holding tight, curled into a ball.

the house is suddenly my own, and i'm shaking. hard-to-describe transformative weekend at the coast. reorganizing my thoughts on the big and small pictures. daily changes, lifelong redirections. letting go of the hollow glamour of personal destruction, reclaiming lucidity and examination. look, don't turn and run. staring at my feet in the waves, remnants of black nail polish getting washed away, a symbol of a larger cleansing. wake up from this dragging sleep, this crushing avoidance. i can smell nothing but cigarettes and see nothing but scuffed plastic, hear nothing but music. there are no people right now, only examples of various options and consequences. maybe a major issue? anyone would give in under such a limited scrutiny, right? there's nothing to look at but some character i've pieced together from a hundred wal-mart trips and dreams about false memories. this isn't what i had imagined. fuck.