It's a job

 Currently 4:03am. More time than not I'm sitting here alone, bored and trying to taste an emotion that has for the most part left my being. Tonight I seek closure, I seek an end. In this moment I find myself staring into the abyss, the void. Oh how bleak you stare back at me, how you envelop me in your darkness! I am enamored with your cold touch, I am forever entranced by your call. Tonight though, I seek a moment of beautiful silence. I seek a hopeful thread. Tonight I find myself unaware of your call, it must be the changes I've been having. These friendships, these connections, I think have made me disillusioned, they cloud my judgement. In the end I long for you, I ache for you, I want you. I will forever want your taste, and yet I sit here in my misery. Miserable man, whining for a love that has forgotten him.  

Can't figure

 Currently 12:27am. I come today with emotions, they're bubbling in my being. I find myself as of late, more drowning in these emotions of fear. I've been making these connections recently, and haven't been letting them go as of late. I feel more attuned to normalcy, to humanity. Is it normal to feel such anxiety of these connections? I remember in my earlier years, I found myself too scared to continue connections, severing them in quick succession. It was easy, to lose friends. It was an easy thing to pull away, to forget. Nowadays I keep these connections, but I feel incredibly vulnerable, afraid, like they will hurt me. I am not sure if I will do the thing I always do, pull away. Distancing myself feels correct, it feels like I'm in turmoil at the moment. I am not sure it would be so easy, to cut it off like a frostbitten limb. It's quite enticing, sweet release. At the same time I enjoy connections, but I feel like it's wrong, to have so many to keep so many. I might just do it again, and hit the reset. People are cruel, I know this, so why do I wish to keep myself so attuned to their cruelty? Why do I struggle to keep myself open? It is because my heart is not one to be open, but a closed casket forever, and always. 

It's been 3 weeks

 It's currently 12:50am. Why are you still here? It's been three weeks and you're still here, I can hear your soft whispers. Like the mermaids sweet lullaby I'm entranced. I can almost taste your lips with every note. It's been three weeks and you're still here and I can't get you out of my head. I can't let you leave. 

There's no reason for me to keep feeling anything for you, yet I can't forget you. I can't forget the moments I wished would've happened. The words I wanted to say to you. For a moment I really thought I could open my heart. For a single moment I really thought I could change. Yet as the days go by, I see I never meant a single thing for you. Another disillusioned lost boy in a sea of men. Another tool to use. Another moment of sexual disappointment. I can see I meant nothing. And yet I grieve, I ache for your dulcet voice, I long for your scent. There's nothing for me, I was fine with my solitude, I was broken but put together, and now I'm scattered amongst miles of sand and bones. I do appreciate the time we shared, for without it I would never know my reality. The reality of love. Love that I cannot ever share, love that I despised so much, love that I forever envy. It's something to observe from afar, I see that now. Never will I entertain the warmness of it. Never will I open myself again. Never will I hold you in any contempt, because I know you along with countless other lovers seek it, to grow from it. I hate that I could never love you, and I'm sorry. 

Gigantic

 It's currently 11:33pm. I find myself alone here, along with Sam Smith. I wish that his tunes would make me tremble with excitement, make me whisper his words. Yet I stay here, slightly tired, mostly bored. I sip this tasteful liquor with disgust. from a bottle too drained. I always cough at the taste. In these times I find myself so completely sad. I miss this feeling, all to many a time I miss this emotion. More and more these days I am disappointingly numb. I remember emotions fondly, every single minute filled with another hopeful taste. The emptiness though, it's like wading though a puddle. Like eating fruit that's filled with bland pudding.  I miss this, sadness. I miss it's ache, I miss this comfort. I keep telling myself that I need no one. Yet I always call for more. I call myself to humanity, as if clinging onto a cliff's edge. It would be easier to simply let myself fall. I am not a man who loves connecting. I am a man who loves his emotions. Emotional love in every way, sadness, joy, love, jealousy, pain. If anything, I am a man in a war, a war of emotions. A war he will never truly win, and these days I wonder why I ever was born. Why a person like me tears himself asunder. I know there will never be an answer, for as long as I breathe, I find no comfort in another. Loneliness is my true love. 

Choose

 It's currently 7:05pm. I sit here once again, but with something to say. Something I feel. Emotions are hard for me, that I am sure you already know, reader. To try and conceptualize an emotion is kind of like pulling out a tooth. The twisting, the pull of the tiny white rock, the taste of nickel, the release of the nerve from your gums. Most of the time I do not feel intensely. The times I do feel, I feel strange, nauseous, sick. Like I ate something rotten, sitting in the pit of my stomach, just aching to get out. I feel sad? I think? Annoyed, more like, frustrated. I usually try and listen to music to help me truly enter this emotional state, but I feel like it's not helping. It's as if music gives me no reaction, no feeling. I tried recently to invite some friends to go and do something, flakes. Disappointing flakes. I understand, people have things going on. Not everyone should cater to me, yet I feel like I cater to everyone, I bend my knee to whatever they wish. I think it might be time to distance myself. I'm just tired of trying so hard for my friends. I think I'm just going to do what I want, ignore everyone else and have fun on my own. I want to live again, and the only way to DO THAT is to do things on my own, forever. Forever in LOVE with MYSELF and MYSELF ALONE.

Heart of Stone Eyes of the sun

 It's 8:14pm. Right now, nothing seems interesting. I am an uninteresting guy. Lately I feel like most of the things I've been doing show no promise. In that way, everything seems useless. What am I to do with this? Am I supposed to figure out why this is? I think it's my brain's way of telling me I'm supposed to be working on my passion, my true passion. I'm supposed to be writing. The days drag on, but they go so quickly. Already it's been 10 years since being 17. I'm 27 now, and in this time usually people have full careers, children, or are becoming who they are truly meant to become. I have none of those things, I feel as if I was cursed to die at a younger age. Now, I sit here rotting in my cage of flesh, preparing to lose my mind, numbing myself with alcohol until I realize that I am in fact a walking disease. Nothing will save me from myself, I have to crawl out from the depths of hell biting through mountains of teeth and skin to salvation. I will be saved and I will do it myself.

Sex

 Right now it's 7:38pm. I'm sitting here in complete and utter distress, yet again my brain refuses to let me ponder meaningless interests or ambition from the standpoint of my fellow man. It's been reiterated more than once, that I am an asexual. I have always had a disinterest in sex, and all associated feelings with this. Romance could only be felt through observation for me, never felt it firsthand. I numbed myself to a point in which romance could never be in my life. At the same time, I didn't feel upset about it, the only thing that upsets me about this is the rest of my being. I believed and still do believe I must be unwell, or too messed up to ever even consider love. The fact that sex is such an integral part of our society is upsetting to say the least. Disgust, anger and sadness, those are the feelings I attribute to sex. It is disgust because of the act itself, genitalia, something we all hide as to not bother others with it's disgusting presence. Anger because of my own personal incorrectness, my own inadequacies. Sadness because of my irritable nature, my ugly and frankly unnatural demeanor. I keep asking myself WHY why do people find sex such an important part of love? Then I remember I am not normal, I am not like they, why do I keep trying to force myself to be like them? Sex is important because it shows them gratitude, it shows interest, it shows that they are beauty incarnate. Sex is integral for them. Not for us, though, not for us.