Only a chance.

They say once you stop for good

You only have a chance of really stopping for good.

That no matter how many people you tell

No matter how much you spew and spew this all out,

It's only a chance.

Uncertainties.

I want to say I'll stop forever.

That I'll take something for this,

And it'll all be better.

"What are you doing?"

"She's sleeping"

"I'm writing"

Is that a valid thing to be doing at this hour? I don't know.

It's only just before 2:00am.

I want it all to be gone.

Over.

But how many words is it going to take?

How many words for a chance?

***

And I wonder why as of late I've been less careful with everything. Less careful in some regards of my life. It's like I don't care anymore about it. That I'm just going to tell everyone what this exists and what it means to me. I don't know. I do things that shock me, and then with a sentence I can pretend that it was about someone I should have gotten rid of a long time ago. Someone I should have never broken.

I understand that all of the things that I do are my things and my fault. My choices, my mistakes. Even right now in my living room in an open zipper are things that would have me out of this house tonight if they were met with eyes other than my own. I used to be so careful. I used to destroy it all, and pretend it never happened. Deny, deny, deny. This is so much bigger than it feels. Sometimes I like to think that its not really important. That it doesn't matter what I do because it's my body, not theirs.

It's only bad because somebody somewhere decided what normal was and wasn't. I don't like that word normal, but let's say socially acceptable. Sure. I agree with myself on that one. Not that it matters if anyone else does. I'll leave that one to the ghosts. They decided that A and B and C and D were right proper things to do. E and F were dandy if done in moderation. G and H and I and J weren't terrible, but good people didn't do those things. Somewhere, when they skipped to exhibit me, they picked the thing that I happened to fall for and told me it wasn't right in the first place.

It's wrong. It's immoral. It's something I should be ashamed of. I know that being caught, really caught, is like being hung. I think I would have to leave here, and go away for a bit, possibly forever. Really, nothing would change, but everyone would become the truer versions of themselves. I really have to grab my bag from the room.

***

I have these moments of intense passion, intense self-direction, care, and planning. It's like in that moment I know what I'm going to do, how this is all going to end up, and its always better. It's always something better than where I am now.

Then there comes these terrible instances of the exact opposite. I feel like I'm swallowing water until my lungs are so full of it all that I want to do is stop breathing even if just for a second because I know I'm only breathing water. It's some sick cycle that you watch yourself repeat over and over and over again. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

There's the in between that I'm least fond of. Neither here nor there, up or down. Middleness. Sameness. Nothingness. The undercurrents of sadness and blank. And I guess everyone experiences all of these things in different intensities. We're happy, sad, and inbetween. I feel like I fall out of what I should feel. I don't think its a big deal though. Then again, maybe its a bigger deal than I think.

I can't think anymore.

Goodnight ghosts.