Lines

 It's currently 5:28am. Tonight feels as many other nights. Simple, delicate, I think that is why I find myself waiting for something to happen. They say 23 is the age things finally start happening in your life. I disagree, because things have always happened, regardless of age I have had many things happen around me, that have changed me. So far, these days I haven't really felt a pull to do anything, it is an issue to not have things rattling around my brain, as if someone could simply not feel. I want to start posting more on my instagram, I should take more pictures, stream more, write more. Sometimes though,  I feel nothing of the sort, so I stay stuck in the same place, anguishing over things I could fix, had I the intelligence, or the power to do so. Recently, I have been made aware of death. Death it seems, relates to many people. In death, we are all equal. I distrust people who have not seriously considered suicide. Why? Why would I distrust someone who hasn't suffered? It is because of the naivety of such a person who has not truly suffered. I find myself tiptoeing around these conversations, which should be free of judgement, but never are. Humanity is a disease, realizing this, would make any man want to die. Should we be free of these thoughts? I say no, because embracing death is not something that should be feared, but acknowledged. If I ever decide to die, know it is with much thought, and serious determination. From the abyss we come from, and to the abyss we will return.

Wither

 It's currently 5:17am. I'm using my phone to type, it feels a little strange, to be using a phone instead of typing it out on a keyboard. Nonetheless ill try my best to express myself in a much more intimate way than I can on stream. Recently I have been feeling a lot more hollow. Maybe my emotions are starting to dwindle, I keep coming back to my past trauma. It would seem that I have something that I cannot address, but I have somehow secluded and buried this grotesque scenario deep in my psyche. In the times I think about it, I feel incredibly afraid. I feel that I may never go back to the person I was if I end up seeking this instance, this evil in my heart. I am afraid of what I will find, I'm afraid that the feeble wall that I managed to build through the years may finally break and I will lose all sanity and patience. It's a bit maddening to not have memory, but if it means that I am stable, as a person then I will gladly accept the holes in my brain. I find myself deeply ingrained in loneliness, to the point where I am questioning the arbitrary meaning of connection. I feel like I am on the outside looking in. I think I've made the conscious decision to be alone for the rest of my life, regardless of love, or simple connection. I think I'm just a little stranger than the rest of humanity, as much as I know I want to be like everyone else, I will never be like them. If you are like me, then remember that we are the beings that the normals write about, cursed beings tormented by loneliness and at the same time madly in love with it. Seek not help from unwanted normals, because you are perfect just the way you are.

To my future self

    It is now 7:33 am. I was told recently from my friend, about a certain experiment. It's about suicide. For myself, I presume nothing but utter rawness from your soul. Tonight is the night, it's the night that I finally say goodbye to the world that I used to know. This world that I despise, this world that hates me for who I am. At times, I know I was delighted to hear simple things to quell these thoughts, such as I provide a service to others, that can not be found anywhere else. Yet the more I lived, the more I saw, and I'm too sad, I'm sorry. I think that I can't be happy I think I'm a little too broken for this world, maybe I'm a little too odd to function in a place like this. I remember looking up some quotes from people who have committed suicide before, trying to find a semblance of humanity, of normality, and I unfortunately.... did. I'm sorry to my mother, I'm sorry to my father, I'm sorry I couldn't fix myself. I'm sorry for all the things I could've done better. To all my friend's who have spoken to me, I'm sorry I couldn't be more of help to you, it's just too hard. It's too hard to trot day by day, pretending to be happy when I know I clearly am not, to presume my daily functions, as if it does not hurt me so much. It's strange, to feel happy, because I think as I type these letters onto this hub of imagination I feel a sense of actual true and complete joy. I'm sad, I'm sad that people like me will never find that happiness. I'm sad I could not do the things I have always wanted to do. I am sad that I could never be the hero that my people deserve. I hope that one day, you will find that special person, that special human that makes life worth living, whether it be another person or maybe it's yourself. To me, it was never another person, this hole I felt was so hard to hide, but I believe some person out there could fill it with themselves, loneliness my friend, isn't something to be afraid of, but to embrace. Embrace the solitude, embrace the chaos, like so many others decide to hide away from, be different. I just want to say that the world doesn't deserve people like us, like you and me, they don't deserve to have us. People like us, really only have a few options in our life, suicide, homicide, or to align with these facades of humans we call our brethren. Choose, and then accept the fate. I think for me, this was always my destiny, this was always how it ended, no matter my choice. So I just want to say fuck the world. Fuck everything.- Brian

I just don't understand

Currently 5:23am. I sit here, alone and tortured not by someone else, but by my own memories of a better time. I am but a horse being spurred by a master too deranged and mad with speed he does not realize my skin has begun to bleed. I am alone, time and time again I tell myself this sentence. I am alone, alone with my thoughts, alone with my memories, alone with my pain. I live alone, albeit surrounded by people, I am more alone than a layman could ever fathom. To want love, is natural, to want connection is natural. It is unnatural we are told, that one should want solitude, that one would find themselves intoxicated by their solitude, so in love with being alone that one would choose to throw themselves in a place where none could touch them, or speak to them. Ah the 1% the 1% of people who know my pain, yet speak they do not. Voiceless, and with them dies the shred of hope I have with my connection to humanity. What a fucking disaster, an absolute tragedy and yet here I am, awake and breathing still I choose to live. To live in a pitiful existence, with nothing but my thoughts to guide my movements in every day. I just don't understand these people around me. I know, it's a sentence reiterated by many a normal, by the horde. When the horde does not align with what they perceive to be normal, ah but they have only seen a sliver, a tiny speck of what we have to live seeing every single day. It's these voices, these people who desperately try and connect with others to give their brains stability, to realize that they are here, they are alive. So what of us? What of the ones who simply see? The ones who speak nothing, and only see what happens around us? Are we not of this world? Are we not real? I don't know. I simply don't know.

Loner/Lover

It's 5:54pm, on the fourth of July. Usually, I have this desire to boast about my accomplishments, or embellish on meaningless things in my life. Honestly I don't wish to come off as a person that likes to pretend he's more than he is. I am simple, simple to almost a detriment. My life is so meaningless, if I died tomorrow, there would be little people to show up at my funeral, I feel myself slipping in and out of a state of madness at times, dark and blotchy. I have these strange ideas, that when I am in the midst of euphoria, that you get from the close people around you, it puts me off. It's as if I'm not in completely, like I'm feigning these emotions to please the people around me. It's not that I hate them, I do not hate them, I simply dislike them, I dislike the feeling of community. I at times feel like an alien in the sea of humans, not in a way that my individuality can be something to be proud of. More of a way that my individuality makes me abnormal, it makes me excluded from these people. I cannot enjoy family, I seem to be a bit odd, in that way. I cannot completely give myself to people it seems, and I don't think that is evil or wrong, but it makes me very lonely. I am lonely. So alone I will stand, if only to give hope to someone that feels the same as I. To those individuals, I say stand alone as well, for we are one and the same even if we are worlds apart, I am here, I am real. Fear me.

