Seriously...I don't want to deal with this anymore.

Please.

I am so incomprehensibly enraged right now.

I hate my sexuality, my emotions, my mental state, my weakness, my fear, my loves, my lusts, my desires, my weaknesses, my being, myself, my core, my central thought, my spirit, my intellect and my philosophy.

So much wrong and yet there is so much left that has potential and could be right.

Could be.

So very close.

I'm still in literal fear for my life...even though it was on Monday...or Tuesday...or something. I can't even remember all that well. This week has just been a medicated haze...if I didn't need the pills for control of the nausea and pain then I would have never taken them. I'm out of antidepressants and I'm much to freaked out to back to the psychiatrist.

It is a weird place to be...it feels like I'm almost dead and almost alive...this gray place between light and dark. There is a weird contradiction in me being here, being alive, feeling, thinking, processing when there is so much...anti-life...so much death at every possible intersection and corner of life.

It isn't dramatic when you stop to think that every word is a symbol and has meaning only in proper context and enunciation...it is a construct we invented to keep our sanity, just like time. We lord our man made constructions as being God like in order for us to hurt and press down on those we deem inferior.

Not being able to pronounce every word correctly, making spelling and grammatical errors...yeah, that makes you such a big shot. Makes me look ignorant and stupid, shows me as being the genetic mistake that I am.

Every ounce of academic knowledge you so desperately cling to...as if it were some grand and impervious defense...as much as you like to pretend you are something special, somehow bigger and better...you are absolutely nothing.

My memories, my pain, my emotions are something tangible. My experiences with the other is something tangible. Maybe not to you or to others but it is something.

Every last tear I have cried, every shred of my innocence ripped from my being, every last inch of my sanity that I have lost in this fight...all of them are real. Real as the grave markers that show where my dead family lay.

You know...I can't sleep.

I keep feeling hungry which leads to more stomach pain.

To top it off, I can't even afford to get a freaking haircut.

Go figure.

Wish I could quit, yup, would be nice.

I'm reminded of any and everything.

The things you are, the words you have said.

Everything.

Fleeting words in the air. The smell of decay. The rampant self thought.

It all has basis in images, metaphors and the lack of communication.

Walls.

I mean, getting past the crappy prose and poetry, realize none of this has any relevancy.

The point exists far beyond your ability to comprehend that you do not understand your lack of ability to understand.

Every last metaphorical romp is at best half guessed at worse nothing less then the grand total of nothing.

At the same time, this is a stirring deep within me.

Far beyond these desolate dunes and forsaken deserts is a hope for eternity.

Beyond this pain, this malfunctioning machine posing as a human, there is a soul whose heart beats will move into eternity.

Nothing fleeting will be eternal but this hope of my heart is something beyond any comprehension.

The broken body and collection of blood was enough to redeem an unfathomable mass, if so then I know I am not above redemption. That only my pride needs to die that I may find myself truly alive.

There is not a single point to any of this. It is all pointless, including these annoying memories.

Busy with speaking with a tongue of fire,
I don't take the time to watch the world around me
and seem almost surprised to see things burning.
I don't even know when to shut my mouth
and could care less that I'm killing others.

The only time my soul feels is in the pain.
I only hear when I stop and stand still and hold my heart in my hand.
The sins of my past are a mountain,
a burning pyre putrid with the smell of ego
and self worship.

Demon Hunter - My Throat Is An Open Grave

We lay face in pale solitude.
To save face, we pulled our walls in front of you.
To the same place where we danced in front of you.
We fell from grace and watched the hope'fall from your face.
This isn't me i used to say.
All the love was so gone.
It feels good to be alive.
I've been dead for so long: and all the broken promises.
I can't face. Afraid if someone notices, I lose my place.
Fractured, broken, paralyzed.
I need some space, tear me open, analyze.
This isn't me i used to say.
All the love was so gone.
It feels good to be alive.
I've been dead for so long.
Wake up screaming, I'm awake and dreaming,
And i won't stop breathing until my heart stops beating.
This isn't me, i used to say.
All the love was so gone, It feels good to be alive,
I've been dead for so long.

Seriously, how the fuck am I supposed to sleep when I am absolutely terrified I am going to die?

I am not liking humanity right now anymore then I am liking feeling so disconnected from myself.

Francisco Goya,
Painted it gay,
I'd rather have been shot,
On the Third Of May.
Freedom never came for free,
Patriots are bleeding their veins clean,
That's me in the corner,
Singing "God Save the Queen",
God save the queen.

Independence Day,
Second of May,
Lost my best friend and a fiancé',
So I will hold this candle high.
Independence Day,
Nothing I could say,
Could sway you not to sever ties,
Your liberty can't rest on lies.

I can think of better synonyms for fear,
I hope your life is great
I hope it's been a
wonderful year.
Waiting every day,
Staring at the phone,
Jesus Christ, I feel so empty and alone.

-Brave Saint Saturn, "Independence Day"

Jesus Christ I feel so very empty and alone.

In my perverse ways I am more isolated than I was aware of.

I'm floating here in this room.

Abstractly in thought and process.

I'm scared right now...I sort of just wish I could actually be held.

I hate feeling so alone, so separated...so unable to communicate with people and express myself about this.

I have to leave home, maybe for good...and for why? To save my life? To run from the pain, the confusion, the hate.

I want to actually be free.

I want to be able to breath again.

I'm indulging my selfish addictions of fear and lusting for freedom from myself.

The dark has never been so absolutely terrifying...I'm afraid to listen to music...it's like the walls are closing tighter on me and I want nothing but to be freed from this earthly shell.

