Not Awesome Enough

Because

2010-03-23T14:04:00.001-07:00

I said I would.

Slowly

2009-08-05T00:32:00.001-07:00

Killing my heart.

Taking back the reins and putting up the walls again.

Whispering

2009-08-04T04:42:00.000-07:00

Whimpering.

Voices. Capricious. Callous. Cadaver.

I feel ill, my stomach on the verge of retching for no apparent reason. And the whispering. It's like... Indescribable. So many words, so many different things flying behind my eyes. But the pictures. They flash and come with such vivid detail.

I can taste your uncertainty

There's... so many things I would like to put here. To get out. To ply through this keyboard into something that resembles a release. But no release. The burning is spreading, from my chest and along my neck. Breathing is becoming short, through bared teeth and my eyes are skipping, eyelids fluttering whilst my head disconnects. I know this feeling. He has a voice unlike mine and control is only just within my fingertips.

Sister

Simplicity. Sadistic. So... very like me. I miss her. This animal side is restless. Needs an out. But... came on so strong it's not normal. Nothing is normal. I dare you, precious few readers, define it.

And I provoke... Like me. Provoking. But god damn it all. All I want is... All... I want is for things to be like they were. For us to talk. For my life not to exist in this state of incandescent rage. I don't like being like this. I feel only pain, on my palms. In my head. In my chest. There is nothing but these 'bad' emotions. Well... No, I lie. There are the unpredictable moments when something which isn't really that funny has me laughing to tears. But they are few and far between.

See... Too... Too fragmented. Didn't even lead into how my chest feels like there's a shard of crystalline... Emotion? Whatever it is. I feel it like a physical object. It pulses and all things radiate from it.

Yes, I have seen into your soul with these pictures in my head. I know things that will affect you and you are very lucky I am not a fundamentally... fundamentally... bad. Though urges to use this against you come too frequently, yet I am good. I am. So I do nothing. Noth.... nothing.

Voices. Whispering. Yelling. Nails down the inside of my skull.

Would that I could black out.

Orgy

2009-07-31T00:09:00.000-07:00

Of blood.

Of Alcohol.

Of anything, really.

The image of flesh and limbs slick with bodily fluids. The sounds of open mouths and exhaled breath through canines. Beautiful.

We drove today. Two hundred kilometres, round trip. We grew angry and left. Sick of things here. Unfortunately without a destination, it didn't work so well, but it got me out. Got me away. Oh the bass and the wind and speeding. Beautiful.

It didn't do much to relieve things. I'm still angry, my chest still burns and my mind is still a flurry of things too short lived to be called thoughts.

Don't disturb the beast

Mm... I should like to talk to you again. Both of you. The new and the old. And I know this sentence means different things to different people and it's true in all manners. I do want to talk to you. Parts of me may hate you, if they've been given reason, but I would rather love than this. And parts... They do miss you. Heart, hand, fingertips...

They have memories, mine can't forget the curves of your body

They really can't.

For the record, this blog is borne of nothing in particular. No strong emotion like most others, so if it is lacking I apologise.

Retrying Connection~

2009-07-29T18:12:00.000-07:00

None of this feels real, right now.

It's trippy. Everything's happening in disjointed moments. Discordant and jumping.

No I... don't want to fall in love.

I realised earlier, that I'm self harming without really realising. Hand on the heaters grating immediately after turning it off. How long have I been doing that eh?

Called in sick again. Again. Again. I think I may quit, make them hire someone else. Anyone else is better than I am right now.

Tap tap tap tap. The keys. The keyboard, I should learn to play. I need to print a book. A book I need to print. Learn from it. Learn from ink blots. They said I'm crazy, at least half.

I've been awake 7 hours. And I'm tired. I was supposed to go out last night, I meant to have a nap. And ended up losing all consciousness for 13 hours.

This is nothing like my others. Nothing to see here. Move along.

Move along.

Desperate and Ravenous

2009-07-26T06:52:00.000-07:00

How much desolation does it take before I break?

Hello neglected lovely.

Hello my angst filled space.

Hello my corner sanctuary.

Hello my hell.

It's been a day or twelve. Perhaps more. They turn to dust in this. This. Whatever this is. I sleep. I sleep and then I sleep some more. I eat when my stomach makes me sick. I sleep some more. And in sleeping the days become nothing. Oft times I am up all night, and sometimes for days on end. Then sleeping. Beautiful, beautiful, restful oblivion. Seldom interrupted. Dreams are infrequent and even then usually of nought remembered silhouettes.

