Singledom

It's 4:24am. I keep thinking about this hole in my chest. It's like a ball and chain, that I carry around my entire life. I feel everyone has this hole, but they never speak of it. If they would, I think they would find that nothing really fills it in completely. It's like an embodiment of hunger. To want is to die, unfulfilled. So then how does one function? How does anyone continue to live with such a chunk from themselves gaping to the world? I find that it might just always be there, so I want to comfort it, embrace it. I feel many people tend to fill it with connections, the connections of love, and security. To one such as I, I find it incredibly hard to even fathom such a feeling. It is like I am wrong, like I have been blinded to the feeling of loving others. I do not act coldly, if anyone wants help, I always wish to help in any way I could, but I simply do not feel anything when their words hit me. I imagine that others do, they whimper and whine, about their lover's small imperfections, but find love with them nonetheless. They decide to push on, maybe to continue on the adventure of their connection. What's to gain? In this life, we decide we are cursed with absolute freedom. So personally, I decide not to love, and while the hole in my soul, may grow to completely eradicate my love for others, maybe I will learn the true meaning of the cold and bleak universe. Till then, I will let my emotions, and rambles of insecure gestures flow throughout my fingertips.

Shaken

It's 4:53am. I kind of feel like a sham tonight. Like a person who wears a mask, and the mask has become stuck. To the people around me, I feel so alien and wrong. It's like the skin on my bones are not real, like the eyes that see aren't mine. The face I look at in the mirror isn't me, but a facade, who am I? I keep on asking that question. It repeats in my mind like the beating of a fucking drum. Who am I? Am I this person who loves being around others, who melts into their forgotten words of love? Or am I this monstrous being who indulges in flesh being ripped apart? Oh how am I still alive? How I keep asking, how am I really living as a corpse? Who here gleams above others, who here has not feigned emotion to a degree? Show me a proper hero to my villain. Show me the man who is without sin, show me the pure angel of light, so that we may tear into their veins of impurity! Fuck society, and fuck you.

A quiet day

It's 11:38pm. It's earlier than I usually begin writing. I think it's because I have an itch that I need to scratch. Most days I try and think up something I want to write about, I never really let myself go. Now, today it feels like a time that I can, really let go. I think it's because of how I am, that I do things. Things feel so strange to me, like I have a buffer between me and reality. That is why, my numbness feels almost alienating when I am doing my daily duties, at work, and at home. Maybe it is depression, I say. Other times, I think it's simply who I was born to be, completely numb, like a mummified corpse. A corpse that talks to people, as if it had nothing to say. I think that is why people enjoy my company, I have no real personality, they can just plaster whatever they wish I was onto my face and call me that. Sometimes I wish I did not have anything to say, or be, to simply exist and watch as things around me happen. Like a leaf floating in the wind, like the waves crashing upon shore, like a quiet lake. One day, without others, without the feeling of connection that binds me, I will be happy I think. I hope.

Watching

It's currently 4:08am. Tonight, I greet the warm arms of solitude. Tonight, I find myself not slipping, but coldly watching the void. The core of our human meaning, the void. Tonight, I sense the cool breeze of emptiness. The more one looks into the eye of death, of the endless void, one realizes the tragedy of human existence. It's like seeing the entrails of a person come seeping out of their stomachs, the blood plopping on the ground, along with pieces of bone and flesh. It's quite horrifying, but the more you see, the more you understand. The more you understand, the more twisted one feels. It's quite simply, feeling like you've been sheltered from the coldness of winter. There's power in knowledge, but there's a price you must pay for something so intensely important. Curiosity killed the cat, as the saying goes. Along those lines, can one person quantify their experiences of the void? One would scoff at the notion that someone could possibly make sense of such a beautifully terrifying image. I say it is so, because one must try to see, with their voice, with their paint, or their writing. So create it so, beings of selfishness, create.

Halloween hunger

It's 4:04am. Today is Halloween. It's a nice time, the trees begin to shed, the wind outside begins to blow cold, there's pumpkins and warm lattes that begin to emerge as if slumbering from an eternal winter. Now, it's also time to wear someone's skin, to become someone else for a night. To be completely different. To flail around as someone else, to embrace the warmness of someone's flesh and bone. It's a mask you see, from all around us we can be infinitely different, from who we are, and I think it's quite a nice tactic for people to finally be something they've always wanted to be, whether it be someone beautiful, or something sinister. Maybe that is the reason we so much enjoy this holiday, because for a night we can become something different, than who we are. This time, Halloween, it always puts me in a mood. To see movies, but it gives me something of a thirst for gore, the gore you see in movies. It's unquenchable, this thirst but nonetheless I always get it in Halloween, I will try to delve into the predictable cliches of modern cinema, but it's always there and it's never enough. Someday maybe, maybe one Halloween...

Distancing

It's 5:05am. Today I could not get this thought out of my mind. The thought that things happen around me, and I do no feel them, thus I end up with an empty hole in my being. I see things, and experience them, but I have a lack of anything, and things just happen. I kept repeating the line from the show "End of the fucking world". I relate to the male protagonist, a lot. He said this line, "sometimes I just let things happen". It's that disassociation from reality, that cold ebb from the real, the eye that sees from a distance. I feel literally, physically, as if the eye is me. The eye who's cold gaze lingers on the world of material. So sometimes, I just let things fall down, I let them break, and allow the cold waves of the ocean bury me until the water fills my lungs. I think part of me, would like to see the chaos it brings, maybe because I want to feel a moment of control, as if I could manage the chaos of this meaningless existence. I cannot get this feeling out of my head, the distance, the feeling of being gone. It's oddly alluring, and comforting, but I know that it brings malice, and will be my downfall if I choose to embrace it. I do not know, but maybe one day I will choose to accept it, and let the waves fall upon me for the last time, to swallow my sanity.

Secretly, maybe, crazy

It's 1:04am. I awoke today, believing I was insane. I thought I was institutionalized. What's strange is, I felt comfortable there. It was white, filled to the brim with obvious cliches from the movies and shows that we always see. I was saddened deeply, to awake. I felt more at home there, than I did when I was alive. Then again, I felt like the doors that are chained up in my brain were broken, finally open. No longer, I had this thing inside me that made me so strange, like I was finally able to breathe again. Like I was normal, and then began to think that is how normal people feel every single day. I hope that one day, I feel complete like that, it's painful to know I will never have that emotion again, because I know that things in this world aren't enough. Maybe it is my inner cynic, to know such pain and embrace the sadness for the rest of my life.