Torture

It's 6:07am. Today I have a certain pressure, like a weight that weighs upon my soul. I think many people feel this way, that they have something holding them back from being something great, but maybe this weight is what keeps them from ascending. What if, instead of it holding them down, it's keeping them grounded? Grounded to reality that they will not be anything more than the average? There's this fear of being this average person, someone who pays their bills on time, and doesn't have enough lavish money to spend on things that are arbitrary. Sure being average is great, but to someone who comes from poverty, there's not really any other option other than to succeed. Success in any single form of reality, because average simply doesn't cut it. Average gets you another old house you can't pay for, average gets you another number in the cosmos, average gets you another life in the infinitude of the universe. To be something great though, means something, it means difference, it means success, it means you are something different, so be different, be unique.

Another bottle down

Currently 7:11am. I'm drunk, of course. I don't really know how to start these things anymore. I feel whenever I tell people about my asexuality, I feel myself lying to them. I think it's because heterosexuality is so ingrained in our society, I try to appease this inner turmoil that I might change, eventually, once I fuck or once I find the right girl. Personally, I don't think I'll ever find the right girl or guy, not that I am giving up, more like I never really cared for finding someone. I think it's because of how I am. Maybe, I think I am too screwed up, or a little too intense for people, still I know of people who would jump head over heels for someone like that, and yet I resist. I resist because I find myself in a position of where I wouldn't want to be in, ever. I am a little strange sure, does that mean I will never find a lover? Not necessarily, it means I have to try harder, but what if I never want to try? What if I never want to find a person who's skin comforts me? Who's laughter illuminates my life? Who's eyes pierce my very soul? What of the people who decide love is not for them? What comes of their meaningless lives of fortune, and solitude? I think it's truth, I think it's knowledge, and fulfillment. I have so many questions, but the only one who can answer them are me, someone so out of touch with reality, that humans no longer mean something to me. They are something I can never figure out, so there's little reason to pursue questions. I'm done, I think, with trying to understand them, to live a life of lies hidden in smiles and fortified by a personality buttered to their liking. I am not like them, and it's time to stop acting like I am.

Questions

It's 7:38am. Currently a little bit drunk, what a surprise you may say. Ah but the sweet taste of liquor does not carry such a burden on my brain as it once did. I think I am much happier now, streaming. I think I enjoy myself a lot more than when I am doing things I would rather not do, like going to work in a place that does not interest me. Many times, I find myself questioning what I will say next. I sometimes fear, when I speak too much, or write too much about myself I realize that one day may come, when I have no more stories to write, no more things to say to the world, what then? Do I sit alone, wallowing in despair, waiting for the reaper to come take me? Do I yell against the world for it's pervasive inaccuracies? Do I accept it, and move on? So how does one move on from the most principal of human objectives? To become what they want to be, seems like an alluring dream, something made from fairy tales, and as I grow older, it seems to be just that. I think if that day ever does come, I may finally rest. Rest my eyes from a cruel world, a cruel world made from the bodies of others, made from the blood and flesh of many conquerors, of the plagues and trauma of the cruelest of humans. It might finally be a paradise. Who knows? I sure don't. 

Hopeful

7:14am. It seems like this pandemic is much more of a bigger issue now, people have decided to stay home, to try and fight this idea they can somehow become invulnerable to it's devastating effects. I think it's this fear that people latch on to, to pretend humanity has some sort of unity throughout this whole ordeal. I choose, to say no, to say no to unity, to say no to any sort of connection with the masses. This disease, should be treated as a wake up call to the immensity of connections we have made with each other, dependent too much on each other, giving us vision to the plague of the inner soul of solitude. That we must depend on others, that we must give into menial pleasures of our walking mounds of flesh. Oh how despicable we are! Such are we, these mounds of flesh that walk along the path of disease stricken empathy, let us hope we cleanse ourselves of this plague of the soul. At times, I think this is good for us. I know, I know, words that cause panic in themselves. Maybe the world, the universe is better without us, but I know the cold reality is that the universe cares not of the squabbles of mere humans, it is indifferent whether we make an impact or not. Maybe this may be the end for us, and sometimes... sometimes I smile because of it.

Helping

It's 7:23am. I am drunk, of course. Today I bring you gratitude I bring all the strength I can muster to feel the emotion of love for the universe, no matter the dark depressing outcome it gives us. I want to give as much as I can to the world, to the beings who brush against me in the light of day. I just want to tell them that my heart weighs for them, that they do not have to carry a burden of sorrow, for I wish to hold it. It is these things that I wish to say to the world, these things that fill me will love of life, that I want to tell the world. Let me love you, for you are my universe. Forever and always yours, Brian.

Sickening

It's 4:40am. On a night like this, where my brain knows no end to the insufferable noise of my words, I find no satisfaction. With every letter that goes into a senseless sentence, I feel no end to the torment of this life. Eternal, I feel at times, yet tonight I have no drive for success, or a drive for anything other than a reckless endeavor. I simply want to feed my emotions with swigs of alcohol, and drive a cancer in between my skin, simply because I wish for the day that I mean something to someone. Maybe it is this desperate need, that plagues my entire life, something I may have skipped in my teenage life, a need for care and love from family, or friendships. I do not think I will ever find it, even in someone else, I think I am desperately alone, for an eternity, and I think I should accept it, no matter how hard the wires and razors this idea holds. I am not meant for this town, I am not meant for this world, but here I am nonetheless, I won't change, I am here, I am alive.

As I lie here

It's 4:02am. As I lie here, beaten and drunk in the vastness of my absurdity, I cling to think about the memories I had alone. In New York, I felt so different. As if I was someone else. I felt freedom, but if you are someone with a molecule of intelligence you would know that freedom, while something to always strive for, has a deep dark side to it. This freedom, that can quench my thirst for meaning, can also hold a very deep hole, something so frightening it rattles my bones. Death, the ending to all endings of life. I felt it for a second, while over there, that at any moment, at any time, I could fall, I could be murdered, and who would know of it? Would my family weep for me? Would the friends I have made, mourn my passing? I would think to not care, as life is only meaningful in death, for we as the meaningless people, the faceless would not dare to ask for someone to care. It is us truly, who die in darkness, who the masses do not see, who truly suffer the void of eternal darkness. So let me lie here, beaten, and drunk, alone and diminished. So for that moment, for the endless moments of fear that may plague me, I thank thee, I thank thee for the fear, and sadness, for one day I will feel nothing more. Let that day never come.

