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.