Never interrupted now.

I have... Lyrics? Something fluttering just outside my minds grasp. Something about how much desolation can one heart take. Inspiration? Perhaps. But never will my phone disturb me with something I care to hear. Care to read. Care.

I saw the medicine man a week or so ago. They class me as a moderate case. I think I've got worse. I have a number to call, and so I should call it. But like most things nowadays the motivation is nil. I've an overstuffed envelope with a number and mental health care plan, should be good for cheap psychoanalysis and such things. Maybe harder drugs? Maybe coma through medication. Maybe please.

My nails grow longer, stronger and I consider dropping into work and telling them to roster someone else for the next couple of weeks. Good for me? Maybe not. Stop me calling in sick? Definitely.

Nowhere to go lovely. Pet. Precious.
(You have no idea how oft you're on my mind.)

I'm trying not to do these things. Trying not to feel. Not to think. Not to. Not to give in to all these reckless, dark desires that would feel oh so magnificently good.

Past few... nights? Days? Whenever I've been awake and no one else has I've been vocal with someone. They've been good company. I'm thankful for that. For the pointless conversations. For the pointless silence that is nought but the company of each others gentle breathing in the nul-hours of morning.

Which reminds me.

She had a call from a 'friend'. Not sure who. Drunk, and hard for her. That was interesting to listen to.

"Yeah... I want you deep inside me."

"How hard are you baby?"

"Cum for me. I want you to cum for me. Then I'll cum for you."

Voyeurism.

I watched. Maybe. After losing grip. Trying to cauterise my wounds. Trying to burn out my heart. To kill all emotion. I watched and listened and considered the moral implications and how amoral I must be to simply sit and torment myself with visual... And I almost lost it. Almost snapped. I must admit, it feels good. But I know giving in would be a horrible thing.

"You are an instrument; And this is our perverted music."

Orchestra, even.

They always ask you what stresses you? Do you have anyone to talk to? Any support?

What will they think with the answer of "No."

Remind me to call and to ask questions of payment and appointment making.

My body hates me. I don't blame it. I hate it. And myself. And... All the world over, lavished loathing of little meaning or reason.
(My stomach aching and intestinal cramps. Coughing up lungs and head aching. Eyes watering and jaw clenching irritation.)

Labels for this post:
e.g. scooters, vacation, fall

Scooters: I had one once. Faster than walking and much fun on hills. Never used it much.

Vacation: I need one. But a proper one. No thinking. No needing. No wanting. Just existing and enjoying.

Fall: I think I am. I definitely have before.

No change lovely. No change save for the fact that I think I'm getting worse. Driving and crying for the better part of an hour and then... Hell, let's find it and ctrl vee.

"You know, I don't think this is going to work.

I don't want to lie to you. If I have, through word or emission, it's because I was lying to myself. I've been trying to figure out what the right thing is to do here because you're in a really bad place at the moment and I don't want to hurt you any more. That sounds bad, as though I was only your friend out of pity. Not true, though I think what I've always wanted more than anything else when it comes to you is to heal you. Obviously I can't do that.

Anyway. When it comes down to it I think you would rather have the truth.

I know that you didn't mean it, and I don't even think it was really your fault- you've always been honest with me and you were just being you. But in the past you were sometimes indifferent to the point of callousness and you hurt me too much for me to be able to trust you. There can be no friendship without trust. On some level I think we are basically incompatible, and that this was inevitable.

We were friends. We were really good friends in the times that it worked. However, a lot of the time it didn't work, we weren't really connecting, things were uneven, and the friendship only existed in my head. I don't feel as though we've ever properly been part of one another's lives.

I've moved on. I deluded myself for a long time. Again, this is not your fault and I can only apologise for my naivety, my stupidity.

You can't be part of my life any more. We're too far apart. I think that if I truly loved you I would not feel this way. I have done the wrong thing.

I care about you, and I got to know you. Thank you for allowing me to do that. You're fundamentally a good person but you get in your own way a lot. I think you've been depressed for so long the chemical pathways and the connections in your brain are all messed up and it's going to take a big change to make it better.

This never would have happened if I'd been honest with myself. You've been such an important person in my life. I think I did love you and I know I'll always care about you deeply. I almost wish that wasn't true. If you're ever in Melbourne call me, I owe you the truth face to face.

I can't see another solution. I've realised that I've been lying to myself and to you. There isn't a place for you in my life any more. I don't love you enough and maybe I never did. I don't know much about love.

