lying in the dark listening to amy winehouse sing about a cat in battered jeans. everything with the world hurts deep into my skin tonight. there's this pierce attitude i can't shake anymore. i keep telling everyone about my strength, my poor naked fragile strength. i never thought twice about suicide notes (not mine) (those were love letters) because that kind of state makes so much sense to me, more than this "stability" ever will. i feel the fakest i've ever been in my life, smiling, hurting, going through first chapters with a yawn stapled across my face. i want my tranquilizers and my soapy baths, how can i find that road again, honey, i'm so scared and tired of being sober. i don't want to go too far, i just want back into my old habits- my little world of faith and disobedience. i know i'm scared of looking myself in the mirror and finding someone looking back, consciously tame and accomplished. give me back my decadence.