Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

Not every single night, but very, very close..

I find my mind wandering in squares. I would say circles, but my moods are to extreme. Going in a circle is a gradual climb up up up, followed by a slow and steady curve down down down. I hit the top, ride the good ride and enjoy being in the clouds, living a dream. My fall is sudden, drastic, epic. I am left in the filth of my own ignorance and I remain there, no more ups, simply living in a hell of my creation.

My heart is not as strong as I think it’s supposed to be. I am constantly living with the fear that I am unloved, even though I am surrounded by love. I feel like I must be born on the wrong planet, breathing the wrong air, because I constantly feel as if I am waiting on someone to hold my heart and steady its beats until I feel…okay.

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Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I often wonder what these words would feel like now, rolling around in my gut, but I’m pretty sure I keep this bottle open so I’ll never have to find out.

The words rise from the walls of my lungs in a rush of warm breath. I can feel them, every syllable, every tiny edge they have etched into this heart. They brush up against my teeth, and my tongue feels awkward in my mouth. I don’t want to stutter, but these sounds have no patience, and my lips are pressured open in a way that ensures an awful start. But my eyes, they have found something worth all of the attempts my life can produce, if only to make sure my conviction, my feelings, are crystal clear. My body finds it’s balance as my heart, that felt sure to run away, is suddenly still, as if to ensure that erratic beating won’t drowned out my words.

It’s only a few seconds of my life.

It’s not guaranteed to be forever.

It’s only 3 words out of millions.

It’s not guaranteed to be reciprocated.

It’s only one complex emotion in a sea of similar sentiments.

It’s not guaranteed to lead to a happier life.

It’s only another person.

It’s not guaranteed this person is the right person.

 

But still…

 

Right here, right now,

It’s forever for the seconds before and after.

It’s 3 words that tell my entire story.

It’s one emotion that tells the rest of me who I am, and who I will be.

It’s not just another person. It’s her. It’s only her. It was her yesterday, it will be her tomorrow, and it will damn sure be her, standing in front of me, whom I let these words loose for.

You have me, all of me, my darling.

~I love you.~

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“My heart feels like it’s swallowed up in Autumn, even as the first storm of spring is right outside my window.”

My body aches for Spring winds,

Their tips curled with cotton embers,

Holding just enough of a spark

To thaw the azure April sky.

I love watching that air jitter,

The crystals of swirling snow

Pacified into sleepy puffs

Of sailing Dandelion clocks.

My once bloated, spiked steps

That would crunch and crack

And crumble under my course

Are renewed as thin, mossy lines,

Graceful and unburdened,

And I am able to dance

In the thunder and lightning

Of blossoming beginnings.

In that wind I feel a hope,

So trying doesn’t seem pointless

And I can find myself,

Maybe even dream again.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“And if it’s meant to end, let it end as it began, with a love so hot it burned our hands.”

Coiled by the allure of more,

You let his lips steal smiles against your skin.

They seek out your every delicacy,

Determined to ignite your kindling

All at once, in a burst as bright

As the blink that is our universe.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I promised you shelter, but I just realized my heart is full of holes. So maybe I was just using you to plug them up, to make me feel whole…

“You say that it hurts to be alone, but you are the one pushing aside your phone when it lights up, ignoring every invite from friends and family to go out or come over. You aren’t making an effort, so can you really say that being alone hurts?”

~It’s not being alone that hurts. I know I’m making this, a conscience decision, and it’s that feeling of giving up on me even when others haven’t that feels so Goddamned awful.~

“So it’s being self aware that causes you so much pain?”

~I can see that I’m not alone…that I’m not at rock bottom…but I feel like I should be. After all that I’ve done, and all that I haven’t, I’ve earned loneliness.~

“But being alone isn’t something you just decide for yourself. When you make that decision, you are making it both for yourself and those who want you in their lives.”

~And I want to say it’s the guilt, the unrelenting feeling of failure, that keeps me making the same, selfish decisions over and over and over…but no…that’s simply an excuse. I can say I don’t want to hurt others all I want, that it’s my desire that they all remain happy and healthy without me, but the only truth that matters is I am ignoring what they want to satisfy my own desire for punishment. And that guilt leads me further down this rabbit hole, cycling again and again and again AND AGAIN! IT NEVER ENDS, I JUST KEEP ON WANTING TO LET OTHERS DOWN, TO GIVE THEM A REASON TO HATE ME, BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, TO GIVE ME SOMETHING FRESH TO HATE ABOUT MYSELF! SO IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT MY REASONING IS! IT DOESN’T MEAN A FUCKING THING! IT DOESN’T!!!...It doesn’t matter…I’m picking self-hatred over their happiness…and nothing could be more disgusting than that…~

“…You want to hate yourself…that’s what you want? You want a reason for everything that has happened. You want meaning, because otherwise, what was it all for, right? What were all those nights spent doing laundry, desperately trying to wash off those dark red streaks for? What were all those days spent in a haze, throwing up regret only to purchase another bottle on the way home from work for? What were those nights spent sitting in the shower, fully clothed and freezing, watching as the blood tinged the water red, unable to take your eyes of that crimson river, what were those for?”

~They weren’t for anything. I already know…they weren’t for anything…if they were, then I would have found it by now.~

“That’s not the answer.”

~It’s my answer.~

“That’s not your final answer.”

~It’s the answer I came to, after using up all 3 of my lifelines, and having 2 choices in front of me, A or B. And I picked C, because I didn’t want any fucking chance to walk away…~

“But you’re still walking.”

~…~

“You’re still walking, and breathing.”

~The pills are starting to kick in, so breathing might become a bit more difficult here in a few minutes.~

“You’re still walking, and breathing, and living.”

