Thinking of You

my, the time has passed.

when did it become

so cold?

i  must have become too numb

to notice

my pale bloodless limbs.

it’s grown cold.

far too cold.

i feel the icy chill

of frigid bones moving under

dry skin.

wasn’t it only yesterday

when you wrapped your arms

around me, slowly

engulfing me,

finally settling your head

on top of mine.

Random Ramblings

it just happened…

one day I felt like shit

the next

normal, even happy I’d say.

 

me.

normal.

now that’s a fucking laugh!

 

all right, so I guess the best way

I’d put it

is

well, I kind of just forgot about him.

he’s like a dream.

every day, becoming more distant

and unclear.

 

it’s strange.

 

I feel strange having

this feeling of freedom.

I never thought I’d see the day

when I was no longer a

slave to hopeless love.

 

the same love I’ve wasted all this time

trying to prolong when it was

already gone.

the one destined to implode

into a tiny million pieces.

a carefully concealed time bomb.

I had no idea.

we had no idea.

 

now

the past, you, EVERYTHING,

the details are all blurred,

the facts skewed.

 

I feel

renewed,

resurrected even!

 

my friends,

finally,

I’ve figured it out!

this change I’ve undergone.

the one I’ve now spent lines upon lines on

excess lines

trying to understand

and to explain to you.

 

after careful contemplation,

I’ve determined that

my recent

shift in realization transpired

once

I finally probed the past

with sober eyes.

 

the madman survives the looney bin.

 

I’ve accepted my flaws,

our dependency – both to

each other and to drugs,

so many drugs.

we were reckless,

foolishly invincible.

 

what an absurd notion that

we truly believed

we were hoodrats.

 

let’s see.

going forward,

I’ve accepted his love.

yes.

it was real.

it was all real.

 

strangely, I feel the urge to

pat myself on the back.

            what’s wrong with me?

how could I fail to see what’s undeniably

clear to me now,

what has been plainly apparent

this entire time:

 

 

he never loved me.

I created this

fantasy

with my own

two hands,

unstable hands, unconsciously

shaking in desperation

seeking relief in the absence of drugs.

 

only I would have the balls

to smirk

at that moment,

where most would fail to find humor.

 

don’t you fuckers get it?

it was all me! this entire time!

I drugged myself into oblivion,

forcing myself into believing

every goddamned lie –

a tangle of lies that became

my fantasy

my reality.

 

they were one in the same.

 

once I finally escaped

from my self-induced stupor,

and trust me

it’s been a helluva long time,

I grasped reality just as

 

everything

            fell to

                        p i e c e s.

C’est La Vie (First Short Fiction Excerpt)

Winter

Note to Reader: היא means she and הוא means he

C’est La Vie

a short fiction written by Alexandra Suh

:היא

I have always believed that life is balanced like the yin and yang. That every bad event, individually significant or not, sets in motion an equally good event. And vice versa. Little did I know, today would be the day when my ignorance finally caught up with me. Resulting in the complete obliteration of my haphazardly constructed reality, leaving me helpless in the chaos I had inadvertently created.

Raz, my darling Raz. This was a very rare name here in America. He told me once that his name meant “secret” in Hebrew. At the time I had laughed lightly, effortlessly flirting with a handsome stranger. His facial structures were comparable to the sculptured busts of Greek gods, with chiseled chin and sharp angles. But it was his eyes that attracted me. Those eyes, which at first glance appeared to be a plain brown, were oddly intense. On rare occasions, if I looked at him without him noticing, his gaze would cloud over and expose a carefully concealed expression that I had only seen twice. I would be filled with an unexplainable, overwhelming sadness. And pain. Yet at the same time, those eyes managed to stir desire in me. After all, that was the basis of our relationship. Drugs and sex. We were such ignorant fools. Grasping at love to fill the emptiness inside of us. And it was our mutual acceptance of this delusion, of love, that led to our inevitable demise. But I try not to blame myself for everything. After all, the devil has a reputation for being elusive and I never would have guessed that I was staring right at him.

