Just Won’t Wait

A wicked creek runs thru me.  The wind blows from me.  The same way the blood flows out of me.  Am I still awake.  Am I stranded in the ocean or a lake.  Is it close.  Is the end soon.  Can I at least compose.  One last little bit of me.  For you to read.

Tell me.

Was I enough.

Was I apparent.

Did you see.

I was always really rough.

Making myself transparent.

I’m quiet with my half baked lies.  I get carried away with not getting too carried away.

But.

A wicked creek runs thru me.  The wind blows from me.  Al while the blood flows freely.

I am.

I was.

I will always be half the person I wish I was.

Truth is.

I love too much.

For someone who is throwing his hope into hands that just won’t wait.

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To Kill My Sanity

I like to think I’m ok.

At least I’m fine.

That’s why I’m awake at 5 AM.

Writing to no one about nothing.

I really like the rain because it takes away all the noise.

I really like to lay down and listen to the silence.

Its beautiful silence.

Its breathtaking really.

I wonder if I can love

I know I can lose.

I can leave.

And I can be left.

I can barely live anymore.

I just want to say “Hey, what do you do for fun? Want to go do that together?”

Am I enough of a person who can step into such waters and scream these words into the onslaught of nature?

I guess the silence answers.

It gives and it takes but it never keeps.

It cannot keep what won’t stay.

Here I am.

Stuck between what won’t be.

And all that is desired.

And here I am.

At 5:02 AM.

Wondering if its still ok to like people.

 

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I will travel this road again and again

I want more then nothing the defeat of me.  The destruction of myself.  And the end to this poorly written story.

Do not listen for words of need.

For low whispers of a wiser man.

Nor do you wait for what will surely not come.

Do not think

Do not read anymore of this.

I’m a wasted person with a short lived wasted life. I couldn’t even think of another word for wasted so I used it twice.

When I write I always want to enforce some unneeded emotion on the reader.  Something annoying.  Something painful like a paper cut.  Not life threatening or really that important but you notice how annoying it is.

I want annoyance.

Borderline hatred.

I want them to curse the wasted time from reading this.

Most of all.

At 3 AM.

When no one is around to read this.

I want them to feel loved.

To feel that little bit of warmth that hides inside of us.

That all purpose innocent happiness.

When we look at the lone flower on a hot summer day.

A snowman some kid made that’s falling apart because kids suck.

The end of a book you just read.

That unquestionable bit of happiness that the world has to wait 3 seconds to take from you.

I saw her blowing thru the wind like the dirty receipts and empty Twix wrappers along side her.

It was far too hot for the coat and far too early for the 5th of jack.

But we see what we want.

And I saw heaven open up right in front of me.

And then I saw it throw up all over the stop sign.

And then I saw it trip over the curve.

And then I saw London.

And then I saw France.

And well… I was really expecting underpants.

 

If I could.

I most certainly wouldn’t.

If I should.

I still wouldn’t.

If all depended on what could be and what should be.

I still wouldn’t be.

Existence is but my life existing on its own.

Out of my control.

Out of my hands.

In the hands of another.

But that person doesn’t exist.

And I’m falling like a thinly explained plot for a story that  never gets written.

And here you are.

Reading this drabble.

Pretending its worth your time.

When its not even worth my own.

God….

I wish I could be a better me.

Its depressing witnessing every sad fucking second of my life.

I just wish I guess.

For my short bits of excitement to not fall on the deaf ears of the ghosts in my room.

And for all the thoughts I have.

To at least once.

Be heard by someone who cares.

Anyone.

Just one.

I could say I need just one falling star.

One perfect night.

One warm hand.

And one untouched beach.

I just need to win the lottery once.

I’ll be set.

I’ll be ok.

Just let me have one miracle.

And I’ll be alright.

I promise.

 

 

I think I just wrote myself into a deep dark hole of depression (again).

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I Fell Far From Myself

I want to look at you.

Like I look at new snow around 3 AM.

Like the sun mid-July.

