East of Edenburg

Well, I don't know.
It's like I'm staring into everything and seeing nothing.
And I want to know everything,, but I can't break down this wall.
There's no nobility in gluttony and wrath. And between the two,, when I look in the mirror,, I see something so lost and scared. And it's not that I feel like I'm sinking into a black abyss,, but rather I feel nothing at all with the exception of the cold glass of the mirror on my finger tips. But it's normal. And I know that. Everyone starts to feel this way:: lost.
Something will happen to pull me back into reality though. That's how it works,, right? At least that's what I've conjured. Normally,, I would mark my forehead with the sign of the unique,, but I'm not that lucky. I'm different,, but I'm not the only weird person,,




But I do everything for everyone else because I know I can't please myself unless I can make someone genuinely happy. It's just those times. Those times when I try to do whatever it is that I think I've become a master of and I get rejected. But goddammit,, I'm not doing it for you;; it's all so I can feel something.

It's not a worry though. I'm not worried. I just want to be left alone,, honestly.

Alone.
                               

Alone. Alone. Alone.

So my ears stop buzzing and my heart stops racing.
Because I can't handle having to try to make that connection. I'm busy. Too busy;; my head's busy.



Full of feelings, not words.

Fragility

People suck. And I've been a vicious person so I know. I lure people in with a sweet smile and then gnaw away at their innards as they lie there trusting me. What a sick, sick game I'm playing. And no one realizes until they are too invested in me to back out, no one can see until I blind fold them and push them off a cliff. And in a demonic way I really enjoy it because I would rather be alone than to be hurt by someone. That is so gross to say. 
And the more brutal you are to people the more they are tainted by this suppressing spirit you have pushed onto them. They don't understand and you don't have words for them because there's no real reason for anything to have ever happened.
And just so everyone knows (ironic statement to make because I know no one will read this), I'm sorry. I really am.

And in all cases, romantic or not, this is my fear, and this is why I'd rather be alone.

I'd drive my car off a bridge if I knew that you weren't inside.

I have nothing on my mind but sleep. A sleep that won't come to me...

But what about me? I am sad sometimes and I am happy sometimes. They are in extremities but are sincere.
And I believe I am an extremely sincere person to my disadvantage. People often confuse sincerity with obsession and it makes it really difficult to say what you actually think even if you have no personal gain. I have nothing to gain. I want nothing. Everyone just deserves to know the truth and it's disgusting how many people will withhold it to save face. And what for? We already regard each other as scumbags and nobodies... so what's the point?

Vulnerability is brilliant. And kind.

And after all, kindness is the art of love.

And kindness is selflessness.

But we're all so fucking selfish and refuse to humbly cut ourselves open in front of people and let them see our demons drenched in colorful blood. But we all have them. Dancing in our heads, taunting our sub consciences. And minimal transparency would prove that we weren't alone in life but instead we remain aliens to each other, acting out a real life lie that pleases the audience.

It's pointless because we are one in the same.

You deserve to be happy:

                 SMILE.
                    :)

A letter from my mental jail cell:

Some days I really wish I had cat eyes. Two perfect marbles sitting in the craters of my face with a sunburst of color laid beneath.
Instead they are white and sometimes red and sometime blue.

Too Dramatic

.

The Hands of the Lion-maker

I've been tired since that night you sang me that lullaby and rocked me to sleep. So, so tired.
I've been sick since that day the cold wind whipped through my hair and iced my ears. So, so sick.

And I lay down, I sit up, I dance on my puppet strings through life essentially the same way I did before you existed in my world. It's a game for me not to think of you though.
I have no future though, like I have no present. And we were not meant to have an opening night for this play we have written so many times. But we rehearse together like I rehearse alone when I'm staring, wishing for the words that came so easily in our exchanges.

I don't know how to tell you because I don't know how to say that I can't save you because I'm too weak and I've been flailing my arms in an open sea, trying not to drown for years. Just treading water, going nowhere, hoping to be swallowed by Jonah's whale. And I wish the water was warm.

And in my dreams you keep me warm and I am warm when I am dreaming of you.
But I don't dream in the colors I used to. I dream in the colors of your skin, of your eyes, of you.
For all this, I hate you.
But I probably hate myself more.
And I love you.
But I probably love myself more.

We sit, hand in hand. And I wait for you to roar because I expect you to; you never do.
It frightens me like you are a jack-in-the-box waiting to surprise me. And I silently whimper in my head, and you will never hear.

You are my lion,
I am your lamb.

SOMETHING

i see Your beautiful words and i've read them slowly, and i've read them quickly. 

i even read them out loud when i thought no one was listening. 

And i think i know You;

And i think You know.

i'm scared of You though. 

i'm scared of everything about You. The roaring sincerity in Your eyes when You talk to me. But mostly i'm scared that You are tangible and that is something i'm going to have to deal with. And although i don't want this to be a dream, i wish so badly this was a dream. i'm frightened of how You analyze every movement i make, every twitch of my eye or slight flair of a nostril. 

And You think You know me;

And You think i know.

And i wonder how my skin feels under your callused bony hands that hold me so tightly in the cold, in the dark. And i don't mind that 

neither of Us have 

words. 

i don't know. and i've never known. and You'll never know. 

soul meets body.

Early, I became a pro at blowing bubbles when I would wash my hands.
Index finger smugly on my thumb, soapy net suspended in the opening, gentle breath and quick movement of my hand to close it off. A ritual of sorts.

And that was beautiful.
I mostly think that because I was young and innocent and didn't have an obligation to anything for that minute of my life I spent blowing bubbles. And the time was beautiful. And the pride was beautiful.
But now, instead of smiling at myself in the mirror because I had perfected my art, I sit here. I sit here typing this story, in a moment that I'll never remember because it has little significance to my person. And I won't remember that Hallelujah as by Elisa is playing in the background because my time is now compact and not strung out into oblivion.

Perhaps in the 10 years or so that it takes me to remember days like today, like everyday of my today, I'll think of your smile. I'll probably smile too. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to find a truth about life that I learned while dancing in the palm of your hand.

Although, then, I'll know everything about nothing, just like I do today, I will think that what I am thinking actually means something as a whole and will effect people, it will only reach a handful in my lifetime. My life will only truly have effected the reality of very few.


And, for me, that makes those people mean the world.