I realise that this is a betrayal. It's a bitter lesson to me. I want you to know that I did genuinely come to you with my arms open and I let you into my heart. Thank you so much for your companionship and love. Thank you for the laughter. Thank you for trusting me. I wish I had been more worthy. Thank you for all that you've taught me.

I have faith in you. When you become all that you could be it's going to be heartbreakingly beautiful. I'm never going to forget you but I'm letting go now."

It's like my heart is simply beating out of habit rather than any desire to continue.

My mind whispers that sisterheart was right, that we both know pain. That all of us do.

And it irritates me that I don't know the original damn font this starts in.

I'm sorry it took so long sleeping beauty, but my mind is a hard beast to wrestle and words are even harder still to push through frozen fingertips.

Two days

2009-07-17T03:13:00.000-07:00

Running.

I want to.

I also want to bring a harrowing of the flesh.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!

Impotent rage and agony.

FUCK!

No one. I have no one but this fucking box.

I have pizza, and now no appetite.

FUCK!

...fuck.

I think this might break me.

Fuck you.

Cutting

2009-07-15T09:09:00.000-07:00

There're things. Like... Words, thoughts, notions, urges. All of that.

"I never wanted to hang up. Not on you. Never when I'm talking to you. I would drive. I would take you away, if you wanted me to, I would do anything."

Shit like that. Stuff that I've said before. I just get the feeling that I'd be repeating myself to the same end. Or lack thereof.

I am so angry lately, and you know what, it does irritate the hell out of me. All of this. I just want to scream. I want to rage so fucking hard that people honestly begin to rethink what they thought they knew about me. I want to lose control and not care.

Things like my phone refusing to hold reception for more than five minutes unless I'm sitting outside on the fucking veranda, freezing my ass off just to talk to a friend. Or just things not working when they should. They really should just work, there's no good fucking reason why they shouldn't. But hey, shit just doesn't work for some arbitrary reason and christ does it grate on my nerves.

I don't like feeling like this, I don't like feeling. We've covered it, I'm sure, but just in case we forgot. Restless, and oh so frustrated. Angry, as above, and horribly in love. I do feel like I'm losing grip. The other night, I did lose control and said things that scared me... I thought... I could have lost her and... The urge to self harm comes back strong lately. Blades, blunt, serrated, dragging and scratching. Leather roped around palms and squeezing until the pain numbs everything. Everything just a steady beat of red. I'm resisting though, I really am. I need someone to love me, eh? I just need someone to hold me, to brush back my hair and say

"Hey, Kieran, you're being silly. I love you."

And to stay with me till morning.

But I would willingly be there for people. For a large handful of people I know, I would be there, if they wanted me to. If they needed me to. No one does though.

I am quite positive that I am a shadow on peoples lives. I affect things in a negative manner. I know this is fact because of my learnings.

No, seriously, experience points to this. That when I am included in any equation it becomes harder and all the more likely to fuck up and cause problems for everyone involved.

I'm sorry I'm so fucked up, okay? I'm sorry my mind works in a circle and my life doesn't change, that I don't change, that you're the one who knows me best. I am sorry. But if I don't have you, I don't have anyone. No one at all... And I know I can survive through it, I know I can. But like you said, is that really living? You already said I couldn't be part of your life if it ever came to that kind of survival. Yet, even now, I still can't be part of your life. When can I be? An ambivalent memory when I'm truly lost?

I guess I'll go back to the doctors tomorrow, get them to send me to the free counselling so they can assess my mental health and maybe get me off drugs, or maybe up the dosage. I don't know. Something. Anything.

Render me catatonic. Please.

I don't want to sleep, I never want to sleep. It holds only a temporary release and falsehope dreaming.

I never want to wake up. It only brings this. This... Pain? This continuity of morose. Cynicism. Melancholy. Burn... Burn.
Burn!

Just fucking burn... That is also tempting. Burning. Maybe. Hopefully. Burn my heart, cauterise the wound? Burn out my eyes and kill the images. Cut out my tongue to stem the taste. Plug my ears to remove aural memory and crush my nose to render scent impossible. Burn me to a husk and please, oh god please let this abate.

This... Wasn't meant to happen. This wasn't supposed to continue. But hey. A little white box is my only one. The only one who listens without questioning, without judging, without thinking. Just accepting. Just... Not enough. Never enough.

Never, I say it too much but... Is it a promise? Never?

Am I losing it?

Am I?

I?