Like my pillow around  7 AM when I want to keep on sleeping for a few more hours.

I don’t have any good concrete reason for this need.

My love is as paper thin as the paper I wrote this on (its non-existent).

But I want to need you.

Like the rain wants the sun.

And how the perfect summer day prays for the storm to come.

I need you in the worst way.

Which is not at all.

I’ll regret it like the tattoo of your name misspelled across my shoulder.

Or bouquet of flowers I paid far too much for.

Or all those nights I stayed up writing pointless little scribbles about you.

I think I regret those the most.

I am such a non-threat to the world around me that I do not exist as a possibility of interaction.

I will keep on hating myself.

I will keep on being depressed.

I will never be a person worth caring about.

That is the one guarantee in my life at this moment.

And if I know one truth.

Only one.

It’s that you deserve every opposite of me.

If I could tell one lie.

Only one.

I would wish that could somehow still be me.

 

 

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This Is Stupid.

You know.

Its 1 AM somewhere.

And your sitting alone staring at the ceiling.

For some simple reason.

The idea of me reappears like the ghost of Christmas past.

All the lies become so true.

And all your stories become memories again.

The one about Melissa.

The one about Kyle.

And that one time you almost died.

I miss my fake life and all the ghosts that filled my heart.

You miss the blank spot of cement you could bleed upon.

If I was a canvas awaiting you.

Then you were the serial killer with a bloodied knife.

I think we both misunderstood what love was.

Scars don’t really heal.

They just become something.

Changing you for the rest of your life.

 

(((When you weren’t looking I wrote the stars across your back)))

((((I still can’t find the knife you stuck in me))))

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I Don’t Know Where To Go

I think the biggest lie you can be told is that your beautiful.  It plants a seed in your mind and grows something hideous.

It can grow despair.

Or it can grow hope.

Its a dark gray sky on a stormy day.

Or its the beating sunshine of an endless beach.

It creates an illusion of absolute one way or another.

It is a needed word in the world.

For its absence can kill as much as its presence.

Beauty in itself brings great satisfaction.  The flowers, the bees, the wind blown trees.  Gratification breeds into us the need for more gratification.  It twists us into an existence we can’t sustain for long.  A bit of happiness that can only be found in the moment and in memory and nowhere in between.

I don’t take much from myself.  That I’m loved or that I have people to love.  If a world without me never changes then a world with me is no different.  If I cannot conceive change with or without beauty.  With or without life.  Then with me or without me I add nothing to this place.

I am an observer of this nothing.  This false bit of existence.  Further proof that we are just random bits of evolution thrown together on this ever changing rock in the sky.

I pine for self-importance.  I’ve read one too many books and watched ten too many movies.  When will my plot twist come.  When will my beach become a storm and the sun break thru the clouds above me.  When will I find gratification in myself.

Is this world just a play thing for the self-important and useless?

Am I the red shirt barista at the coffee shop that is life?

Why?

Why do I pine for a world where my words are as real as my emptiness.  Where I can write myself the sky and turn the rain into a million stars.  Do I need beauty so much I will create it.  Do I need love so much that I will love myself.  Do I need the world so much I will create a new one just for me?

Do not call the night.

Do not call the night

Do not call, alright?

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I’m Bored I Guess

I saw a person walking in the distance.

I saw the clouds.

I saw the rain.

I saw myself in the rippling reflection of each puddle.

I saw my own shadow around each corner as I ran further ahead.

I saw the sun.

I saw the sky.

I saw it all runaway from me.

Even myself.

***

My favorite pastime is to lay around and justify all my bad habits.  I’ll convince myself that I’m only lazy and out of shape because of my anxiety and upbringing.  I don’t really have anything else to add to this statement.

***

I miss the quiet.  I miss the night.  I miss the blank ceiling up above.  I miss the wasted time.  I miss dark.  I miss the silence.  I miss the feeling of not being alive for a few hours each day.

