02.06.2009

Get ready for the ramble:

Understandable sometimes just translates to unacceptable. I work and work but still end standing, waiting for scraps to tumble from this table. Worthlessness. Thats the name of this feeling creeping up my crumbling throat. My stomach turns. Lonely but not alone. We've all been there, I know. I fill books and pages and napkins with the things that live inside of me. I draw ugly and you call it cute. Such a social butterfly these days. Who knew you could just slap wings on a slug and pass it off? I thought they were only useful for wasting salt, but it seems that the salt, when strategically placed, makes like medicine and kicks coffins out of graves. Yet still I'm here, rotting in secret like a serial victim. I guess we technically all die in the end, right? I've carved my name on cavern walls. I've left my mark, no matter how wobbly the writing. I'm not done by any means, but I feel that if I had to be, I could be. Call me old fashioned, but back in my day actions spoke louder than the things we say. My hands shake for something to keep them busy. My mind, oh, I don't even know where to start with that bastard. Swaying back and forth between creative metaphor and blatant truth. I can't focus. This will tell you everything or nothing. I guess what it really boils down to is that I'm feeling lonely and uninspired. 24 going on 60. I wish I could just live my life, but it always seems like its living me.

I was never good with cypher

I never understood how paper could defeat rock.
You can't budge stone when you're the open book.
A faulty line of communication.
The problem found at the source.
No one connected your wires...or someone came and tore them out.
I don't feel like I'm asking too much when I want to know where I stand, but I suppose if I'd just take a look I'd see I'm being swallowed up by sand.
I reached my hand out and you just stood there shaking your head.
I reached my hand out.
I reached my hand.
I reached.
I reached.
I reached and all I could grab was fucking air.
I should be used to this failure.
Trying too hard for something that was never even there.
I thought I saw something breaking in your mortar.
I could have sworn light was coming through.
Now I'm falling into that old river because you don't want anything to prove.
I reached my hand out and you just stood there.
I guess you thought I'd drag you down.
You could have waited for me to swim but you'd rather stay protected and watch me drown.
I reached my hand out and you just stood there.
I reached out my hand.
I reached my hand out and you just stood there.
I had no idea that I'd already planted my feet on solid land.

Well that was fucking pointless

If I had ever gone to college I would have become a doctor so I could cut myself open to examine the workings of my bleeding guts. I'd lay them out, one by one, and finally see everything that makes me feel so fucked up. As I bled to death I'd wonder if it was one girl or some other that turned me into the bloody mess that I've become. Everyone's had a broken heart, but I never calculated that, somehow, my small intestine would have become caught up in such things. My stomach, spleen, gallbladder, and liver all scream the name of someone who's made them so damaged that I can't even look some people in the face without feeling them all lurch forward and try the escape my skin. Its pathetic, I guess. Some people have the ability to not care. This has become painfully obvious to me lately now that I spend my nights either alone or awkwardly staring at a wall because, out of the two people sitting there, I'm the only one speaking. I wish I could break myself that badly. Maybe I'd be better off spending all that college money on a trade school so I know how to build walls as strong as yours.

1/2/09

Another late night drive keeping bloodshot eyes out for the Dallas skyline. I love this city, but I hate its heart. I love this feeling, but I loathe what makes it start. So many endings have come and gone now. I wasted all my words. Grandiose thought patters spread thin like the lips of stupid girls. I'll be 25 in 2009. Another era in wasted time.

12/20/08

The problem with a liquid is that it evaporates.
The problem with solids is that they'll erode away.

I'm Made of Particles

I've been calling in sick since the day that I left you. I lay in bed until 3pm. Its been something like two months, I need to get out of this house. I don't know this place without you here. So I'm taking a trip south to the beach. Its an 8 hours drive, I hope this piece makes it there. I hear its its warm now this time of year. I've been cold (and every other cliche) without you here. I guess I'm trying to say that I miss you, I'm sorry, please come back.

12/4/08