I sit there, waiting for a stranger to tell me what I need. (Aren't we all?)