***

I’m one of those slow learners.  Somethings in life just seem impossibly out of my grasp.  One of those things is realizing which people actually care about me.  I can go years without noticing or acknowledging it.  I will blow people off forever never taking there sense of “friendship” seriously.  And if they try to care I’ll just tell them no because they couldn’t possibly actually care about me.  For some reason I’m remembering all the times I’ve upset people by not taking them seriously when they care about me.  I kind of has this just self admittance that my life is just a worthless pile of shit and nothing will ever change that.  I try to not let my own shittyness overrun and fuck other peoples lives, etc.  I’m a sack of shit, its who I am.  Doesn’t mean I need to be a sack of shit onto other people.  But it does mean other people can’t change the fact I’m a sack of shit.  I’m not a saint.  I just like to think I have somewhat of a sense of humanity in my everyday life.   I do not take anything good from it.  It doesn’t make me happy or make me feel like a good person just because I don’t shit on other people with my own shittyness.  I don’t get those butterflies in my stomach when I’m nice to people.  More or less I’m just shoving people out of the shittyness hole because I’m the one that’s supposed to be using it, not them.  I only things deserved in my life are the brief moments of distraction I allow myself everyday.

I hate this though.  This feeling of…. disdain… unfriendliness….unlove if its such a thing???  Some people seem to care at some open faced thin level of life.  I even seemingly care about them.  I don’t feel like I actually care about them.  Just they happen to be around me more so there allowed more of my humanity then other people. As if there existence doesn’t pain me one way or the other.  And I could be alone all the same and nothing would be different.

I try I guess.  I tried maybe.  Maybe its because I tried.  No one should write off life just because it didn’t work out.  But I can write off life because when I talk the most no one is around.

Even if by choice.

***

I got something etched into every corner of my soul.  I got all these words written across my heart.  My love, my feelings, my everything painted inside my skull.  I got flowers in my stomach and a river running down my spine.  Every vein inside of me but the worlds most useless puzzle piece.

If I was a picture I would be blank.  If I was a song I would be silent.  If I was still a person I would be a shadow.

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Hello, Sorry its been so long.

Well its been since forever since I last wrote on here (sorry).  I’ve been mostly busy with the pointless trivialization of life.  Also my excessive need to play a children’s card game.  Honestly, I’ve been so busy at work that they’ve given me some time off just to give me a small break.  Writing has been ….. a challenge I would suppose.  I’ve mostly been writing pointless things about work on the back of my hand or scraps of paper.

I want I want I want to write.  I have no desire within myself and thus it shows here the most.  I’ve shutdown to say the least.  I feel as if I only pretend to be a normal person to keep alive the idea that I’m ok.  I walk and talk just the same.  But I’m getting more hallow as the days go by.   I really don’t have hopes for anything anymore.  Just those nice little memories that make me smile as if there somehow capable of being replayed over and over again.

My sadness is empty now.  Its cold.  If a season it would be a quiet winter night.  Or a windless summer afternoon.  An absolute of nothing.  Sadly.  Honestly.  I miss wanting more for myself.  I miss wanting something beyond quenching my own boredom.  I miss wanting other people.  I feel more alone then I have before.  I’m a misfit of existence (yet again).  I’m a little tired of “the being a person game” when it comes to living and interacting with other people who are also playing the game.

“Sir, I’ve been on this same level for 23 weeks.  You do not have to show me the tutorial for small talk.”

Sometimes I wonder that if you stop moving long enough will time stop.  Can I break from this circle of rejects and misinformed retailers of shit.  Can I escape my damnation.  Would it be like a forever nap.  Or just like a numbing.  Like when your leg falls asleep but then wakes back up and for some reason decides to hit the snooze button when you start to walk around.

I miss love and all its cliche-ness.  Not the actual thing just the mid afternoon daydream that would keep the day slightly more interesting.  The slight hope that someone would give you more then 5 minutes of there life and let you be you and them be them.  And for some impossible reason those 2 things were nearly the same.

I should buy myself a mirror.

I miss dreaming the dreams I could never dream.  The dreams of my pointless writing making any sense.  The dreams of the girl in the yellow shirt having some fucking awesome cool back story that for some reason would want to talk.  The simple little dream that my life would be something more then not being bored with the constant nothing.

