I woke up and rolled over across the scratchy and crusty sofa and saw you lying on the floor naked, the side of your face pressed into a mess of your own bile and alcohol. The peeking sunlight reflected off of unfinished lines of coke adorning the table that teetered on a pile of books, inviting me with a stream of depression that pounded through my mind; while on the other side of me a bottle of vodka was seducing me with whispers of numbing beauty and ecstatic stupidity. I growled softly as I sat up rubbing my face with my hand half expecting you to be gone again when I opened my eyes, and trying to figure out what the hell you're doing here; I never expected to see your face again. I drank several shots and waited for the blur to take over, hoping to make your face a little less recognizable. I crawled up next to you and stared at you, still passed out and dreaming. I wanted to destroy you. I wanted to crush your face into the makeshift pillow of newspapers, ragged stained clothes, and beer-saturated towels.

You stirred and looked up at me; a smile was drawn across your pretty little face. You got up and tackled me to the ground, the sound of plastic crunching beneath us was soon replaced with the sound of your laughter; a sound I don't recall ever hearing before. But a silence interrupted when I forcefully pushed you off of me sending you reeling up against the wall. I got up and stumbled back to my bottle finishing off what was left of the vodka. I turned around and threw the empty bottle that exploded against the wall only inches from your head. I fell down into the couch grinding my teeth while I watched you pathetically sob in the corner.

I tossed what was left of white powder in the bag and watched you fumble with it greedily. Not long after you were wiping the tears away and looking up at me. After several minutes I reluctantly stood up and walked over to you, taking your hand I helped you back up and hugged you tight. Things never get better, and we're reminded of that every time we open our eyes after the death of another dream. And even though my hatred for you goes beyond what any words can express, and even though I would never hesitate to stab you in the back at every opportunity; you know I will always be here for you to come running to when the fear consumes you as the high fades, to care for the unbearable hangovers, and to reassure you that this is the best we will ever have.

The cat-hair covered chair creaked beneath me as I stared into a window that has watched me for these last eleven years. Everything I've felt, every promise that had passed my lips, every dream I chased, every change that I have gone through, and every failure has been recorded faithfully in the dust that has collected on the glass over the years. I hear the tears fall around me, still raining from every mistake I've made. And all I can do is sit and stare into the window at the reflection that I'm only starting to recognize, and act like I believe everything happens for a reason and that whatever comes will be for the best.

But I'm so sick of always having to be the strong one. I'm sick of being the cold, apathetic asshole that seems to ignore the severity of any situation because no one else has the strength to pull through it. I can't keep holding everyone up when I can't even hold myself up anymore. I need help, but the only support I can get is from the bottom of a bottle.

I looked up at the bright blue kitchen cabinets and cracked the first smile in weeks as I remembered when we first moved in eleven years ago we swore those would be the first things to be repainted. It's almost funny how many things that we absolutely hate at first eventually grow on us until we no longer even notice them. And I think that in a few short months, when we've lost all of this we'll look back and finally appreciate them, and every other imperfection that we lived with for so long. I just wish I knew how to do this, to support a family when I can barely support myself. I wish I knew how to fix everything that I've messed up.

We desperately need someone who is looking for a place to stay for a while, someone who can help pay the mortgage until we figure out what to do; and someone who could move in immediately. Let me know if you're interested.

I know it's getting harder for you to look me in the eyes when I'm talking, my slurred speech becoming progressively harder to understand. But still the lies flow from my mouth, still relatively coherent by the years of rehearsal. And while you recognize them for the lies that they are you don't find it any less easy to believe what it is that you want to hear.

I'm sick of the your accusing glares, the way you talk to me like I'm on a death bed. And your apathy over what I'm doing to you sickens me. I continue to tear you apart and you still come crawling up to me begging forgiveness for my trespasses. And if I loved you any less I would destroy you in a fit of laughter. If I loved you any more I would excise myself from you in a manner that would destroy me. But I do find a pleasure in the rending of your heart, in the games that I can't seem to stop playing. It's not that I'm a monster; it's just that sometimes I get a little zealous for the things that I want despite the pain and consequences.

But I do wish that in my eyes you would see something more than a melancholy hedonist. This isn't something I do for kicks; it's just another desperate attempt to escape the one thing that I fear the most.

I kissed you good-bye one last time, flashing a small smile and an almost silent giggle as I looked into your eyes just before turning around and walking away. "What the hell is wrong with me?" I whispered to myself as walked out into the parking lot and to my car. I knew deep down that this is probably not where I'm supposed to be. But I don't care, I'm happy; something I haven't been able to say in years.

Self-sacrifice is something that I'm really not as acustomed to as I should be, but it's something that I am going to need a lot of to get me through this next year. And while I'm never alone, I know I will be feeling a lot of lonliness. I have quite the mess to clean up, I'm not even sure where to begin.

And in our ugliness, in our fucked-up expectations and desires, would anyone else see the beauty that we adore each other so much for? Or will we continue to be seen only as the train-wreck we undoubtedly are?

The decision has been made, the fears are foolishly subsiding. A new road appears before me. It's time to put aside my selfishness, my wallowing in the past, and move forward into what I have always feared the most: tomorrow.

Welcome to DyingAngel.net: XII. This is work in progress, so you'll continue to see small changes over the next week or so. Special thanks to Za for the photography and make-up (I'm still pissed that you refused to use a real razor!).

I've added several new features. There is a link at the bottom of the journal page to "Subscribe". This will notify you via email when a new post is made to my blog.

If you have "special access", make sure you are logged in before you subscribe to ensure that you are notified of new posts that are hidden from the public.

The archive page now has a link where you can view the long list of all entries. Also some entries will appear highlighted, these are entries that are my personal favorites, or memorable, and worth reading.

I've added a link to my RSS feeds for my blog, photoblog, and gallery. Eventually I would like to roll this into one feed but I don't really have the time or patience to do that yet.

For those that have access to all my poems, they will have a status for each one… "Completed", "Unfinished", and "Rewrite" (needs to be rewritten).

When I opened my eyes I saw your face carefully watching me. I wiped the sleep from my eyes, expecting you to disappear once I could see more clearly. But as I pulled my hands away and looked you were still there, wearing a small smile; or at least the closest to a smile that you get. I became embarrassed as I wondered how long you'd been watching me sleep, and covered my face with a pillow as I giggled.

Where did you come from? How did you get here? Why didn't I even think of questioning at the time? Nothing was out of place. We were kids again, laughing, wrestling, as though nothing mattered. And we giggled my first sober day in weeks away, and slept more soundly than I had slept in years.

You have always been my biggest source of strength, and at the same time my greatest weakness. Every time I fall apart you have always appeared out of nowhere to put me back together. I just wish you wouldn't disappear again when the job is complete.

The new layout for DyingAngel.net will be coming this weekend. The site will be up and down frequently I'm sure… stay tuned.