And round.

"I love ya babe, okay?"
I knew the words were meaningless, and in a couple of years they would flutter away
with everything and everyone else.
I have stopped seeing the beauty in the world. I am unable
to write about the colours, and the sounds, and the people.
The stencils of skin that had once meant so much to me, now smudged between
drunken hysterical phonecalls and quick, vomit induced dinners.
I had thought everything was set in stone. But stone erodes.
Stone always erodes over time.

My pills remained in their bottle, untouched; solemn.
I missed them more than her, and with this I began to believe they
had laid a path of diet pills and scars that turned purple in the cold towards a false
future.
They had kept my spirits up, had kept my hands typing, had kept my fantasies spinning round
and round
and round.
I hated them. They sat in a crumpled paper bag; unprofessional beside unread books
and CD’s that had lost their meaning.
They were in arms reach, the powder screaming at me
from within water-soluble shells. I am beggining to
get sick of reality. I would rather
spin in circles, living blankly
in my
water-soluble fantasies. They will not flutter away.

"I love you too."
I hung up the phone and cried. My words meant nothing, and as
I type I feel the same.
What the hell happened to the beauty. What the hell.

They say it’s within the shell.