so let the rain fall down

it rains so much that people worry that the river will overflow its banks. grandmother fusses that in all her life she's never seen rain like this. two trains crash down in the capital because of a land slip. houses are turned into islands, survivor - only in the middle of civilization.

jimmy smiles at me from the tv. "another mean watering machine is coming your way," he says.

i don't smile back.

i sit at my desk, rain splashing on the windows, twilight falling over me.

the rain falls inside my bedroom too, inside me. perhaps it's a good thing.

let the rain fall down/and wake my dreams/i'm coming clean

wishbone

mother buys me a book on how to journal and two brand new journals. the cleanness of their pages scares me. she comes and sits on my bed.

"it's time to get better," she says.

i say, "i wish".

not sarcastically. i just say it. but even now as i write this, i know it was a lie. i don't wish to be better. not at all.

what i wish is that i could wish to be better.

ashamed

i just did something wrong. really really wrong. i can't write it down because it's so terribly wicked. i wish i'd just gone to sleep. i wish i lived a hundred years ago when things were so much simpler and i wish i wasn't so awful.

i don't understand how god could ever forgive me.

no food for me tomorrow. or ever again. i'll fast until it kills me.

it's a good thing i resigned myself to being a spinster months ago.

i'm spoiled goods.

nobody would want me now.

tuesday

mother comes to my work. she buys me hot chocolate and citrus slice. i cut the slice into microscopic pieces so only a few calories at a time seep into my blood. i sip the drink - tiny, tiny, sips. i feel it slip into my stomach, run like a river of chocolate through my veins.

later i go to my brother's school production. i cry three times because they are young and happy and i wish i was a child again.

but then again, even if i had the chance to do over my existence, would i change anything? everything?

i don't think so.

i wouldn't know where to start.

knives

there is a whole drawer full of them in the kitchen. i take one out, silver blade flashing in the light. i hold it against my wrist, feel its weight in my hand, trace the outlines of my veins with its handle. i look at the teeth, ready to bite into my skin.

it's dark outside so i can see my reflection in the window. i see an ashen faced girl about to commit an unforgivable crime.

i can't do that to them. i can't.

i go to the fridge instead and pull out an orange. i peel off every piece of pith and cut it into tiny pieces, orange blood spilling onto the counter top. i put the pieces in a container. they are tainted. the garbage disposal slices the skins up, cutting the air into shards.

i go to bed. i'm sorry i'm so weak.

september days

it is windy. so windy that i am almost blown over on my way out of the church. i put my head down, curl myself inwards and will my feet to stay on the ground.

i remember a day like this, 4, 5 years ago. we went to the lake with our coats on, held hands and spun in circles until we were giddy and out of breath.

that was before the wind blew us all to separate corners of the world, before the ghosts with their silent silvery voices crept inside of me.

i miss that time.

now my parents argue, my brother hides himself in a fantasy land, i cry and starve myself.

i hate this month.

wake me up when september ends.

pray

i go to church. i stand up and sit down. i kneel on the floor, face rested on the seat in front of me, knee caps pressing against the wooden floor. the preacher talks. i can't remember what about.

it hurts.

he isn't there, but i knew he wouldn't be. he told me he was going to be elsewhere.

i pretended not to care.

at home i have the strange feeling that i am about to float away, that this is not my life. my feet aren't on the ground. i eat/starve/eat/starve.

i kneel again and ask forgiveness for my sins.

tired

i eat noodles - raw because cooking them would take too long, three biscuits, two mini chocolate bars, a big bowl of cereal, popcorn, another chocolate bar. i spin myself into a web of spun sugar raspberry cheesecake. i lose myself in a carbohydrate blur.

afterwards i don't even bother trying to puke up the stinking cesspool in my stomach. it never works. my body holds on to the food. my body needs it. i need it.

i don't need it. i don't need it. i don't need it.

i lie on the couch in a tangle of blankets, the heat pump blowing stale breath into my face. i'm hot. i think i'm getting sick.

i fall asleep listening to the news, simon dallow, wendy petrie. they remind me of my childhood. i dream restlessly and wake up with a start when the garage door opens and my lap is filled with wet cat and my ears are filled with the familiar Dad-talking-to-the-kids-when-he's-in-a-good-mood voice.

i go upstairs and lie on my bed. sleep hovers around my edges. things start to get blurry. i make a new promise:

i will do better. i will do better. i have to. else i think i'll die. and i'd rather be dead than living in the in-between, like now.

remnant

i am cassie floating in her white dress, ecstatic, excited for no apparent reason, in another world. i am failed tests, broken mirrors, burned photographs.

i am 50.0, 49.5, 49.0

losing, losing, losing

i wonder what will be left when i am gone.

i am confused.