I'd

2009-07-10T08:22:00.000-07:00

Write you a love song on half tuned keys. Of ivory clashes and silver slashes.
Part your lips with a gentle kiss. Tongue invading and eyesight fading.
Force my skill through these fingers. Spewing letters, scribbles and cinders.
Split my chest with an axe. Heartfelt bleeding, pulsing, leaving.

I'd.

If only you'd love me.

If this amethyst shard would stop pulsing, stop glowing, stop with it's incessant aching. It wouldn't be so bad. There wouldn't be lines of half thought, half forced shit flitting about the place. I hate this, not being able to write. No words, no outlet. Frustration. Too much of that lately, too much, too much.

I feel like I'm degrading. Like I'm getting worse in every which way but I honestly have no motivation to repair any damage. I find myself loathsome. I truly do.

I wish I could have finished that, transformed it into something worth reading and wasting these electrical impulses with.

Maybe tomorrow will be better... Unlikely. No day is better. Everyday is exactly the same. I think. I think. I think. I don't, really. My mind is a mess. Nothing makes sense and least of all myself. I have... One light that I could guide myself by, and even then, terribly hard to do when they're out of reach.

I know what I should do.
I do.
I know quite a bit of what I should be doing.
I should be saving money, I should be making an effort, I should be going to the gym, I should be eating healthier, I should be everything that I could be...

But what's the point? What's the point when the one thing that's supposed to keep you going, supposed to sustain you, doesn't? What's the point when you're a creature of feeling, and you need to be loved to feel like there's anything worth it in the world.

I'm so angry lately. Indignant rage at nothing and misdirected at everything. I...

Don't know. Too much in this maelstrom mind. It was far easier in broken english and heavy breathing, much, much easier. Everything was clear, barely anything mattered, just the moment in which we existed.

I'd do everything.

For you.

Monsterous

2009-07-08T08:20:00.000-07:00

Tell me, do we all have one on the inside?
A beast? A wicked thing comprised of impulse and instinct that acts on a whim and all too rashly?

I'm not certain. But I know I have one. He comes with coals that line the inside of my ribs, of flames that lick along carbon and bone, refracted in the amethyst shard that pierces my heart. My eyes start to lose focus and my breathing comes heavy and short.

It feels like something is rising up from the back of my head, something strong and primal, that always stops just behind my eyes, just short of taking control. But the thoughts... The thoughts and the urges that it brings surging forth are hard to resist. To hold back is a feat in itself and tonight, I slipped. And in that moment of brutal indulgence I could have lost the one thing in this world that I truly care about.

I felt like a monster. And, like a monster, it fled. Lending the stage to fear and anguish.

I wonder about all of this. About all these feelings and whether it's right.

I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt. That I love her. This was proved tonight, by all reactions, good and bad.

But fuck...

I don't know. My head's a cloud and my hearts double beating.

I miss her voice already.

World

2009-06-30T05:00:00.001-07:00

Tell me, world, is there a way to cut out your heart and store it in a box far from anyone? Is it possible to stop this relentless burning that consumes your chest? Is there a relief from the gnawing at the base of your skull? The sinking feeling of insanity that rises through your mind... Is there, world?

I'm alone in this wasteland. A thousand miles from you.
But I haven't forgotten the feel of your skin, your mischievous smile.
You'd think a thousand miles would be enough.
I guess I'll keep walking.

I would that I were so far away. That the world was distance between us. That I am used to. Distance and pain is easier to suffer. But this. This closeness. The fact that I see you, interact with you, am able to touch you and feel you on a near daily basis... Whatever is out there, if there is anything out there, help me. I feel it all. The consuming fires, the sinking insanity and the gnawing of reckless abandon. It's starting to take over, I can feel it, and no amount of medication will save me from this.

I... I want to know things. I want to talk to people who shouldn't exist again. I want to know why she doesn't love me. If there's anything I can do to bring spark to love in her... I would do anything. To be happy. To have her as my own. If she was mine I wouldn't be jealous when she checks out other guys, because I would trust that she was mine and mine alone.

Knowing she'd say yes to others, but not I, is torturous. What have they got that I don't? Or, more likely, what have I got that they don't? Am I that much of an abomination to things that I'm unable to be loved?

No.
I know what it is.
I always know what it is, or have an inkling at the very least.
It's because I am the dark catalyst. I made things this horrible. Without me, this would never have become so escalated. Things never would have reached this low. She would still be, at the very least, content, and a lot less people would hurt. I do not fully blame myself, but it just seems that without me that things would have been far smoother.

I'm burning a candle... Every night this week. I'm tempted to be the melancholy and vow to suicide when its flame finally loses all fuel and gutters out for good.
Tempted.
Tempted.
Oh so very tempting.

