Everything is real but nothing exists. I am but matter held together by attraction, but if you see me then how can I not be real to you? How can I not be real to myself? Every movement is a stimulation, every touch, smell, sound, sight, taste. Everything we do and feel could be manipulated into something else, and yet we cannot help but indulge ourselves in life’s beauty.
But what does this help me? All the knowledge in the world won’t help me deal with my emotions, it just grants me the ability to understand them. I know that I am an extremely codependant person. I know why I act and feel the way I do, yet it doesn’t stop me from feeling that way.
I’m very confused lately.
I remember that floral wallpaper you put up on the walls, you thought it would look nice with your victorian dresser. The edges were beginning to peel. I thought that made it look nicer, I thought that the imperfections gave it more character. You were disgusted by the sight of it.
Good bye, wallpaper.
He thought you would look nice on his arm. He thought that the sparkle in your eye would compliment his chisled features, that your long hair would draw attention to his new coat. You began to age, time took it’s toll on you and suddenly your eyes were sparkling for a different reason. Glazed over, I still found them as beautiful as I did before. I thought that your imperfections gave you more character. You were disgusted by the sight of yourself.
Good bye, darling.
I know it may be late, but I want you to know that you are beautiful. You live in a beautiful place, you have beautiful eyes and beautiful hands and everything about you is beautiful. Love yourself the way that I love you, and you will be alright.
You would have been alright.
This is terrible, but it needs to be said.
You don’t know me at all, you never did. My writing style plummets when I’m angry, but today angry is all I am. You do not deserve anything you have, anything you will recieve. I’m waiting for the day you fall in love, I hope on that day you look at your life in retrospect and think about all of the girls you’ve tossed aside like petals. He loves me not, he loves me not. The pattern will never break for you. I am but another petal, these thoughts that I had of being “different” have left my mind completely. I mean(t) nothing to you, I realize this now, and soon you will mean nothing to me. I have changed every part of myself, and I can certainly change my mentality.
The ashes from your cigarettes send S.O.S signals into the air, they are calling for me. Searching, they want me to find you. Mend you. Mold you. I cannot, I will not. The universe has left me scars, bruises in the shapes of galaxies. Mind over matter. Atoms. Every single atom of you intertwined with every atom of me, whole. Worth something. Someone. My life has fallen into oblivion. I am recovering from the chaos. Your body is a heat missle, and I am cold. Hiding. You cannot find me, I will not allow it. You may not love me, I will not allow it. Repetition. Speeding cars, the lights bend into shapes. Words. These lights are speaking to me, they are telling me to run. They spell out words that your mind, my mind, our minds will never understand. Phrases. Meaningless letter arrangements. I am nothing without you, and Nothing is who I am choosing to be. Become perfect. Perfect yourself. Make yourself whole, happy, new eyes will rest upon you and your mind will cater to their wishes. I will break someone. It will not always be me that is broken. Someone will fix me. It will not always be me. Me. I.
Who?
May 13th, 2010
I am universal doubt, I am social paranoia, I am downward-spiraling staircases. I am your heart in your stomach, the hairs on your neck, your unrelentless self-conciousness. I am the food you use to make yourself feel whole, and I am the throat that purges it. I am your ripening insecurities, I am the way that shirt does not look on you, I am the names they will call you. I am the things they will say behind your back. I am the amount of times you try, try, fucking try over and over and I am the amount of times that trying will lead you absolutely fucking nowhere. I am everything you hate in life. I am you.
We are not hopeless romantics, we are romantics. Never hopeless.
May 11th, 2010
you are morning dew, repetitive and reoccuring yet wonderful all the same. each morning we feel you between our toes, smell you in the air. we take pretty photographs of you without capturing the real beauty of your prescence, without showing the way you shine when light from the sun hits you just right. and when we look closely enough, we see ourselves in you. the sheer elegance that is your companionship reflects our own individual beauties. some may call you god’s gift, heaven’s tears, but we call you ours. simply ours, our own personal treasure that gives us a reason to push the sheets aside. simply living in a world where you did not exist would not be living at all, for that world would not contain the unlikely loveliness that is your soul. perhaps this is why those frost filled mornings are not the same, don’t you see that when you are frozen the world is too? for when you are frozen, you are breakable. you are not the everlasting mystery that you once were, you become a tangible part of everyday life. please, do not become hard like that frost. you are worth so much more than that, you mean so much more to us. and when you slip away, we do as well. when you are cold, our hearts are cold, and our own reflections disappear into the murky ice that you are made up of.
May 11th, 2010
Nothing but orange lights illuminate my room, strung downward in the opposite way these things should be. Misconstruing the notion of moonlight, the gray spotlight of the night is drowned out by warm flames that are the sun. I suppose that’s how these things will always be with me. Instead of the dull, natural, soothing paths that will cherish my soul and light the most alluring features of my body, I seem to turn to the harsher, unrealistic aspects of human creation that overpower happiness and comfortability. Oh, how these lights suppress my inner demons. Calling, yelling, screaming now, these lights go off and the night becomes reality and suddenly I am not alone in my thoughts. I am never alone in my thoughts. I am waiting for the day the stranger I’ve fallen in love with on the train calls my name and tells me that he too can understand expressions on unknown faces. He will see that I have been admiring him, calculating his every move and…I’ve run out of words again. Outstretched fingers reach for the keys, waiting for letters to arrange themselves and describe the alphabetical clutter floating through my veins. It’s times like this that I turn to books, thesauruses, inspirations. But somehow, that also seems unfair doesn’t it? Does that deduce my thoughts to a mere arrangement of meaningless scribbles? I suppose none of us can say we are uninspired, unstimulated. Shakespeare’s words were triggered from love, mine from photographs and published works of artistry that mold my mind and plant the seeds of extraordinary influence. These words are too complicated, too complex, they are a cryptic composition that (—- or so I hope —-) only minds of the same wavelength will take the time to decode.
you say that like we will, we will
we won’t, we never will
swings, they will take you anywhere you imagine to go
and you see, when i swing i go until i’m as high as i can, until nothing else can touch me
once i am at this point, i close my eyes and it’s almost as if i’m flying - maybe i am flying
while i fly, my legs still go
go
go
go
my legs push and nothing changes, but when i’ve opened my eyes again i’ve slowed down tremendously
when i’ve opened my eyes, i’m barely moving
i get so caught up in the bliss that i barely notice it coming to an end
coming to an end,
end,
ending,
how familiar
each morning i wake up alone in this big empty bed
the covers are made up on your side
i think my heart falls a bit more into my stomach,
i will never love you,
you will never allow it
it’s sinking in there you know,
drowning
even the brightest stars could not light your darkest days,
you are a vision in itself, a monster in sheep’s clothing
you are beautiful
i want to learn to write the way you have learned to smile
every word in elegance, like every step you take
my eyes are falling shut
you’ve opened them, and they are not easily persuaded
//// please explain to me why all i see is you
