Saturday, August 29, 2009

I'm dead in the water,
A silhouette turning over
I'll wait for you here

And I keep forgetting
where I'm meant to be
Oh so far,
oh so near

So tell me,
Just what are these gifts that you bring?
This life is amazing
but the colors keep changing

And I'm sure
we shouldn't be wasting away
My rotting history
will find its place

So don't go
So cold

I'll not be afraid
It's taken this long
to come back again
And yes, I might suffer
the fate of another
The shit and the bones
and all things considered,
I walked with my hands held out

And I'm sure
we shouldn't be wasting away

Living backwards
I'm living backwards
I'm living backwards
I'm living backwards
I'm living backwards
I'm living backwards

Friday, August 28, 2009

I'm glad that you came down with me
I'm glad we recalled our history well
Didn't we know the same God?
I hope we are not Cain and Abel

So when does the message come?
And when do they tear my sweet dreams down?
And I need you there to help me crawl
I am not safe or able

Monday, August 24, 2009

in a desperate time...

I have no reason to have any respect for society, or any construct therein. I have to use the little patience I have in the pointlessness of daily life, catering to idiocy and self-aggrandizing, foolish people.

If I stopped and suddenly changed into the person that displays what I really think, I would have even more to deal with. It seems like this is the only place where people can be so self-important and so worthless at the same time. Domesticated Man is a creature that sits and moans and abuses himself because he isn't a movie star -- or a beast that enjoys feeding off of himself.

The aging drunk, the old one in my past, and my own tendency to become the same; three different people, and three representations of my loathing towards the outside world. People are small, selfish, insignificant things, and the consolation that my own brain has to be reflected somewhere out there grows dimmer and more shadowed, until I start to think its an illusory comfort, and I start to think that I'd really like to see the world go to Hell in my lifetime. At least then, I would know that it would be in more capable hands, having erased the only animal that can stab a sword into anything in sight, while simultaneously wondering why it feels so alone.

It's as well
to be here
It's right here
and I haven't got a thing
and my memory
will be the death of me.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

The world feels pejorative...

I can feel one cloud from the rest,
a rolling undulation of flood-water mists,
and I see what no one can seem to define.
I carry the impact of arbitrary, storm-weathered fists
pierced by the spire of two shoulders;
the air breathes in cysts.

For my wants, I bore Longinus;
my needs, Aeschylus.
My mind tears like a blistered rain
beating hard into the earth.
I've traveled far and deep, all for one thing:
To feel as though I'm on my feet.
All I feel are two lonely, broken knees.
All I feel is the waning strength of weakening wrists,
but happiness in discovery:
elucidation, fear, combat and pain;
listless fury and agonizing strain;
trepidation in serene, moonlit waves;
my heart and eyes are the swaying crane.
I won't want for a thing,
for I'll fall prey to my own brain.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Divine promises taking over my life...

The reason we're all disfigured
I will say it again
The reason we're all disappointed
with innocence lost
You're alone
You can feel the resentment
burning a pathway
straight to your heart
I say, kingdom come

Maybe your life is wonderful
I wish you well
Please understand, I won't change you
So grant me the same
I know this:
There's a plain white horizon;
I want it so badly...
It seems, after all,
that You're will be done

And it's done
Reaching out
And it's done

We are all defenseless now
On your own, you left somehow,
with these broken bones
These broken bones

But, I am one with these chains:
Come around and I regain,
with my broken bones
My broken bones

The reason we're all disfigured
I will say it again
The reason we're all disappointed
with innocence lost
You're alone
You can feel the resentment
burning a pathway
straight to your heart
I say, kingdom come

My mind has been at a stalemate for awhile now. I don't really feel the same kind of cognitive progress that I usually do, and I usually chalk this up to things that are no longer present.

I don't feel like pouring over or projecting outward. I don't really know what more to say than that.

Life is coming in small, succinctly amorphous paragraphs.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

The sun beats down and panic reigns in this time of ending...

I am sick of being around conceited people. I don't deserve to be shit on because someone doesn't have a fully-developed sense of reality. I'm sick of being taken advantage of, in all of the forms my life assails me with.

I'm sick of what Autumn means to me.

Friday, August 14, 2009

God is in the heart and soul.... (INSIDE.INSIDE.NOW)

Don't you know where I've been?
I have climbed every mountain
Don't you know what I've seen?
The Earth, the sky and the Moon
above and in-between, I'll shine like I should've

In a way,
without hate,
I wouldn't be what I am

Don't you know what I've been?
Did I cause every tension?
But I want you to be
the Earth, the sky and the Moon
in love, and in-between, I'll shine like I should've

In a way,
without hate,
I wouldn't be what I am

Into a world I can do without
Into a world I can do without

Should I pray to something else?
Should I pray to something else?
Fuck the Devil
Fuck myself...

look at me now
Look at me now
look at me now
Look at me now
Look at me now
Look at me now
Look at me now....

To my beloved:

I know that I am not a communicative person. I know that I have purposefully lacked any sense of discourse in a serious manner. And, I know you are waiting for an answer.

I can't leave here yet. This is not what you want to hear, and I think that if I told you this in person, vocally, you would try to convince me otherwise. I need the structure of paragraphs and prose to avoid backlash, so that I can send a complete thought without feeling guilty, or sad, or shameful.

My family has always been frayed, but it has become much more so lately. My mom has started taking anti-anxiety meds, and I just found out a few days ago that she's been having panic attacks. As for myself, I am probably going to go back on Lithium, instead of Sertraline. I may have borderline personality disorder, or at least that's what the doctor has said. But regardless, I am watching myself become more and more psychotic and withdrawn. Marijuana always kept my psyche in check, somehow, even though it made me flaky and antisocial in a large way. It still made me feel more level than a lot of prescription meds ever did.