Temptress.

I don't even know what it is any more. Things stopped making sense. Things stopped calming, stopped mattering, stopped having an effect. I can no longer find music that I actually want to listen to. No games bring me joy. No company distracts my thoughts. This obsession is going to kill me.

Tying yourself to me stitch up this emptiness 'cos you're the death of me.
So precious, loving the thrill.

I dislike caring. Loving. All things that end up with my hurting.

It doesn't make sense to actually do so.

What have I done, world, to deserve this? What has anyone done, to deserve this? What has he done, what has she done? What have they all done to deserve this punishment. To have their hearts bled dry and squeezed so harshly.

Don't disturb the beast; The temperamental goat.
The snail while he's feeding on the rose.
Stay frozen.

My head feels like a storm. A tumult of thoughts of conflicting notion and emotion and to hell with alliteration. I'm considering forgoing medication. Seeing what happens to me, besides the dizziness. Whether I'll break down and shatter for good, or stand taller and stronger before.

Stronger, in any case. The gym will see to that.

Hah, the gym. Only going because she said I should. And whilst there I am filled with conflict again. Lack of motivation encourages me to give up, boredom likewise. But discipline and hatred keep me pedalling, keep me pumping, keep the muscles burning. Emulating the heart.

Two hundred beats per minute. Is that too much?

Eyes closed and shallow breathing. Burning back of neck creeping. My mind may not be mine entirely. Rather fragments of me. Of selves. Of unknowns and splinter shards.

I like the idea of sharp things.

The thoughts of self harm are back. Old nostalgic ones of blunt objects over forearms, of sweet release in their scratching point. To new ones of wax drinking and hunting knife to palm slicing. Stabbing. Raging. It's dangerous here, in this room. No one knows it, but it is. I feel like a bomb, waiting to explode, and I wonder who will be caught in the blast.

Like when I'm driving, I see things, and I contemplate not stopping, on trying to finish it in my car, and take someone with me. No one would remember me. The thought has crossed my mind in vivid detail.
Vivid.
Technicolour.
Right down to the wreck and mangled corpse.

I want to fly far away from here.
I want the release most people attribute to death.
I don't want to come back. I want to leave you all behind.
Maybe I'll grow. Become a better person, if I can start a new.

Maybe.

If I can cut my heart out.

~

Misery Business.

2009-06-26T08:37:00.000-07:00

"Hello. Love. May we talk?"

He whispers.

"I think... It is time I was truthful."

The night ripples.

"It's time... I was honest with you."

Despair laces the air.

"There are things. Things I haven't told you."

Pause.

"Things that hurt."

Inhale.

"Things that rend my heart in twain."

Whispered exhalation.

"I... This. Was so much better in my mind."

Contemplation.

"Tempted not even to press publish... But I will. Because I was interrupted."

Sighing.

"I always snap back to reality when I'm interrupted."

Segue.

Domination play~

2009-06-19T05:04:00.000-07:00

We were beaten up today. Sword and shields. Metal to flesh and blood to earth.

Oh how I love that. Being beaten and beating in return. Instinct, skill, quick thought and feet. It is truly an entire body workout.

And control. We mustn't forget the control. Thought blunt, a wayward blade can still cause significant damage. Surgical reconstruction for instance. Mmm, that was an amusing yet irritating day.

Languorous. Is how we end up afterwards. With bruises blossoming and scratches scabbed over. Overheated and under-hydrated. This is bliss. Endorphins.

Legal drugs of feel good fantasy.

This feels good. All stretchy and sinewy.

I SCRIBBLED! SCRIBBLY-NESS! YAY! WHOO!

All it needs is colours and a little more luv.

I'm horrible, sometimes. I know what should be done and I don't do it due to selfish urges.

I'm sorry. Here. I am sorry. I push you when I desire reaction. It's the flames. They goad me. Press me to get a reaction. Don't the obscure references make up for it though? Don't all the things we have in common mean something? Doesn't this world of macabre appeal to you?

Mmm. Out of doughnuts and should probably think about doing something to prevent my stomach devouring itself... Maybe. Though I could stand to lose a little weight.

Mmm.

Yawnstretchingcatlikebehaviour.

~

Three eight hundred.

2009-06-18T04:18:00.000-07:00

I'm tired.

And depressed.

The latter isn't surprising nor even remotely abnormal. Damned clinical depression.

