Unaware

 It is currently 3:16am. I am sitting here with nothing but the whirling letters stabbing my brain like a bundle of tacks. In these moments of silence I tend to struggle with acceptance, accepting the person I look at in the mirror, accepting my life is a random accumulation of my past mistakes, accepting my lost friendships. I sometimes feel at times like these, an unimaginable ache. An ache, a yearning for the love I shared with my friends, of a different time. I miss the moments I have alone, I miss the moments I had with no fear, no obligations, blissful ignorance. I have this massive weight that I cannot ever escape from, and with every moment that passes I break another rib. I still have writing though, something to whisper to, something that is entirely mine. It's all I have really, all I should ever need from life. Writing.

Gnashing

Currently, 7:20pm. I am now at the ripe old age of 27. Two.. seven. Twenty-seven years since the day I breathed my first breath of air. I am surprised, ultimately that I have lived so long. I expected to die much sooner, to an accident, to a small mistake that I made, or to a murder, violence or to myself. My death has no meaning. Who bats an eye at the hundreds that perish every single day? Not to mention the animals slaughtered for their flesh, every beat of their hearts extinguished by the conveyer belts of impending doom. I keep thinking about the 27 and under club. You know, the many artists that died before or at the age of 27. Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse, to name a few prominent members. I can't help but think this is the year, this is the year I'm finally able to move on from my past mistakes, anger and sadness that so much stayed in my life.

 What ridiculous things I taste, in the air at twenty-seven. Lately, things have not felt very real anymore, my physical touch I feel is becoming numb. Everything I do is similar to yesterday, days don't feel real. I sometimes think that I want to throw myself from a car going 70 to see if I feel anything.

 How I long for the taste of my blood and sweat from the scraping of flesh. I hope that something gives this year, I don't feel like I have very many more years to give.