Why, why, why?

I know that answer as well as I don’t. This is wholly who I am—sad beautiful bitch ass—sick, sick, sick—beyond bright, beyond gorgeous, beyond the beyond the beyond—wounded—impenetrable— ethereal—abandoned—desperately wanted—giving—needing—what-the-fuck-am-I-seeing…

Maybe everyone feels this way. Maybe it’s best we not notice these things, because it makes it easier to do the dishes and go to work. Touching the light or feeding on the darkness in high quantities is never a good idea. 

Maybe I’m too far gone and nothing I do in this life will ever be enough to salvage my tortured soul. If so, either nothing I do matters or my presence is pure radiance, and for both, or either, I’m just overthinking it.

It’s all so terrible, and so beautiful, when I look up and see it all through my own unguarded eyes, and I feel the burn, the way I want to.

If only no one else had to get hurt. If only I didn’t have to get hurt.