Then again, the former is neither surprising or abnormal either. However having been awake for 18 hour already... And it's only 9:20opm

I sold my car. It paid for my new one and a little bit more which will most likely go to my mother to start repaying debt there. I'd rather use it for a number of things but hey, what can ye do?

I'm being the voyeur an awful lot lately. Watching peoples lives which I'll never truly have a part in. I feel like I'll always be that guy that they knew who they can never quite forget but will, in the end, never really remember either.

I think I should strive for perfection. I should try to be chiselled from stone and moulded to a state of transcendent beauty.

I should strive for perfection.

It's a shame I lack the self motivation to even get up most mornings.

Is it strange that I do this in such a way that is so disjointed as to make little or no sense? Is it weird that I almost relish in my own peculiarities?

I watched a gorgeous creature the other night via digital means. Her eyes glistened and her lips gently parted as she told me, the voyeur, how things really were. Her heart quivered and tears threatened to come gushing.

There is beauty in that. A melancholic seduction in a breaking heart. Is it wrong that I can see that? That I think that?

I've seen her cry a few times now. I always seem to be there just when she's about to break down and I manage to watch it and listen. Listen and twist it. Get called weird; A freak. And by the end she's sleeping with a smile hinting at the edge of her lips.

She is a gorgeous creature.

Ever-burning Embers fanned and fuelled to inferno.

Alliteration. She likes alliteration.

I watch that life too. Watching as it slowly grows. Changes and wraps itself around whatever support it can find. And she grows.

"Even the most stunted tree reaches toward the light."

I miss them all, now.

All of those that I have held affection for.

My heart pulses with mourning. Grief for things that it knew only ever so fleetingly.

And my mind wanders, from topic to topic. Segueing? Maybe, I'm not sure. I think my head's a tad too fractured to do that properly.

I miss her.

Liquid

2009-06-05T04:14:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I hate being curious. I truly do.
Sometimes I think that it would be better to live in ignorant bliss. Oblivious to everything, including myself.

I've found words. Many words and each one I wish was for me. If they were then it would truly be reciprocated, but I know that I'm the dark catalyst in this. It's my fault for existing.

Ah hell. I have things I should write down that flit through my mind at the most inopportune times. It's irritating. Likewise it's irritating to feel. To not have anyone to talk to and instead type a stream of consciousness into a glaringly bright box and wonder if anyone actually reads it. Whether the one person you'd actually care to have read it, does.

It hurts to think she's ignoring me. That I'm the source of all her pain.
It hurts to know that I could and would willingly give her everything she wanted.

And I know I can do it.

Anger. Oh I'm capable of it. So much so that it scares me. Right now it flares. I hate this. I hate myself. I hate her and everyone related to it. The hypocrisy of some people... It blinds me. White and burning so hot. I can't stand it. I need to get out. I need a release...

I wonder how things will turn out. If... If this has all been in vain. If I am just another fuck up in someone else's life and just another pitiful heartbreak for me.

How bitter and jaded can I get? How far will this push me?

I don't think I'd care to know any more.

Purgatory.

2009-06-04T04:23:00.000-07:00

Medication withdrawal left me dizzy.

For days it felt as if my head was only half attached and I had to constantly keep hold of reality lest it slip away. Lest I slip and fall. It made driving recklessly amusing. I could see flames whenever I closed my eyes, magnificently rendered and licking, ever licking at my consciousness. So real and crackling I could reach out and

Only find the wall of the shower in front of me, heated water running rivulets down my unwashed self.

Reality was liquid for a time. Then I recalled the drugs I was meant to take and it solidified. I'm trying to decide which is better. Feeling like your mind is slipping away or feeling like your going to crack.

I think I've screwed some things up recently. I really do. Friends don't talk to me any more and I've lost parts of myself that I once had. I think I may have even lost the lass that I'm hopelessly in love with.

It's a funny thing, emotion. Love, to be precise. I've known it a few times yet each time is different. Each time with its little quirks and yet... As cliché as it sounds, none have felt like this. See, I know she'll never feel the same way about me, but I don't really care. I just want her to be happy. If that's with me, all the better. It's true what one of my old friends said to her.

"He'll give the world for you."

True.

So damnably and detestably true.

At a moments notice I would drop everything I was doing to go to her. I would spend any time, any money and any amount of effort just to see her happy.

I don't know what I've done. I hope nothing. But hey. Who knows.

She doesn't talk to me lately and on the off chance she does, well, she seems cold and detached.

I worry about her.

2009-05-31T08:13:00.000-07:00

This is a placeholder on this night of struggling to keep hold of reality.

This.

I worry.

A place holder.