Looking for creativity

It's 2:09pm. I am usually not able to move and write in this time, I am not awake. Normally, I have this haze over me until late at night, with all this corona virus thing though, it has taken a toll on my mentality. Annoyance, more than anything. I feel a little fear, only around those that are elderly, but I am not worried. I surprisingly have more time than I usually do, therefore I could choose to read and stream more often, and it's those two things, that I've neglected over the past year that I wish I would dive headfirst into a bit more. I guess I realize I'm not as creative as I think I am, or that I want to be. So I'm sitting here, whispering into the void, once again waiting for a reply that I know will never come. Yet I will sit forevermore, until the end of time.

Growing up

It's currently 1:48pm. It's a little early, because I have noticed how much more time there is when you are awake in the day time. I grew up poor. My parent's weren't always home, my parent's were mostly working, I think that is what shaped my view on living, or being an adult. I want to have what I never got as a child, vacations, time with myself. I think that my parent's did their best, regardless of what I turn into, I think they did all they could for my sister and I. Sure, I could have been told that I was loved more often, but I can understand why they would not be able to say, instead they would try and show me, with the little things, like getting me food, or buying me clothing, albeit ugly, comfortable. I blocked out most of the things in my childhood that hurt me. There's a lot of chunks of my youth that are simply gone, like parts that my brain decided to forget. I remember specifically, as a kid I told myself, in private, that I would begin my memory here, in a car, in the middle of winter. I looked out of the window of my parent's car, which was deformed by the years of mistreatment by the previous owner. I looked outside to a winter wonderland, the snow that blanketed over the quite alarming number of gang signs and the neighborhood that was littered with homes that resembled crack houses. I told myself," this is where I want to start my memory". Maybe I wanted to hide myself, from the things that I saw, from the things that I knew about my past. To be a better person, a better being. I don't think it's enough, though. Because the memories will eventually crawl back, they will eventually eat me alive, and maybe I won't like who I become, when they return. I guess we will see, in the future.

Dunno

Currently 12:54am. I am in a state of rambunctiousness. I added someone from my high school, I was curious as to how she is doing, and I wanted to know some sort of satisfaction from it, but alas, I felt even worse than how I thought I would. Seeing her live her life in a way she would want, free from the subtleties and the pressure from others, yet support from strangers is quite discouraging. It's because I am jealous of the support from random strangers. I am jealous that she gets to live her life in a way which disregards others, or even has any sort of attention from people. I am jealous, and here I sit with this green goblin, in the shadows. I am simply, truly, a loser.

Away

Currently, 5:40am. I have returned from my trip, much happier than the entire year I have been working. It's strange, this feeling. As if I have changed, from who I was to someone different. The things I saw, the things I felt, I feel as if the entire world was much bigger than the simple mind could ever imagine. I thought that I would have a certain satisfaction, from this fantasy in my mind that I replayed over and over, but I don't think it's quenched. I think it will never be. I tried my best to assimilate into their city, and I think it almost felt natural to exist there. I felt comfortable, much more comfortable than I have ever been in this city, this town. Weirdly, I would do it again. I would go through the rigorous migraine that I had to endure for the entirety of the 6 hour flight. All just for another night in a city full of personality, where anyone could be anything if they decided to. I think that's exactly what I needed. I think that is exactly who I am. I already am excited for our next meet. Until next time, New York.

In the event of my demise

6:35am. I am not indulging in my love, alcohol tonight, for that reason I feel all the more sad. The melancholy feelings that pursue my soul for an eternity knows no bounds! I want to speak tonight about my upcoming visit. In the event of my demise, I would like to tell the world some things. One, that it is cursed with mounds of flesh that take and take and take, to give so little back. Two, that these mounds of flesh that take so much, are full of truly cruel ideas, they are evil, and damned. Three, that I along with others, were not meant to be apart of this cruel reality. Four, that I wish I was different, normal and not so fucked up with things that I wish I could forget. Five, that I am sorry, I am sorry for all of the things I ever did to my loving friends, and family members, and never have I felt such guilt in my everyday life until I grew into my age of 18. Six, well fuck society, fuck everything it wants, everything you desire to have, the american standard of life, and how it pressures us to exist in it's warped mirror. Seven, I've hated myself for only 22 years, but I think my hatred extends for an eternity. Eight, no matter how much things you want, or think you need, it will never be enough, because as humans we are doomed to be forever in a state of suffering. Nine, I don't think anyone beyond the age of 30 is alive to better humanity. Ten, whatever you want to do with your life, make sure to do it alone and completely, because you never know when your feeble body decides to stop working. I sure wish I could've finished what I wanted to say, but words themselves, will never be enough. I think it is because words can never express something inside your heart. It's because sometimes, no matter how much you write, you can never say the things inside you. 

What should I love?

5:27am. To love, is to feel all the feelings. What I hear profusely shouted from the masses, is that love is what makes a person complete. That a whole person is not real, unless they are filled with the soul of another. I say no, I say fuck that. I say, fuck love. To need another makes you all the more vulnerable, and disease ridden with the plague of dependence. I am told, that there is nothing in this universe stronger than love. If there's nothing stronger than love, let me die lonely and in despair because love is too simple a pleasure for someone like me. Love is too simple, it holds you with it's hands, warm and healthy. I wish to slap them away with pain and anger, for love is a waste of a breath I prefer to use to breathe in hatred, and sadness. So, I'll wither away with my loneliness and despair, because this cold embrace is no fallacy, it is dependable, and will always find a place in my heart.

Seeking something

6:38am. I feel so bad sometimes. I cannot bear the pain, at times. Like I cannot fathom the immense sadness. I think it's good though, when my heart aches, because it means I am still human. I fear the day that I may no longer feel anything for anyone. Once that day comes, I think I would no longer feel for humanity. Maybe I am fucked up as a person, I am broken and wrong. I think so, because what else would make sense? I just wish I was satisfied with simple things, like I see so many others... I wish that my heart could bare such simple joys. Until then, I will let myself anguish in this pitiful existence, this joyless meandering through life. Ah, let me live, I pray, let me live. before I die.

