Soul

It's 4:28am. There's a disconnect. Let me rephrase. I am disconnected from others. This misinterpretation seems to permeate throughout my entire life. Existence is difficult, the misinterpretation is strange, because it makes me not feel human. It's as if my human side is dying, or maybe I'm coming to the realization that it never even existed. Each day, I see these mounds of flesh communicate, and they feel joy with others. It's as if I am watching through a window, to the outside world. Culture, the ideal home, the togetherness. I am immune. I am immune to the disease of love, and intimacy. It is disheartening to feel the weight be lifted from my soul. The limitless experience of elation that one feels when then are in love, to me is very limiting. So, the horde will say "you will find that special someone some day, and you will feel amazing." I reject such a notion that one should limit themselves with love. Love will fade, and discomfort will set in, I need something else, something more than a simple emotion can give. It's as if I am not complete without this other thing, not love, not the emotions, but something that I cannot describe, something so infinite that our bones will hollow and shiver from the sheer mention. That our veins begin to feel cold with our blood. That our minds almost break from the realization of the completeness. Spirituality? Nay, something bound by logic is not infinite, but something that we humans cannot fathom, like looking at the spectrum of color, the grey that we cannot see. It is the grey that I seek, the unknown the light of such unimaginable power. Love is but a simplistic emotion, compared to the grey's infinite power. The grey, it's what should power my life, so why should I cling to battered torn emotions? I am conflicted.

Stage

It's 5:25am. I like to listen to conversations with people, eavesdrop on what they say. A lot of the time they things that show their mask, that they've so carefully carved. Sometimes though, when the mask begins to crack, and the finely tuned paint begins to wear off, I can see them for who they are. Feeble, and fragile, as if made of glass. I constantly search for these things, but  at the same time when I see them they are like turtles, constantly going back to the mask. It's strange, because for me I like to use the mask fully, only at times when I find convenient I show who I am. I fear that if I show the real me, they will not like it. It is not an issue of likableness, but an issue of the fear that I will have towards these mounds of flesh. Like I cannot actually root myself in the forest of trees. I am but a robot in a world of bark. A truly steam made machine, imbued with oil and the hand of man, in a world of green vibrancy, that froths at the mouth with moss and ticks. Kicking around the battered horse, I know I am different, but not in a way that is acceptable, like the serial killer or the rapist. It is quite discomforting, but I must adjust, for one does not fight the genetics in our blood. I have been trying to see the world from a glass window, but it is crooked. A pane that is colored in ruby red, while I take a look around and see others looking at it from a shade of ocean blue. If I do not see what they do, do the things that I see truly matter? Are the things in my brain, the things in my hands, really there? If they are not, then they do not matter, and the reality of realness is under another sheet of glass. True, should I look for this pane, steal it from a person next to me, or accept my own pane? A pane that I have looked through for years, and that has gotten more deformed and complex throughout the years? I do not know, and feel as if I will never know. The knowledge though, is what is more important, because I get to know about the other glass windows, instead of simply seeing it through mine. Seeking, curiosity the fear, the life. It is what we must always acknowledge, and I am thankful for that. Until we meet again, in the next window...

Raw

It's 5:05am. My fingers feel stiff, and hurt. I have been thinking about words, carnal and cannibal. Those two words speak to me, in a way that no other words do. They are words that hold more emotion, more feeling than any other word I have seen. It's raw, it's emotionally big, and almost too much to stomach. Maybe, one day, I will be normal. I keep having thoughts run through my mind, and the voice is just so loud, it's hard to listen to other people. It's like a booming stereo in my head that does not stop. What I would give to suppress the unceasing torment. I like to think that's how everyone feels, as if their minds cannot hold in this voice, so they use other people's ears, as objects to feed. Every idea, every mutter, every belief. In a way, we are all mad, in a way those things we hold in our heads, every traumatic moment that we try and hold in, comes out. It's bloody and violent echo always shattering through our thin glass. The glass that we hold up to our society, as a frame that they can see us through. So that their eyes may glance upon a person that is appropriate, unaware that the glass is frail, and could break with a slight breeze. And as the glass would shatter, the pieces would fall onto the ground, and pouring out would be the ooze of our true selves, our demons, our flesh. Today, I really saw the horde, the people. They would laugh and look at each other with such love, and joy. As I turned around, I saw the emptiness of reality, the void if you will of nothingness, and I felt comfort. Comfort not in the people around me, not in the horde, but in full enthrallment of the emptiness that encompassed my life. Every moment that I had all to myself, it was as if I had seen beauty for the very first time, and in seeing so I find purpose.

