Gay Moons, Insane 3's, And Glow In The Dark Beads.

(Please refer to Curiosity Killed the Cat, a earlier entry.) 

            I stared out blankly at the moon. Something was wrong with it tonight. A harvest’s moon? Maybe, but it was out of whack…it wasn’t…strait? The chair creaked as I rocked back and forth nervously. My Mother wasn’t here once I came to her home. I bit my nails still rocking back in forth to the rhythm of my heart pounding in my small frilled body. The words echoed in my head.           
              “I love you too Katie.” I fell backwards out of no will of my own and the tears fell endlessly. They were warm and hot…fiery emotion. My enemy. My stomach rolled and I cringed forward grabbing my stomach in pure pain.     
             “Camille.” I small voice called I turned. The tears still streaked down my face. It was my little sister. Her mad curly light brown hair was up in a bun with beautiful sun streaks. She wore a black sweater patterned with white designs and a pair of dark jeans. Her whole outfit was inspired by me, obviously, if I didn’t know better I’d say she was a gothic. But enough on details, I was just caught crying by my little sister. I thought of the time I saw my Mother cry, my role model. Weak, alone, and drunk…it was horrible. Yet she ran over and hugged me. “Camille do you miss Uncle Daddy?” she asked innocently. I felt my stomach roll again and I groaned a little and I forced it into a laugh.            
            “No, I just yawned is all.” I insisted whipping the tears and holding my stomach. I need a bathroom, I need a bathroom, I need a bathroom. I stood up and I brushed past her.            
              "I’ll be back, I need to use the restroom.” I said and she ran next to me as I made fast paces to the bathroom.           
              “Can I come? Are you ok? Should we call Mommy?” No don’t come, I need to barf. No I’m not ok, I can hear Steve swearing at me, No don’t call Mother, she’s has her own life.          
              “No, Malia thank you but I have to use the restroom please.” I turned and slammed the door shut and fell over the toilet. As I waited in silence waiting for Malia to go back outside, I gave into mad heaves and focused on other things. I’m going to go insane, and what’s worse is I wont have the sweet solitude to do it. At home, I could do anything I want. Cut, cry, and scream. Here though, we have two small children easily influenced by their perfect and favorite older sister. “Oh she is so smart, so beautiful, and she has big boobs! Oh she knows how to use computers, how magical! I wish Camille loved me though, she’s always so busy but it’s ok…because she’s my perfect sister who will always make the right choices!”  In Ferdie’s words:            “
               FUCK IT.”  I don’t care anymore. Ferdie is a pretty good friend; I wouldn’t use him as a super close friend to tell all my problems to. But he can make me laugh until I piss my pants. But anyway, I finished up and flushed the toilet gasping for air. My stomach still rolled as the words still went on in my head. I imagined her body, perfect, smooth, she’s beautiful. I ran my fingers through my thick brown curly hair and I felt weak. I rolled on my side and cried out. Malia was outside she couldn’t hear me…I hope.  
          I saw a cat trot in, a gray cat with black stripes against the mint green carpet of the bathroom. Its green eyes curious then as though to say, “I’m not surprised. You and your love…” It flipped its ears and sat next to me on the white tile. I cried silently as the words still went through my head. I love you too Katie, I love you too Katie, I love you too-
            The cat moved itself in the curve of my stomach and it rubbed its face against mine, as though brushing the tears away. I looked at the cat, Bull Head. He was never the cuddly type but he had come to comfort me. I felt as though my whole world was ending.
            But think logically you bitch. The world as the right to be cruel, I have the right to be cruel. Steve has the right to cruel. As cruel as he can be, he has the right. Like the moon as the right to not be strait. Hell, it could be gay. Katie has the freedom to take Steve from me. Ray has the freedom to hold me close. To whisper to me that it’ll be ok. He has the right to know what is happening to me. 
            And yet, it all hurts. I wish I didn’t have to be cruel, the world abuses its cruelty, and I want to some how take Steve’s rights of being cruel. The moon needs to be strait, it looked weird and crooked. It wont get any respect with it being gay. Katie need to die, I’ll kill her myself. (Refer to the poem Katie in my other poems) and Ray needs to run while he can before he gets tangled in this wreck of broken hearts.
            Shit man, I’ve lost it. I’m talking about a gay moon and piled of broken hearts. The cat was staring at me as these thoughts went through my head. The timer went off and the lights in the bathroom flashed into blackness. It was supposed to stay on for 30 minutes…was it 30 minutes?  I just wasted half hour thinking about a gay moon and a pile of broken hearts.           
             I stood up and the cat stirred following me to the back room. Where was Mother? I need something else to worry about…I opened the dark brown door that led to my room. A black bag lay on the floor, I wasn’t going to unpack right now. I’ll live out of a box for awhile…I don’t care anymore.             The walls were white and two extremely huge windows lined the walls near the bed. I hated windows…when I was younger I had a incident with glass and windows and blood and ex boyfriends and cuts and scars…at the age of 6. There was a desk slammed in the corner and a empty closet.             I opened my bag and pulled out my duct tape purse. In that purse was a small bag. And in that bag were 3 beads. And in those 3 beads were memories of love and happiness…           
             Steve didn’t buy them for me; he never bought me anything. More of I bought them for him. I paid a lot of money for them, but then…things happened and I never was able to give it to him…
            I turned off the night and darkness flooded into the room. Beautiful… sweet… darkness… But there was a glow. It was from the beads.            Dam it! Stop glowing. Just go out! Stop being so vibrant. Ironic enough, I found a sweater and covered the beads. Now the ironic part is…it was Ray’s sweater. I could tell by the smell of it. Yet the glow still was bleeding through and I gave up.
            Slamming myself down into the bed I held the sweater and the beads in my hands feeling that frosty sensation of lonesomeness. The feeling in my heart was heavy and my stomach still rolled in horrible condition. I love you too Katie, I love you too Katie, I love you too Katie…I hate you Katie. I can’t wait til you die. I hope 2012 comes around and wipes your white dirty blond ass out of here. I hope you find out your adopted, then maybe you can commit suicide and do both of us a favor. I hope Steve breaks your heart, I don’t care how he could go gay like the moon for all I care.
             “Again, words can not describe the pain I felt that night. No, not words. But actions. Actions speak louder then words. I feel another bloody suicide attempt coming along. Third time, it’ll be the third time I’ve tried. 1, 2, 3. The devils sweet number. Writing out my emotions is starting to get old and hard to work with. Actions speak louder then words love. You love Katie, you love Katie, you love Katie. 3rd time the charm, 3rd times the charm, 3rd times the charm…”