Confession

3:16am. I have a confession, I have a truth that I must say. I am sad, stricken with grief. I think these days, while I come closer and closer to one of my goals, I feel emptier than when I had the drive to get them. I feel a bit hollow, hollowed out in my freedom. Am I destined to feel so empty, always? Where are these feelings that I used to own? I have no comfort in my life. I feel every day gone from myself. Like I am not really in the moment, I am distant. Distant from the place in my flesh and bone, my walking corpse of a body. I see all these people, all the time, these people who are able to do things that make them happy, or give them a sense of purpose. I wish that were enough for me, I wish I had enough things, and enough money to make myself happy. I think I might die young, and I am so afraid of that. I am so afraid that I will find a way to make myself accept it. Afraid of the darkness that precedes it. Man I miss my friends, I miss the feeling of comfort in their laughter, in their joy. I think I run from it though, I run from this happiness, because I do not want to feel joy anymore. I think I may be lost within myself. Oh how I wish I were here, I wish I was home, away from myself!

Too young.

It's 4:46am. People die too young. They decide to take their lives, and I agree with them. I agree that they would decide to end soon, unlike others who decide to extend their pitiful existence for years on end. I think I am scared though, of the void, of the end. I am scared of ending my life before I am finished with it. I think one day I will accept it. Maybe I will finally be able to do it with full confidence. For the time being, I cannot do it. I have too much to do, before I end my life. It does feel like a sizzling fire though, I feel it at the back of my mind, I feel it there, sitting, waiting for me to be able to accept it. I wonder what could fool myself into this. Or maybe it is my future, my actual destiny to commit suicide. I would imagine so, because I have no real goals, or interests for humanity. I hold no legacy for this pitiful existence, I am simply watching as this whole failure of a society crumbles. It's okay though, I do not need to know or seek anything like so many others do, I think I am destined to die, like so many others. I will be fine, I will be something other than human, or something other than enjoying happiness. I am sad, I am destined for apathy, destined for failure, destined for the underlying disease of existence. I am simply, a loner.

Deepest fear.

It's 4:18am. Intimacy. Intimacy is my deepest fear. Not because I am afraid of love. More as in, I am afraid of the person that I show. Or of being loved and cared for by another, maybe it is this pestilence in me. It is this cancer, or maybe I am forever uncaring, unfeeling. I am but a poison to this world, or a watcher. I think I am afraid of caring about others, it feels too dangerous. Why do I feel this way? I think that others make me too vulnerable, too docile, not ready to bare the burden of losing someone. I don't want to repeat the same mistakes, so I must build walls of stone around my heart. It is too dangerous to love, to want, to need. So, bludgeon my heart with sticks and stones wrapped in barbed wire, to make me a cold monster. Hurt me, more and more until pain makes me whimper no more, till the end of time. The end of my life.

Fading away

4:57am. I don't know what to write anymore. I cannot understand myself. At times, I find myself more lost that I ever am. I move through these feelings sometimes, and I make no sense of them. I am trash. I never understood how people can tell themselves that. Yet at the same time I know why I would tell that to myself. It's because it's true. I always try to numb myself with things, trying to fuck my brain on things that will make me forget myself even if it's for a minute. I think these things are fucking useless, maybe I am just trying to run from myself. It's all garbage, all of it. I'm a piece of shit. I can't fucking understand anything. I'm stupid, ugly, annoying, I don't know. I don't know.

Daydreams

It's 6:14am. I found myself tonight, among the bodies of my old selves, in between the sheets of skin and bone. I find myself in the ripples of the pools of blood and mulch. I find myself deeply seated in a world of incurable cancer. Tell me sweet nothings, people who have no face. Tell me how much I have missed from the world, tell me how much I am wrong about things. Tell me, again and again how I am mistaken. I am mistaken, truly, but not in my demeanor, or my ideas, but in the faith I have placed in humanity. A faith that I gave to the world, and it was torn apart by the cruel and careless. Leave me be, leave me be, for one of meaninglessness should not pursue the simple treasures of humans. I need more, I need less, yet I find myself among the blood and flesh of these faceless creatures of day. Fuck the world, fuck the world and it's evil.

Where am I?

It's 5:22am. I lost a friend tonight. I decided to. I think I have something in me, that doesn't allow relationships. I remember it started in high school. I began to drift away from my friend L. L was a guy you could definitely count on, cheery full of love. I called him my best friend once, in middle school. I am a terrible friend. I remember how I felt, this feeling. How I wished to throw away my relationships. I think I just can't anymore. My other would like to have such feelings of happiness, but it never subsides, it just comes and goes as it wants. When it comes, it feels like I need the distance, otherwise I will break down. I will break like so many times before. I will bend and shatter in my mind, like glass. I'm saddened by this loss. I'm saddened that I cannot feel happy with him anymore. Once I am alone though, once I have regained myself, I think I will be happier. Whenever I am with others, I think I am not real, I am not complete. It is only when I am completely alone, I feel joy, I feel a sense of fulfillment. All these people, all these noises just throw me in to a state of disarray, of mess. Once I am alone again, I think I will be able to breathe. I think I am one of those people, who do not feel happy with others. I may be a freak, but I think I can never be happy with others. I am broken, maybe a little fucked up, but I am me. That is all I ever want to be, me.

Killing the 'other'

It's 6:15am. I want to write a separate post about this. I have two parts of me, I think. One, the open and loving one. The one that does want relationships, he makes himself known to the world, speaking about everything in his mind. Then there's the more prevalent one, the cold pitiless one, the one without a heart, without empathy. I feel like the real me is more in line with the cold one. I feel it, killing off the other, the one who wants socialization. I wish for it to murder it, but maybe it cannot be completely killed. Maybe somewhere in this cold, dead heart, I have a glimmer of hope. A glimmer of fire that cackles within my heart. I hope that one day, it dies. I hope that I can finally lose the grasp of the relationship part of me. I just want to be okay, alone forever. I just want to see a couple and feel nothing, instead of sadness or disgust. I want to love myself, for an eternity and beyond. Fuck love, fuck friendships, and fuck the world

Lucidity in Loneliness

It's 6:08am. Tonight I want to speak about a few things, whether you can empathize is up to you. I felt alive a few days ago, strangely it was like the fog was lifted from my brain. I am usually in this state of complete unawareness. This state of murky fog that envelops my brain at all times. I think it is why I have decreased senses. That day though, even if it was for only a few hours, I felt real. I felt like I was in the present, not lingering on the past or thinking about the future. I wonder, if it is what others feel like at all times, being completely aware of everything around them. It was not like when I drank an energy drink, to try and increase my processing. It was more like, I could see everything, and I could process normally. The normal, the mound of flesh. They have these things that make them so abhorrently average, it is strange to be someone like me, to want those things. I detest them, how normal and so in sync with life, they are. How they could be satisfied with simple things. Oh how my stomach turns to think of myself assimilating like they do! Do they not want something else!? How can they be so alright with everything?! I need to study them further, to see them more often, to figure out who they are.

