witchalicious

so today I saw a really amazing movie and now I’m fighting to stave off sleep. . . [just a drug. . .] you can’t make anyone love you if they don’t want to, and I believe that includes making them love you properly. I believe in true, real love, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be a martyr for the cause. [what should I do?] I don’t know, but I do. I need to start living my life, fully. I need help, but it’s not worth this kind of crap. I don’t know, but I do. I need to get a job, and stay stable. I need to make art and feel vital, without making crappy art with no feeling in it. I need to dance and look for more musicians without letting myself be taken advantage of. letters, friends, job, money, money, money. . . money makes the world go round and my life is no exception unless I become like the ultimate hippie and wander the earth playing music or dancing for food and finding shelter in my gypsy caravan and have little gypsy babies for lack of better means. he sleeps without me, as I float and bloat about. I take the pill and pills and the water stays in my body, in one place, floating, not leaving. . . my eyes droop, but he sleeps and I need to write. some people live, breathe, and sing love, but when it comes down to it, they have no love to give or they don’t give it. they keep it inside, greediliy and clasp it to their charcoal heart. hypocrisy; you leave me no choice but, to make a choice, and. . . [I need to rest. . .] I’m going to burn anyways because nothing is good enough for you, I am not perfect and one day you will set up the stake and tell me I must burn, I must leave. but don’t be a fool, I have been through the worst and if more, much worse is yet to come then I will get through it; I have me and I love me even if I can’t always see that. I remember doing this, years ago, the music blaring in my ears at night, while they sleep. . . almost goodnight, but bittersweet, poems in the night, to make my eyes think they see prosperity and. . . [sleep now. . . sweet seroquel].