After a semester filled with racing cars, shoplifting, and an abundance of drugs, Raz and I were inseparable. The happiness that consumed me during that time was phenomenal. Life couldn’t be more perfect. But everything changed once winter arrived and the nights grew cold.

I woke up every morning that winter break scared to death, left with no option but to pretend that everything was normal. That everything was going to be okay. Ever since the end of the semester, Raz had been living with me since his parents kicked him out of the house. He told us it was because he failed all of his classes. But so did all four of us.

Yet in the moment, it seemed as though fate had brought us all together. A miracle of sorts. Each one of us acutely aware of some strange bond forever sealing our friendship. But the reality was that we were four lost souls using each other as an excuse to justify our reckless behavior. The time passed so quickly then that days blurred into nights. It was an anomaly if we weren’t high on something or another every single day. That was a time of experimentation for me, with both adrenaline rushes and hard drugs. Our bodies willingly succumbed to our growing addictions, which were easily compensated for by flipping drugs.

Hoodrats. We were goddamned hoodrats.

“My parents hate me,” I remember Raz telling me. I didn’t believe him until he half-heartedly divulged his mother’s crazy e-mails to me. Normally, Raz exuded an air of confidence, but that day he broke apart. He confessed that he was still on probation from a previous drug charge. How his wealthy and influential parents constantly moved, never staying in one place for too long. How they controlled his siblings hoping to mold them into their image of perfection. How it was easy for him to make friends, but despite his popularity, no one knew the real him. He admitted to being a whore who fucked to forget. The man whose carefree attitude and chronic optimism I had been so envious of, faded into that of a small child who just wanted his parent’s love and approval.

I skimmed over the e-mails. Certain phrases jumped out at me. You’re dealing again? No more chances. Go to jail or hide in Israel. Your friends don’t care about you. Can’t be trusted. All lies.

 

Raz looked at me with a sad, defeated look. “They won’t stop. All they care about is their reputation. And right now, they see me as a threat. The longer I associate myself with you guys, the higher the chance that my ass ends up in jail and I tarnish the stupid family name. I can’t let anyone else get involved.”

:הוא

It was hot. Israeli summers were always unbearably humid. In my new pitiful home, remarkably smaller than a freshman dorm, the heat was so condensed that the fan served no purpose other than to trick the mind into believing the room would cool down. This tiny dump was supposed to be an upgrade after living in the local hostel. I had to find a place fast; those bitches only left me 40 bucks. And they’re supposed to be my fucking parents! Not that they deserve that title. By the time I even found this pathetic hellhole, I had to sell my iPhone to literally meet life’s most basic needs: shelter, food, and cigarettes. At best, during these horribly long days, I was able to budget a loaf of challah to last me for the day – sometimes, for even longer.

I stared at the computer screen in front of me. Just end it, don’t think about it! I’ll only hurt her more if I prolong this. Come on… what’s taking me so long? Why can’t I forget her like the others? My mind was racing. The same ominous thoughts had been relentlessly taunting me. Sweating and frustrated, I got out of bed and turned on the lights. I stood there for a few minutes quickly trying to adjust to the harsh glare that flooded my vision. I read the typed messages in front of me one more time:

“Hey! It must be so good to see all your friends in Israel.”

“How are you? Haven’t heard from you. I miss you, my dear.”

“Are you going to answer my skype calls?”

“Answer me! You can’t be busy all the time for this long!”

“…Dump me already. Just stop ignoring me! Please!”

And on and on the messages continued following the same passive-aggressive pattern. My mouth was dry. I felt desperate and gripped the water bottle next to me. Relief flood through me as I immediately drained the contents of the bottle. My anxiety had passed and I regained some semblance of self-control.

It took persistent willpower to stop myself from responding to her, but that still didn’t manage to stop the ruthless onslaught of memories of us together. Everything was a trigger. Everything was a reminder. So, I did what I did best. Pretend she never existed and ramble on. Instinctively, my emotions had shut down and I had resorted to any form of instant gratification. I became addicted to tattoos. The pain and beauty of needle penetrating skin engrossed me. My diet consisted of black coffee and stale cigarettes. And sleep was a foreign concept, consisting of me laying in bed staring at the ceiling.