Let's avoid this.

It's 4:39am. I don't know what to write this time, I don't know because I do not think I am a good writer. I write usually because I want to say something, but usually it's in the throws of my alcoholic whims. I pine for a day that I can say I write with such prose as the people in magazines and journalists who speak about the world. It's a bit maddening, to say the least, to be in such shadows of titans. Many times I blather on about my feelings, but I love to use the words in ways that sound beautiful. Regardless of the hugely ridiculous meanings behind them. Looping words together in a sentence that makes one question where the writer's mind was at the time. If I could write poetry, I would. Yet I find myself in a world where I could never in a million years attempt to make such words sparkle like poets do. Maybe, in the future, I would be able to form things. Tonight though, I cannot. So here's to tomorrow, and tomorrow. To the future!

Looming Terror

It's 4:43am. I am lost in this abyss, my love. I am lost in your everlasting embrace. I am lost in this beckoning call to me. This call that cuts through my skin like butter, this call that makes me gag with poison in my lungs. Oh love, my love, how I wish to touch your skin! How I wish I could hold you together, with stitches made of my sadness! My poem to my love, my loneliness. I feel it, the looming dread, the looming terror, valentines day. This day signifies love, empathy, compassion for another. I think people struggle with this because they are like me, unfeeling, uncaring. They willfully ignore their urges to pretend they have some sort of morality. They profusely dictate how above the average they are, with their meaningless cries of love, or gifts that bring simple joys. To someone like me, I feel indifferent, not because I detest such cries, but because I do not feel it. I do not feel such feelings of love, of connection. It's a bit annoying, I will not lie, to listen to babbling people speak about their significant others and their so "pure" relationship. It's annoying because one knows they lie through their teeth, no relationship is "pure" or completely invulnerable. Relationships are riddled with holes that are glaring to any person. We as people, should not cater to this ridiculous concept of a complete full feeling, when with another. It is a feeble attempt at distancing oneself from the truth, the void that is always in our soul. That is why, I choose loneliness as my companion, for eternity. Loneliness will never leave me, or hurt me in a way I do not see coming. It is comfortable, and forever there staring back at me. People, can be replaced, but loneliness, TRUE loneliness, can never change. So tonight I say, I love you, and forever will love you loneliness.

Bojack Horseman and the pressure of life.

It's 5:15am. Bojack Horseman is an amazing show. I want to speak tonight about it. From the beginning, you know how self absorbed the main protagonist, Bojack really is. He uses people to make himself feel better. In the throws of his alcoholism, he spills himself all over people who care about him. You begin to empathize, with his character. How no matter what he does, to feel the smallest of positive emotion, he manages to ruin it. Much how life really is, it's unpredictable and it really weighs down on you. It touches on suicide, Secretariat, a father like figure for our protagonist manages to touch my heart in a delicate way. The whole show has this very heavy feeling looming over the entire time it runs. In the end, though there's so much to unpack. It finally lets you breathe, and when you do, you realize how cold life can really be. There is no end all, be all, answer to the questions that plague your soul, there is only existence. Your choice to continue life, to feel, to love, to hate. It never tells you that it all will work out, it never tells you that everything is futile. It tells you that sometimes, most of the time, there really isn't an answer. I think that's the most important part of the show, the ambiguity of life. How you want things to work out in this neat little package, but realize the package isn't neat, it is messy and sometimes it doesn't fit. There will be pain, there's going to be failure, and regret. The only thing you can do is move forward with it, but learning as you go. To be, to finally exist. It's nice, to think about, I think it is important to know, to learn, about how those things can change you as a person. You make life worth living, to live to do something, or to live and choose what you want. There is no answer, and that is okay.

Sleep

It's 5:52am. I'm not ready for tomorrow, every single night I'm always dreading tomorrow. I never want to sleep. Because sleep would give me the illusion of how real tonight is. I want to stay awake forever, because forever is the night of eternity. How one would want to sleep is a fucking nightmare. To sleep is to accept death! To sleep is to remember the nights and mornings of the future. To sleep tonight would be to finally say I accept all I did today, and I am not ready. I am not ready to accept that all I did today was in fact, worth it. I am not ready to accept that I did nothing I wanted to, said things I would've liked to say, yelled things I wanted to tell the world! Maybe this sleep, is the sleep that is a glimpse of the eternal sleep.  It is what we gaze into when we are close to death. How careless, and unending it is. This black hole that finally begins to grow and swallow us whole. once we near our end. It makes me so sad, to know this darkness will swallow us. I am so afraid of it, how it will take everything. I think no one is afraid of what it will do, but when it comes, it comes will full force. its so much harder to accept. I guess, I am afraid too, how it will eat me. If only I could accept this. I am afraid, and alone. Fuck I wish I was something other than so! Let me be eaten, then! Let my soul be devoured by the end! Oh I am such a disease! Help me, help me feel!

I have no idea

It's 5:30am. I'm a little tossed, as usual. I find myself tonight in a state of helplessness. I find myself stretching out my arm for the comfort of another. I think it is called loneliness. To be a loner means to be accepting of such a feeling, to accept a feeling of perpetual loneliness. Maybe it is my diminished sense of humanity, that pursues such feeble emotions. To want another is a disgusting attempt at connection. I say such things, because deep down I want it, what so many others have within themselves. This emotion, this feeling that they can connect with others, but no matter how many "I love you" s and "I want you"s I am told, I still can't feel them. It's like this feeling is barred off by a wall. Maybe, I think, it's because of what happened to me as a child, but I don't think it would affect me so. I feel like I could move past it, like I should not be defined by this specific instance. I always felt like a monster, an abomination that could not feel. I think I should let it go, but I know I cannot ever leave it, it is a part of me. This trauma, this emptiness, I should learn to look into the mirror of this monster, to feel it again, to remember how I was. Once I have accepted it, I think I will be able to move forward. I will finally be able to see things differently. I just wish it was easier, easier than I would want it to be. I'm just always in this rut, of mud and muck. I always feel like I'm slugging through a world filled with blood, and awful horrors. I think I'm just so afraid, afraid of them. Afraid that these people who are not like me, how they could scream out how awful they are. I guess I am afraid of others, and what they might do.