~This…me…I’m not living; This isn’t fucking…You idiot, you fucking idiot…this isn’t…THIS ISN’T FUCKING ANYTHING!~

“You’re still walking, and breathing, and living, and screaming, and crying, and falling, and failing, and breaking, and cutting, and overdosing, and..”

~AND FUCKING NOTHING! I AM FUCKING NOTHING, NOTHING BUT A PATHETIC WASTE!!~

“…And you are still hurting, and loathing, and running, and..”

~JUST SHUT IT, SHUT THE FUCK UP, SHUT THE FUCKING HELL UP!~

“…And you are still here.”

~…why am I still…~

“Isn’t that really what you want? Not reasons to hate yourself, but a reason to live?”

~I don’t deserve something like..~

“Funny thing is, nobody asked you if you deserved it! Nobody asked if you wanted it, and nobody will ask you to give it back! It’s not fair, and it’s messy and difficult and maybe it’s not going to end up feeling like it was worth it at all! But YOU ARE STILL HERE!”

~It’s a joke…all of this is one big fucking joke.~

“Maybe. Maybe God hates you. Maybe God thinks this is funny. Hell, you might even be the main character in some weird, God produced sitcom, and the entirety of the Heavens are laughing at your expense. But none of that matters. At the end of the day you are still here, right here.”

~I’m only here because I’m too weak to pull the trigger.~

“And that’s still a reason.”

~Not a very good reason for living though, huh? I’m to much of a piece of shit to end it, so I just keep dragging my feet all over creation.~

“It’s not a stellar endorsement, but it’s a starting point.”

~It’s not the reason I want.~

“Meaning you don’t just want any old reason, but you want your reason to live.”

~…I’ll never find it.~

“But you’re still here, so you must not have given up completely, right?”

~I’m 99% there, at the end.~

“One out of one hundred. One out of one thousand. One out of one trillion. The odds make no difference. You still have the chance, a chance for a chance, a chance for that chance to dream.”

~…it still hurts…so much…~

“I know, I do, trust me, I know.”

~…I don’t have the energy to save myself…~

“But you have the energy to take a shower, and brush your teeth, and crawl under the covers. That sounds like a pretty good start, right?”

~It could be worse.~

“It could.”

~…will you stay with me?~

“…For a long as I can.”

~Thank you…I hate being alone…it’s so cold…~

“Just get some sleep, okay? Tomorrow will be here before you know it.”

~I don’t need tomorrow to come…but it will come anyway, right?~

“You’re starting to learn.”

~…please, don’t leave me…~

“…Get some sleep, okay?”

~I don’t want you to leave…please don’t make this goodbye, not again…~

“…It’s not a goodbye, just a goodnight. Goodnight Taylor…and sweet dreams…”

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“This may sound obvious to some, but you don’t have to say that you’re okay when you aren’t okay.”

Breathing in these embers, my esophagus melts like candle wax, and these things I need to get off my chest remain buried in my lungs. They fight for a release, so they worm their way through my veins. I can feel them crawling, a sick itch beneath my skin, sending my sense of touch into disarray. I need relief from the fire that is boiling in my blood, so I’ll treat my skin as bark, carving out chunks of crimson comfort..

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

3AM is not the best time to write, but I’m out of pills and things to distract me. I’m letting the sound of my keyboard keep me company while I wait for everything to finally end.

I hate myself.

I hate everything about me.

I hate my stupid hair and how I play with it so much, as if I could ever get it to look good, when I’m such an ugly monster.

I hate my stupid laugh, because it’s loud and comes at the worst of times because I have the worst sense of humor. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard, and it grates my ears and makes me wish I would just choke on my own spit and never make a noise ever again.

I hate my arms because they are covered in scars that only prove I was to weak to push that extra inch, where I would actually reach a vein and bleed a bit more, so I could do the world a favor and just disappear.

I hate my eyes because they look so tired even though I do nothing to warrant that feeling.

I hate my nose because it’s too big, but also to small, and it’s in the middle of the face that I hate so much.

I hate my ears because they hear how small I sound, I hate my hands because they can’t hold anything aside from my own greedy desires, I hate my heart because it beats away just fine, as if it has the right to keep beating, to keep pumping blood throughout this wasteful excuse for a life.

I hate the burns on my right arm I got from working as a cook because they remind me of the wasted weekends I could have spent doing anything, but I spent them as a nobody cook where nobody gave a damn about me.

I hate my skin, my smell, my stupid legs that keep walking me to and from work, but won’t really take me anywhere at all.

I hate my thoughts, all so ugly and unsightly, so conceited and lacking any empathy, any real love and care.

I hate…I hate that I can write about everything that has ever happened to me and twist every story, every experience, every single memory into another thing to hate. I hate feeling so empty. I hate feeling like I need to be saved and I hate knowing I can’t be the one to save me. I hate waiting for my time to start moving again. I hate waiting for someone to make my time move again. I hate it. I hate time, clocks and calendars to mark how much of a waste I have been in numbers and dates, months and lifetimes gone by the wayside, thrown towards the sky and cumbusting into nothingness because I am just a stupid speck of dust who ruined a perfectly good moment on the morning of August 10th, 1990, bursting into the life of 2 perfectly fine adults who would go on to be amazing parents to 2 amazing kids. I am a black spot on so many existences and I could make up for it all by dying.

What a thought though, right? Thinking my death would atone for the sin of my very existence. I can’t make up for who I am. I can never suffer enough to make up for what I am. I can only continue to hate myself. No praying to God; evil such as me does not deserve something as amazing as the idea of God. I am a monster. Monsters can only hurt, so do the one thing that makes sense, monster.

I hate myself.