Life was simple; I worked to live and drank to work.

As time passed, insanity slowly monopolized my reality.

Leaving me stranded

in a fucking

war

zone.

Depression’s Last Grip

relinquish me

from my demons;

those fiery beasts are a constant reminder

of the pain.

they won’t leave me

in peace.

they drive me insane.

constantly creating

paroxysms of shock that

jumpstart my brain

 

a jumble of emotions and thoughts

pictures and words

running on top of each other

racing to make themselves known.

each one somehow hurting less,

until i feel nothing.

 

i cannot sleep

nor eat.

and time means nothing,

yet i notice the changes

that become of me.

my feverish eyes

pupils darting every which way,

my sunken cheeks

with bones prominently displayed,

and worst of all,

my posture

which threatened to permanently shut

my body in half.

a spitting image of someone broken.

 

yet it is not my appearance

that scares me,

but what lies inside:

the evil that thrives off my fragile being.

i do not know what it is

real

anymore, only that

i will never be the same again.

 

the only living witness

who could liberate me disappeared

wordlessly sealing me with this fate

for eternity.

my last hope for salvation gone.

Drunken Thoughts of a Mad Man

i woke up today,

drowsy and irritable.

another long night had passed

filled with

strangers and booze.

the room displayed an assortment of misplaced items

a labyrinth translucently veiling the events

of the previous night.

 

i spot several empty liquor bottles

smashed

the broken pieces glittering

in the harsh sunlight.

a sigh of relief escapes my lips

as i eye the crumpled condoms

mere inches away from

the trashcan.

 

same shit, different day

nothing ever changes.

i think of the many years

many days

many hours

i have left

wasting my life away

with cheap whores and bottles of liquor.

fucking, and drinking,

and writing.

 

i look out at the morning rays

bursting through the curtains

and hear a rooster crow

marking the start of the day.

the absentminded and shallow

lives

of this world

will be rising soon to work their

menial 9-5 jobs.

 

and i sit thinking,

picking up a stale beer from the floor,

drinking to ease my hunger

or at least to help me forget about it.

 

abruptly, i began

laughing maniacally

at this god-forsaken world.

 

hysterical laughter

between gulps of beer.

me, in dirty old clothes

with tobacco-stained teeth,

relishing in the fact that

i have it so much better

than all the fools out there.

The True You

never did i think
that i could like you
someone who i never even
gave a chance to
get to know.

even the most seemingly
unrelatable
people know something
we can learn from.
every single person
goes through hard times
and every single eye
has shed a tear.

do not judge a book
by its cover
because there is so
much more to the
magnificent being who
stands tall in front of you.
possibly containing life
experiences beyond your
wildest dreams.

The Truth Hidden Within My Eyes

they say that the eye

is a window to the soul

but no one seems to

really see

the reality of what resides in me.

 

darling, take a good hard look

and you will see 

the pain and hardships

that have brought me here

resonating within the narrow tunnel.

a single scream could

echo forever within its endless space

as it has many times before.

 

there are different doors

within

showing a glimpse into

days filled with tears,

violent accusations,

and waving somber good-byes.

but there is also pleasure

mixed with the pain.

 

and certain memories

show beautiful moments

like the day i met you

and your beautifully sculpted face

teeth shining bright

enchanting

leaving me breathless.

 

those precious recollections

are the only thing

remaining

of me that keep me soft

and genuine

against a world

where violence and terror run free.

Do You Remember Me?

do you think of me still

when you walk down the street

and hear a song we

used to listen to ?

the words reverberating in your mind

listlessly playing over and over.

a solemn tribute

to the good old days.

 

do you think of me

when you cook breakfast

flipping the omelette

reminding you of days

when we’d wake up together

smiles in our eyes ?

just being in each other’s company

was enough and nothing more.

 

do you think of me

when you use the film i gave you

as a gift

to capture those rare moments

that are precious to you ?

each click of the shutter

a memory

of those long winter nights

huddled close for warmth.

 

do you think of me

the way i do you ?