Pain

It's 8:27am. I'm drunk. I want to talk tonight about my life. I want to talk about the sadness within, oh god how I have this hole in me. I hate to just pretend that I never have such a sinking feeling within me. Every single day I do things that normal people do. It's very taxing, to have this in me. Like I can't ever be normal, god I wish I was normal. Every day I struggle for a gasp of the normalcy that everyone holds. I just want to cry, I want to cry everything out, but I can't cry at all. My tears hold nothing anymore. I just have this continuous sadness within me, and I can never cure it. I can never cure this feeling, how it penetrates me so. God I wish I was just dead. I wish my friends and family never knew me, I wish I never tried to help others. I wish I never tried anything. Fuck sometimes I just wish I disappeared into nothing. I'm so fucked, when I was a kid I saw some things that no child should see, and I think I just hurt. I am so hurt, and I think I can never recover. I'm so sick of trying to hide. I'm just so sick. Oh and my stomach feels like a fucking whirlwind, my head is spinning into madness, and I'm just going to sit here in the dark and accept it. I just wish I was happy, for a while. I wish I knew what the feeling of happiness was, I wish I felt like I knew anything. So I'm just going to dig, for a while, dig for a place that I hope to figure out where I stand. Where am I?

You

It's 5:20am. Recently I have started watching the show "You". I think it's very enlightening in regards to finding love. Many people claim to have fallen in love so intensely that it shakes their bones with delight. They regard their significant other as their "other half". This is to insinuate that they were incomplete to begin with. In the show, we find out that Joe is in fact not afraid of murder, because he feels he needs to do what must be done in order to achieve his goals. It's strange to feel empathetic to a murdering sociopath, but nonetheless I feel so. How his ideas make him do things he would deem socially unacceptable. How he clamors to fit into this tight knit web constructed by the people who would see him suffer and not bat an eye. I think, in a way, I am like he. I am like he, in a way that people do not deserve the love they get from me. They do not deserve to allow me to love them, or to so passionately show them how I want to love. They are pitiful, and disgusting. They are not fit to be cared for in the slightest, as they are cruel, and evil. They are creatures unfit to wield the slightest of power, or arrogance. They abuse each other, for means of simple satisfaction. I dare to think how I could ever become like them, how I would ever stoop so low as to use someone for simple satisfaction. If I ever do, I fear it would turn me into something I would detest with every fiber of my being. It would make an animal of the well designed facade that I carry wherever I go. The beast within, I could say. Let him hunger for eternity.   

Surely

It's 4:31am. I'm not drunk enough. I'm not drunk enough to pretend I can act how I please. God how I miss my friends. I keep thinking I have some sort of disease that affects my friendships. This disease that poisons my being. How I could be so blind to them is beyond me. Oh my god I wish I was unemotional, because these feelings torture me so! How I ponder the things I said so profusely! Every night I just want to feel nothing, I just want to drown my sorrows in some sort of addiction, or numbing feeling. I can never find it. Man, I wish I was dead. So that no other would dare touch this poison of me. I am a freak, a futile attempt at life, a fucked up broken being. I feel no empathy, I seek no pleasure, I am not meant for a world like this. I hate everyone, and everything so strongly. I have this hatred for the normal, how they clamor to their simple emotions, or simple highs. It makes me sick, to live with the same people who would turn with the slightest of push. They are trash, and they should be buried among the heaps of their own filth. Fuck society, fuck their feelings, fuck their ideas, and fuck whatever they want from us. I hope they suffer in their demise.

The face in the mirror

It's 5:14am. Tonight I want to talk about the feeling of strangeness. Of a feeling that is an outer body experience. Often times, I am not really present, in a lot of situations. Most of the time, I do not feel things profoundly. I think it's this strange thing in me, to make me like so. I am usually lost in the small things I see, in my life. Small feelings, or small things in the world that bring me more awe than the overall situation. I don't think I am complete. Tonight, I felt out of place. As I did the same things I did a thousand times before, I felt incredibly afraid. Afraid that those same things brought me no feelings. I felt like I could not do these things anymore. It was like I was not in my body, trying to grab the wheel of my walking flesh. Like I was some sort of demon settling into this being. I was afraid I would never be the same again. I was afraid I could never be the same. It's scary, it's horrifying to be honest. Maybe I need to throw myself into this feeling, this horrifying thing, to know what it feels like to be out of place. To know what one feels to be stranger than I already am.

Mania

It's 5:51am. I have noticed that mania feels like this feeling of compete invulnerability. How one would decide to feel such an emotion is beyond me. I only have those feelings when I drink, or when I drink energy drinks. I remember my cousin, who had an addiction to redbull. He would drink every day a whole pack of redbull. I was jealous, as I knew the serious effects of them. He ended up in the hospital, I smirked as he told me the story, such a preposterous side effect of an almost insignificant drink. His voice turned serious, he looked me in the eyes. He told me he had a heart attack. In my mind, I wished it were me. The one who's heart had stopped. He had an addictive personality. Yet, he held a heart so pure it seeped his sadness. It almost broke me, how he spoke of his tortured life, how he had to fight for the woman he loved, or his treasured lifestyle of luxury. I felt saddened that such a life would never happen to me, unless I chose it. So tonight, I choose it. I choose to fight for a life full of solitude, of a life full of heartache and treasure. A life where no one would call me a leech. A life where I could call my own.

I feel it.

It's 5:24am. I've been drinking. I apologize, I'm usually in a state of natural rambunctiousness. Now, I feel a bit numb, or absent from reality. I wrote something down tonight. "Murder on my mind, it's a cancer that's eating me alive. Murder on my mind, and there's no escaping it this time." I think it's because I felt some sort of pull towards the gore, the complete butchering of life. I think I am a freak, a freak not in the sense that I want to see that kind of stuff, but a freak in the sense that I know nothing else. I keep thinking about what a life I would've had if I was not like so, maybe a life where I became some sort of empathetic person. A person who cared about his fellow man, about what he felt. An empathetic person who knew what he wanted out of life. But I don't. I don't feel any sort of connection with these people, these feelings, these real opportunities. It's the emptiness, the void that calls for my soul. The feeling of solitude that never leaves my soul, the feeling of sadness that never ends. I think I am feeling that feeling of emptiness, that proceeds all humans. God how I wish it would never end, this feeling that I have. Everyday I miss it more and more. So to the people that do not understand, let me be. Let me be this weird abomination that one such as you would never comprehend, or this being of obnoxiousness that spews words of incoherence. But for the ones that are like so, feel it. Feel the feeling of destruction, and anarchy, for it will never leave our souls, or heart. Abominations are we, children of the night, and abominations we will forever be.