...so why do I fear?

Poorly Conceived Thoughts

It is a safe bet the day is at an end,
the mommies and daddies scurry home
to microwave their dinner,
set their childrean in front of a screen
and rest up.
Just to take their express way back again.

The normal people just run back and forth and I'm stuck here,
just wherever here is.
I don't pretend to know myself or even you,
just know that I'm in love and it's just got to be enough
even when things aren't simply enough.

I get sick of playing the roles in life I always have.
Sometimes things work out great
and other times it never could have been worse.
There is nothing worse than meandering thoughts
that are fool of self preserved adoration.

I can run but it will never be fast enough.
I could just pretend but I will never be good enough.
This poetry is bad enough but just throwing it around like this,
it should be a crime.
I'm not sure what is worse,
talking about it with horrid attempts at internal rhyme
or just the thought of having to share my rooms again.

I'm much better at being a selfish and closed hearted prick.
If I don't even pretend to be nice then I will not be faulted for sin.

It would be nice to cry or maybe to try cutting myself open.
Peeling back these layers of self ridiculed doubt,
exposing tender flesh and to dare to push deeper.
Knowing my own selfishness
is my own demented guide.

At the end of the day I just have to conclude as I so often have:
It is selfish to say the world would have been better without me.
It hurts those who profess to love me.
But as selfish as it is to ever put ones happiness in front of the well being of others,
I must persist in denying the validity of my own existence.

I wish God played dice,
just so I could justify this thought.

If I could afford I would run.
Instead I am stuck here.
Medicated haze that is crashing even as I write.

Nothing makes sense anymore then it did the day before.
I keep hearing these noises of movement, inside my head and out there in the dark.

I'm not sure but I think I look forward to trying to placate myself with lust.
I mean, why not?
It isn't like my hypocrisy isn't the worlds worse secret.
I flagrantly flash my worse sins in exahnge for praise and adoration.
None of this could pretend to make sense in any form.

But I want sleep too.
I don't want to ramble all night while I'm becoming more scared by the moment.

No one will ask what needs to be asked.
But it is okay.
I'm used to it.
Otherwise I might have developed a few issues.

I officially DESPISE Star Wars now.

George Lucas, I hope you are happy with murdering the dreams of a child.

I'm going but to what end?

It is hard to tread the ground of this place, even though I have been there before. There just too many painful memories, thoughts, broken hopes and crushed dreams fluttering in the sky. Idealism was born, breed and murdered there...but just as with every problem it is mine.

For far too long I was under the misconception that those in church instinctively hated me...and yet the problem has been that I have instinctively hated both church and Christians, on principle no less.

A bastardized view made all the worse by the fact I insist on living in such a deplorably depressed state of existence. Part circumstance, part me, part others but ultimately choice.

The days are becoming increasingly fleeting as I loose my identity and footing. It is a very steep distance to fall and yet...

U2 - Where The Street Have No Name

As exhausted and drained as I am...I still have the choice, the choice I was born with.

To live or to die, the choice is mine and mine alone to make.

To live and to choose what I will fight for and more importantly what I will live for day in and day out.

No other being can make the choice for me because the choice is made by my decisions and how I live.

I'm so tired of being in pain, I'm sick of it.
Sick of the pain, sick of hearing how much better I have it.

Yeah it could be worse and I will not be surprised when it gets worse but now, right now I am tired of all of this. Tired of the confusion and the pain.

It is not fun.

Seriously? Right now?

You have no sense of tact up there...or maybe just enjoy seeing me squirm.

Yargh.

Portraits in Red

I just so badly long for the words that I need to tell you, so you might know how much I hate you, how the pain is simply searing as it courses through my veins. I lack the vernacular to just simply express my distaste of you.

Vocal inflections and screams can never give justice to the absolute disgust your presence brings, nor can it give account for the revolting taste in my mouth at the merest mention of your name.

It can't be hate because hate would mean I have loved.

It is more bare, more visceral.

Your existence pains me beyond anyone rational comprehension.

There is no separating the two of us, the duality of existing as one in two parts and two dwelling in one.

We share the same smirk and a gaze in the mirror is just a look out another window.

Everything I ever pretended to love was just so I could learn properly how to hate. Every lie spoke through warmly smiling lips was preparation so I might recognize you. The basis of my life is this moment of recognition of a reconditioning.

The very blood that runs inside of you is nothing short of cursed, a corrosive liquid
prolonging the life of one who understands nothing but the wicked. A disgusting waste of organic material that is simply acting as a human life.

I can't be this person you wanted. You run these chemicals and inflame my neurological passages with impulses to ravage life as thought it were nothing more then my playground. That nothing in life exists apart from my control and my desires.

The thing I hate most is this bitter taste. This chalky, bitter and repulsive taste of sin. Nothing is satisfying, everything is disgusting because it is nothing more then a mixture of organic trash that is slowly rotting and coming apart. The smell is nauseating and the end is just the same, this impossibly horrific death of thought, death of emotions and death of self.

None of these lies can serve to compel me to serve you.

The created must have a creator, just because you claim ownership does not mean you are equipped to handle anything, much less the task of loving on so as selfishly disgusting as yourself.

Nothing is a mantra you can sing and clutch to. Nothing is all that you possess and own in the most intimate of ways. This impossible contradiction, this juxtaposition of carnal thought mixed with spiritual undertones. These relentlessly wild thoughts demanding religious overtones.

Symphonic in its mating calls and dying screams. Contradictory, impulsive and the sum mass of all other lies. A defining role to be played.

Embellishment, nothing more and nothing less.

The very sight of you makes me so sick.