Tag Archives: cigarettes

Numbing Numbness (Life of a Writer)

​I can’t say that I feel anything for anyone. Nothing real, at least. 

“I miss you”s and “I love you”s have become so, for lack of a more unique word, empty. Hugs and kisses and sex feel good but not down to my seemingly broken soul. I wish that I could drown out these thoughts with the music and birds and kids playing and car alarm going off right now, but they whisper so softly that it’s almost like a fucking shriek. And I just wanna scream and burn away the painful words that’ll creep their way up my throat with cigarettes and the drip. But the vices can’t save me by drowning me anymore. This is the kind of numbness and disassociation and self confusion that I can’t fuck away. I can’t buzz away; I can’t smoke out of my body. Or snort out of my fucking mind. I’m so sick of being this sick. Was I born this ill? Why do my diseases and conditions have to affect me inside and out?

I miss being held and feeling like I was cured. But it only lasts as long as I can get used to somebody’s body and then the touch of their skin makes me uncomfortable in mine and then I feel disease ridden all over again. I hope to forget about this and read it over two years from now and wonder how long it’s been since I felt so hopeless and lost. But I seem to only get worse with every forgotten passage and lose articulation as time passes. 

I wish that he could save me or, god forbid, another he in my life… but I’ve been told and have told others that you can only save yourself. 

But what a fucking hypocritical cliché because I don’t have the slightest clue of what that means or where to even begin. 

I’m so scared, so fucking terrified and petrified that I will always have to self medicate to pretend to cope with so much fucking pain. I hurt so constantly and so deeply and it subsequently makes me feel more inclined to take it upon myself to dull it.

How in the hell does anyone think that they’re supposed to numb their numbness? 

I don’t think that a writer realizes just how much pain that they’re in until they unload after paper silence for months. It’s such a freeing entrapment.

I feel that I’ve made some sort of breakthrough yet I’ve just dug myself into an even more gaping emotional and mental whole. What a fucking morose contradictory art. 

I don’t know what I want to do or be. I’m afraid that I have no fucking clue of who I am, but I’m more afraid that I know exactly who I am. I think that the latter is more horrifying. 

How the fuck is this any way to live? How in the world is this a life?
~Megan Chruszczyk

Quiet Fire

I could hold as many grudges as I want with incredibly good reason, but then how in the world would I have any room to hold on to the wonderful things?
The look in your eyes says marvelous things, but then your actions speak some sort of foreign language
And your aura… it is like shaky hands
Just let me hold them tightly so I can reassure you that time is of the essence, yes, but so is taking life moment by every miniscule to grand moment
I am miss black lung and buzzing head
Miss enigmatic open book and big broken heart
Miss captivating eyes and busted sense of self
I may be nearly blind, but I see clearly in hindsight
And I don’t need 20/20 vision to see right into your soul
Don’t even waste your time on underestimating the flames of a quiet fire, because, one day, that spark from my touch will light up your life
I have scorched earth in my luminescent blue and green eyes but I have a soft spot for boys with a warm gaze who taste like cigarettes and don’t ask me to let them love me

~Megan

Who? (Scattered)

Follow your heart

Not the person who walks out on you

And shame on you if you think that they own a part of you

And I’m tired of smelling like cigarettes and whiskey

I know it’s all fun and games when you’re the one with nothing to lose

If I could go back and do things again, I wouldn’t

I learned what I should have accepted while I was with him and when he was long gone when he got a hold of me again

And while those words are sour, I like a little flavor

And I wish that I could say that your lips were the sweetest thing that I ever tasted

But I feel like I took my one and only chance at that years ago

So I guess that I can’t say I didn’t warn the one sitting beside me in their own little head that they should proceed to intrigue with caution

He says he likes a thrill and a mystery, but people fail to realize that my story will forever be finished before you start it

~Megan