Numbing

It's 11:59pm. I find things so strange sometimes. There's these moments in my life when I genuinely have no feeling. I think about it a lot. I wonder if others feel the same way. They have these moments where they are doing something and not thinking anything, I see it in their eyes. Their eyes, they have no spark of life, as if they had just buried their family dog. Those moments I think is what I look for. Not the joy and laughter with others, or trying to feel some connection with them. I think those moments when they have nothing inside, are realer than any other moments in a person's life. It cuts through their flesh like a sharpened knife, to the void they have in their soul. That is what connects us. Maybe this numbness that I have, is nothing but a past trauma or a side affect of ageing. Then again, this numbness might be something more, like something in my biology. The chemical makeup of humanity, something ingrained in us that will never change. I keep looking, at these people. I keep looking for something in their eyes, to find something I could call to. To finally say, "look at me, I see you". I can never find it, and I can never stop looking. A cycle of ridiculous self defeating purpose. I think one day, once everything I have said and done is enough for me, I may lose my humanity completely. It scares me, but I think I would be ready to die. To be ready to say, goodbye.

Mostly

It's 5:44am. Tonight I sing a song of a person who knows the bowels of life. To sing along means that you, as such as I have a bond forged from something other than carnal flesh. For it is we, the loners, the ones who have experienced loss, the ones who have seen horror. I think I lost a part of myself. To sing a tune that sounds like gibberish to the normal, the loved. It is difficult to remind myself to live. To remind myself that one day I will figure it all out, like the weight of the world on my shoulders, is too heavy. My body struggles to find air, drowning in an ocean of guilt, and suffering. It might be nice, to drown. It might be nice to float away, and hear the voices fade away as the more time passes, I sink deeper and deeper into the sea. I would like to visit it one day, the sea. The sea that might take me away. I must keep fighting, I must keep singing, because it is the only thing that keeps me from drowning now, the singing. There is nothing in this world for someone like me, because I have been broken since birth, no longer human this being loves no one, and finds no comfort in connections. I will drown one day, but for tonight I will sing.

Hurting

It's 6:10am. I'm drunk, alone and intoxicated by my brain. I kept thinking about suicide today, how my friends would decide to take their own lives. I tried to place myself in their position, with some factors affecting their being, no friends, no love, no reason to live. I am no angry at them, I am just disappointed in them. How they would decide such an idea for themselves, because life holds so much more for them than simple things, simple emotions. I imagine that they would find no pleasure in those things. Last night, I had a dream that he was still alive, gone, but still alive. The same body still inhabited the world, but no longer was he the same person. I had some comfort in that, someone who I could grow to love, maybe, even if just for a second of my life. Someone who I would try to form something with. It's comfortable, to feel such a feeling. I awoke with the realization that nothing was so, and felt disappointed to live again. I have felt such a feeling before, and I think I am no longer alive, alive to feel such comfort of real life. I am broken, sad and forever an animal of the jungle of life. To be comforted by relationships is to die a broken heart, for life is to be taken by the harshest reality. Friendships and love, they do not affect my heart anymore, maybe I am finally realizing the sadness within. I wish I was dead, I keep telling myself, but I think I would miss the smiles, the feeling of connection. I would miss the feeling of joy as I drink this bottle of whiskey, or the beauty of nature.I would miss the loneliness I had felt for the entirety of my life, the longing for another person. I would miss the temptations of songs, how they make me sway to their beats. I would miss the comfort of sleep. I think one day I might be able to say they do no longer move me, and when that day comes I will embrace it, whole fully and completely. 

Skin

Skin oh skin
I remember your touch
how my hair would stand
how your flesh felt upon my chin
I think I want you more than words could say
or maybe I have become someone much to bland
to think that one would be in love with your skin
I guess we will see when you love me too, one day.

Screenshot

It's 2:14am. I am lucid, lucid with no alcohol coursing through my veins. I like to throw myself into things, pretending I am untouchable for a moment at least. I think it is because of my sadness, you know that hole in the middle of your chest that weighs down your every action. Many times, I look for things, people or small chemical balls of joy, to take me away even for a moment from the blandness existence that surrounds me. I think it is because I hope so much, even when I am let down by the world, for even a glimmer of happiness. Even happiness itself though, is never enough. Nothing in this world is enough for me, I think other people feel this way, but they do not want to admit it. Today, I realized this is me. No matter how many pills I take, or how much stimulants I use, I will never change how I am as a person. This person though, is coldly distant, a hermit of a person. I know it is not someone people like, or want as a friend, genuinely. It's a characteristic that they would prefer someone not to have. I think I should go with it. It's like this complete sadness in my heart that nothing could ever cure, it breaks my heart. A lot of the time, I just want to die. I just want nothing to hurt me anymore, and it's so hard to keep waking up and seeing the people around me try so hard, to live. It's like I was given poison when I was born, the toxin of life. I never thought of it, before but I remember saying it. It's hard, to live, it's hard to exist, because every day you find new corridors filled with voices, or people so cruel that make you want to fall. And every corridor seems to grow longer, and longer, as you keep walking. As you finally grab the handle of the door, proud of the courage and strength it took to get there, find disappointment as you open it to reveal yet another hallway filled with the same things as the last. It never ends, the suffering. It's just so hard sometimes, it's hard not to empathize with suicidal people. Alas, this world was not built for the sensitive of heart, and it never will be. So we must endure, and hope our tender hearts build themselves walls of stone. Forever and always, suffering.

My ideal

It's 10:56pm. Tonight I want to speak of the ideal. Personally, I find my ideal to be in a world where I am alone. An island where I can need no one. A perfect place where I look upon nobody, and find myself completely isolated from humanity. It's a cabin in the woods, with the only means of civilization a few miles away. It's where at 4 in the morning I would step outside to listen to the creatures slither, and croak away, smelling the pine wood, and feeling the moon's glow on my skin. A solitary place with no other traveler would think to dive into. I know it is not real, I know I will have to fight tooth and nail for it to become a reality, which is something I'm willing to do. I want to finally have a place that I will be able to rest my eyes, regardless of the things I might have to do or choices I have to make the next day. To be at peace, with things in terms of what may happen, if my heart decides to no longer beat, or my lungs no longer decide to breathe, to let my bones finally ease, to let my hands sleep, my blood begin to cold. If you share this with me, then we are alike in  a way, and I hope these words ease your anxiety as they do mine.