My personality, my sense of principle tells me that I should instantly reject any kind of ultimatum. That is just the way I am. I know that you aren't giving me one to be selfish or impatient, but my nature makes me abhor any kind of forced decision like this. I do want to be with you, and I do love you... but, I can't fall away from the meager life that I have here just because of that.

It's too mundane for me to give reasons like this, but that is the way it is. I can't leave here. At least, not for awhile.

Furthermore, I'm not so sure that I can be the kind of person that you want. You say that all you want is me, but I am empty inside most of the time. I have tried very, very hard to be a better man for you, and it drains me emotionally. My default state is complete apathy and vapidity. I have never believed that I was capable of real, enduring and unending love. I have a hard time just pretending to be in my empty moments.

I'm not trying to give excuses or justify anything... I'm just trying to be honest. I have a hard time expressing how I really feel in situations like these, because a part of me feels like I'm letting you down.

My head is a mess, my life is a mess... I need time to figure everything out and get myself stable.

You just called, and in a way it underlines some of my annoyance at this whole situation. When I said that you can't call this number this late, your first response was that it's not late to you. I sound like a dick saying this, but I wish that you would think about my circumstances before your own sometimes. I have spent my entire social life catering to other people, and whenever I try to get my point of view across, it seems like you immediately put your own perspective above mine.

There are a lot of things like that that I really get bothered by. I can't go one day without other people putting me at a disadvantage because they refuse to think about other people before themselves, and I'm not saying that you do that, but there is a part of you that does, sometimes.

This is what I always do: I board myself up and let the negative emotions build, until I release them in inane ways. I blow things out of proportion. But, this is the way that I feel... and it takes all of my effort throughout the day just to keep from breaking down. It takes everything out of me just to appear normal to everyone around me. And all I get are more hopes and expectations thrust upon me, because I try to at least be receptive to others' needs. It all really grinds and wears me down.

So, I don't really know what I'm trying to say, other than that I need more time, and I can't just throw everything down and run away with you. I'm not trying to sound selfish or like I'm playing everything down. But, you have no idea how close I am to having a severe psychotic meltdown.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Fuel to burn

And everything seems fine
until you decide to
open your eyes
And I'm so tired
of wanting destruction
to fall on the world

It's all fuel for
Man to burn

I will take out your eyes
I will take out your eyes
I will take out your eyes
I will take out your eyes

Get outside
Get outside
Get outside
Get outside

Get outside
Get outside
Get outside
Get outside

Get outside
Get outside
Get outside
the air, I know
is for the last time

Monday, August 10, 2009

These strings that strangle an empty chest...

All I can do sometimes
is stare and fall
and follow myself through
the membrane that is self-fulfillment.
And I know that this
is what I make of it
and what I take from it,
but I still find the same things.

Saturday, August 8, 2009


I'm too tired and strung out to think. Time for sleep.

I forgot what such a momentous crash felt like. But, it is nostalgic in a bad way. I needed a bender to help me be more responsible, I think. Hopefully.

Friday, August 7, 2009

Comfort yourself...

What solace lies in the arms of fate -- The ill embrace of uncertainty?
When did I leave this in other hands, to be pulled down at chance?
Ripped away by destiny-claws; am I another of fate's possessions?
Dwelling the lie of freedom -- Just another straw pulled at random

Reclaimed by deceiving time
A silent judgment I cannot overrule

Drawn back into the origin-vortex;
uprooted and ground to dust
Retracted into anti-existence,
a magnet repelled by life's polarity
Denied the self-control of fate,
we float suspended in semi-life
until the ever-imminent day when oblivion claims our breath

Nowhere indefinitely; not dead, not alive
Existence-patterns ripped of symmetry
as Will and Fate divide

Have I appeased the gods of fate?
Am I allowed another day?
Must I die to escape
the scanning eyes of death?

In the spirit of honesty:

I am still an addict. I am still obsessive and compulsive. I am still a broken mind, a fractured being.

I haven't shot up in a long time. I did tonight, though. It felt amazing. But, I will never do it again. No one who hears me say that would believe me, though. That is my stigma: I am the failure, and Human nature defines me as being so. And I don't necessarily even believe myself, or believe in myself.

It is so difficult for me to simply live day to day. I always feel like I am out of balance, like my brain is eating itself with chemicals and neuroses. I always feel like I'm collapsing and falling in on myself.

I don't feel love and affection in the same way that I once used to. I don't feel attached to reality anymore. I don't feel Human anymore, and I don't know what to do about it. All I've done for the past few years is learn to ignore it like a growing disease that I can't do anything about. And, on nights like this, I guess on nights when I go overboard, it really saddens me to think about how much I've fucked my life up. And this isn't the opiate-mind talking. This is really how I feel most of every day, and how I have felt for a very long time.

So I'm forcing myself to write every day, regardless of whether I want to or not. This is the only therapy I've ever had, and hopefully it will shed light to someone that I love. It will illuminate the darkness inside of me.

And, as irresponsible and stupid and childish and self-destructive and suicidal as I ever am, at least this will be my honesty talking, and not my love of hiding.

Thursday, August 6, 2009


The proclamation screams in billows:
A roar to upend a shaken heart;
the tinge of salt buried in my throat,
forced outward in impatient throes.
I am but the want of escape,
and that is my undoing.

I am the king of Roman sorrow.
I am the bird of wings:
The embodiment of self-reflection,
the wasted space of Hecate's definition
on a new moon's birth.
I have no tide inside of me,
save the one that stirs my feet
and disintegrates my foundation.

A vacuum in continuum,
the armor of Achilles
and every other spaceless myth;
my brain is Ouroboros.