People think space is cool but its just an endless pile of nothing that barely changes one way or another.

I feel as if I’m just a slow dwindling stream that was once a roaring river (so fucking cliche).  At once I had half way decent passion for myself.  Now its just an empty room with a slight echo if you yell loud enough.

I saw my reflection in the window the other day.  I saw the rain pattering against my head.  I saw thru the wet tangled hair dragged across my face. I didn’t see anything behind the window.  I saw myself standing silently.  Standing beneath the unrelenting Michigan sky.  In front of a window.  Staring at absolutely nothing.

I guess its a little strange that I know all the wrong answers.  But in a way it lets me know there must be right answers.

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“I had a God dream”

Deliver me a dreamless sleep.  Throw upon me the hottest flame you can muster. I need pain like this soulless state needs rain.  Scream out my name and ring me up above all of everything. Show my mistakes to me forcefully.  Show my mistakes to everyone.  Show me my mistakes last of all.  Stack the wood and pour the gasoline.  But let me rest for a bit.  Let my nap be short. Take me in darkness.  Take me underneath the night sky.  Take me before I wake.  I cannot stand the thought I mite be alive long enough to fight for myself. I cannot stand chance.  I will not stand for hope.  I will only lay down my arms to all that is above. Do not make it quick.  Make it everlasting.

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Sean Walked A Lot

“Mama who is that man?” asked the little girl, maybe around 5 years old, maybe not.  We don’t know such things.  We just know she’s clinging tenderly to her mothers hand while crossing the street.  A grip of desperation that only little kids have when there out in the world.  Hanging onto there only lifeline.

“Maria, its not polite to stare at strangers.” said the mother while yanking her tiny 5 years or so old child to the opposite side of the street of that curious stranger.  Clutching her daughter like you would hold onto a cellphone or backpack.  Its just an everyday utensil in life.

***

He walked.

He walked all across town.

He walked behind the town dump.

He walked thru the dirty town park that could be confused for the town dump.

He walked by the stray cats.

And the stray snakes that had no homes.

He walked by the corner liquor store.

He walked thru the town grocery store once.

He walked into a restaurant, sat down for 5 minutes, and left.

He walked by her house.

He walked by his house.

He walked by your house.

He walked a lot.

***

“He’s always walking.  You think he’s homeless?” said the old man to the other old man.  This one barely clinging to his sham of a life.  The one he’s been pretending to live since he cheated on his dead wife 15 years ago.  How dramatic.

“I don’t think are town has ever had a homeless person.  He’s probably one of those emos or homosapiens the news is always talking about.” said the other old man to the old man mentioned before.  Or so he thought because he has a hard time remembering things.  Sometimes he forgets who’s slept with his wife and who hasn’t.  She wasn’t a slut.  She just hated him and they refused to get a divorce because of reasons.

“GO HOME YOU HOMOSAPIEN!” screamed the delusional old man from the front of the liquor store at the empty street before him.

“Shut up Ted he’s not here anymore.” grumbled his friend in response.

***

Home is a strange concept if you really think about it.  It implies being born into a family and taken somewhere because a hospital can’t be a home.  A hospital is like a hotel for sick people.  Some kind of Sictel or Hotick.

“But what worth do the ramblings of a walking man have to the world.  What is the reason for his moving.  Why is he always silent.  Why is he talking to himself.” said Sean to himself while he stopped to throw rocks at the stop sign up ahead.

Then he remembered back to that fateful night.

“I think this person walks because he’s too afraid to go where he needs to be.  I think he could walk right out of town right now to his home.  Or he could stay right here and make a new home.” said the waitress with a smile.

 

“What a wonderful thought.” Sean mumbled to himself while pushing that memory out of his head.

***

“I’m starting to think I forgot where my home was.” said Sean while he threw one last rock at the “Old Dumb Town: population-who cares” sign.

He walked slowly

He walked slowly right out of town.

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