Pretend

It's 5:41am. I find myself tonight in a state of true anguish. How I long for the touch of a lover, of a person who's life  would fill my soul with true warmth. I think of myself as a loner, someone who is naturally alone for life. I have the occasional bouts of loneliness though, where I stretch my arms out to the world, hoping that someone will stretch theirs back. The soft touch of skin upon skin, of the smell of their hair, or the look of animal carnal desires from their eyes. Yet the longing is followed by the coldness of it, the feeling of sadness, and yet complete fullness. Satisfaction. My god the emotion is intoxicating, how one would throw themselves into such disarray, to feel such an emotion. I know that solitude will kill me, but I am in love, in love with the feeling of melancholy, of loneliness of solitude. I keep looking at these people, who show themselves, how they waver in feelings of solitude, and I pity them, for they do not understand the real treasure they possess. So we must pretend, pretend that we are like they are, lonely, and sad, hoping for someone to save them from themselves. To hope for a ridiculous concept of having a person to love, because for people like us, there will be no salvation, but a strange nature to guide us to our true love, solitude and loneliness. Feel lonely! Feel lonely for all the hurt the world has given us! Feel lonely for they do not understand, or comprehend our multitudes! Feel lonely, to remember what it is like to feel alive.

Longing

It's 6:10am. I wish to sleep, but I could not because the words keep calling me. These words that spill from my heart, from my fingertips. What a world so tangled in itself, a world so cruelly cold. I think what I feel is loneliness, it is so comforting sometimes. Loneliness is comforting, because of the cry for a touch. Maybe it is because everyone who has lived has felt it before, it connects us. My friend at one point told me, that he sees my loneliness. I was startled, because I never thought I felt lonely, that hollow feeling of needing another soul to hold on to. The only time I feel lonely is when I see the actual horror and vividly gory reality of life. It frightens me to the core of my being, yet I find myself enamored by it. In love, with the edgy and at times evil. I think it is because of my experiences, the things that I've seen or felt. I think with time, the true self, that has been encapsulated in glass or frozen solid, begins to crack and finally emerge from their deep slumber. For me, I think I was hurt a long time ago, and now I think I'm finally starting to see him, whatever or whoever was hurt, and he's starting to become real. Maybe I am just scared of who he will be, or what he will do. If he is worse than me. I guess we will see, and maybe this longing will finally be quenched, for eternity.

The feeling

It's 6:50am. I'm drinking, I feel like I am in a state of meaninglessness. I received a letter from my friend in prison. He told me about his perception of reality, and society from a cell. I could tell from the letter, his ideas jumped from one to the next, like he had something to say. I think words themselves, don't really encapsulate emotion or reality. On some things I agreed with him completely. His views on the overall societal norms, I found interesting. How we must succumb to the monopolies of the company overlords. It never fades though, the feeling of difference, the feeling that something inside calls you away from the ideas of your ever perfect reality. The reality that cries out for love, attention, for a home to call your own. That feeling I think, it's ingrained in a specific few, like he, and I. The feeling that something else hides behind our foggy eyes, the feeling that sulks around, and slithers until it finds a hole to hide in. Maybe the hole is relationships, to pretend itself that one would need a lover, to survive, or family to hide behind. Because behind the mask hides true horror, that it needs no body but itself, and that evil that it holds. Or maybe that feeling is money, that it needs to pretend to want, because of survival. Yet, it whimpers for something other than the material. Slither away, young snake, let yourself hide, because the world is evil and cruel. Lest you want to perish in fire and beatings, you must hide.

To the normal

It's 3:45am. I feel I need to address this, tonight among the many nights of my life I keep hearing of these people's voices. I feel distant from the normal, the normal people around me. I think of myself as something alien and foreign. Not in a sense of superiority, but of strangeness. Nestled within a society so prominently simple. I think I should not say what I mean. To say so simply, would be to kill a baby bird before it could fly. One such as I, feels distant, unnaturally different. I think what made me normal, and simple, died a long time ago. Only now, as my maturity grows, I come to realize the vividly real person I am. Unfortunately, it comes only with distance, and coldness. Maybe to be evil, to be cruel is my true person. And all the years that I dedicated to niceness and purity, are a shadow to the core of my being. It is so hard sometimes, to mask myself, I know one day it will tear, and the real me will be awoken, from the eternal slumber. Until then, I will allow myself to be unreal, and throw myself into the plague.

Hell

It's 3:37am. I find myself alone in a cold world. No matter how many words I manage to shout, the world never changes. I think I am in a loop, a loop of disdain and torture. This must be hell, this must be what is talked about since the dark ages. To lash out at god and to be treated with silence. To muster enough strength just to be left to die in the dark. Oh how I smell the bodies of my comrades, of my loves and treasures, just to whisper in my dying breath, help. To not be heard, to suffer alone. Maybe it is my hell, to yell into the void. Or maybe it is my paradise, because I know of the emptiness. To the hell that torments me, I say let it come, and maybe I will find paradise in this suffering of mine.

A poet's dead heart

This is a poem of a dead heart. The shutters of my heart creep a silent wind.
Because this beating flesh only moves to the sound of your voice. 

The coldness shiver throughout my body, my soul.

To hear your silky voice, to see your smooth skin melt into mine

It would describe pleasure to the letter

Yet I know your breath speaks to another

I know your heart was given to a much better soul

So bleed for me, love

Bleed unto your lover

Because I am forever a shadow that casts over you

A watcher of another time, of another life

Yes this watcher knows not of love, but of heartache, forever and always.

Crutch

It's currently 5:48am. Today technically, is the new year. The year is 2020. I don't feel any different, I don't have any feelings of change, or difference. So when I hear, "happy new years" I feel numb. Numb to joy, or any sort of new feeling. I think it's because I have been stuck for so long, I don't have an idea of something different. I'm drinking, but today as a celebration, to be happy. Yet, as I take another sip, another drink, I feel all the more sad. I think I use alcohol as a crutch, to make me write or to feel some sort of way. My mind usually doesn't care about anything, and when I drink it makes me throw myself into whatever I see. Like I can completely chuck myself into fucking traffic. I can see it now, windshield cracked, blood smearing onto the pavement, and the gasps of onlookers. I keep cutting off my limbs, but they keep growing back. They keep coming back, like roots digging deep into my skin, like a cancer that has been hidden in my blood.