Pictures

It's 3:57am. I was scrolling through instagram, as I usually do about 50 times a day, and I came across a person in a picture that radiated beauty and glamour. I was in love. Then I saw the likes, or notes or whatever the fuck it's called. It was over 4 thousand. I always think these people are somehow inhuman when they reach stardom, the days that made them ascend from normal human status is forever gone, and now they always have a prevalent superiority to others. It's ridiculous to believe that these humans, are something other than arbitrary mounds of flesh walking around in heat, sweating, burping, eating. Yet it is all true, they too shall know the sting of death. Light will fade from their eyes. In that regard, should we feel like we should appeal to these mounds of flesh, and bow before them, as they flaunt their whims and money around themselves to show people like us that they are in fact, superhuman. Reject this notion of superiority, because for how much money, power, influence they have, they will always have to eat, sleep, shit and live. I also see them have these donation boxes, for them to be paid by their slaves. Slaves that will orgasm at the sound of their words being spoken or acknowledged by the mound of flesh. Truly, we are a simplistic and idiotic society. Suckling at the tit of the mound for a moment of freedom from the loneliness. Where do we go when they are no longer near us? Forget the people, forget the mound, and fuck society.

Touch

It's 4:16am. I see how others end up in each other's arms. It's strange to me, that time brings people closer and closer so much that they want to end up holding each other. I would not like that, I mean I would like that. Let me rephrase, I constantly struggle with what I want, and what I know I can get. To me, finding a significant other sounds nice, and comforting. But I know that I cannot fully cope with a significant relationship, it would be much too hard to maintain. I know, because even with all the love that this person may have for me, I know that it too may fade, and should have never been initiated in the first place. It's painful, to me to feel things, because I know the end. In the end, I will die alone, alone in a sense that I am fulfilled. Alone for every single moment that I spent around family, friends, and all the in between. When I do find that solace, when I truly find out where I am and who the person I look at the mirror really is, is when I can finally rest because the person I will ever truly love wholeheartedly and completely will be myself.

Avoiding

It's 5:33am. I am hopeless. I am curious as a cat, yet emotionless as a rock. More and more I see things that I do not agree with, social queues that I do not comprehend. It it those things and more that I find myself questioning. More and more I am awake to. Perhaps it is the design of my brain that differs from these other faceless people. I feel more at a distance than I have felt from others before. I think that it's given me more of a perspective. Although, I begin to believe it is a perspective that is damaging me. At times I wish and hope that by some miracle, by some godsend that all my issues get resolved, and I become a person of society that is accepted, and deemed normal. Like one day, out of the blue, my neurons get ripped out of my brain, and replaced by ideas that all others have. Each day I hope they do, but I know that the day will never come. I must learn to accept my troubles, my pain, and issues. So that one day, I can say regardless of every single soul around me that I am ok with myself. I am fine, and fuck everyone else that thinks I should change a damn thing about myself. So screw society, making me avoid all these delicate subjects, and forcing me to walk on broken glass. I will avoid no longer, to be the true freak I am. Because I am a freak, and a freak I will always be.

Void

It's 5:00 am on the dot, and I am sitting here full of regret. Regret that I have lived so long and not wrote, as it is the most satisfying feeling of all. I am sorry, but not to you, the audience but to myself. It's as if I kept throwing myself into a deeper pit of guilt, my emotions had no outlet. I felt it, pain, sadness and the ever call of the void. You know, the void that calls our name from the depths of the unknown, every day taunting us with it's sweet release. I am not ready, nor will I ever be, I imagine that many of the people who slept with the void weren't really ready, they simply found no other option. I curse the day that brings me to it's arms. Enough about that, as the subject can find no release in my entombed figure. No, inside I am more at ease with my circumstances, as time allows me to ease myself into it. No longer will I cry about the problems that I have, but I should as that is the fire that will cease to quell me. I hope to never doubt myself in that regard. Recently, I tend to see these eyes, eyes that have no light. Maybe it is me that doubts the reality of these eyes, it's as if their lights have flickered into oblivion. People get complacent, they get bored and give up. They give up, why they would do that is beyond me, because their dreams can be achieved, and to see them simply give in is quite sad, but not a sadness that is for that person, but a sadness for humanity as a whole. The entirety of human existence will not know that single person's contribution. It's something like an entire forest being burned by a cigarette butt that could have been prevented. I hope that one day these people may find their dreams, and that they fight tooth and nail for them. Until then, it is to the void we go.