I would wander if I knew how to walk

For months now, I have been poetically silenced. Finishing my degree is a valid excuse, to some extent. But now, I wake up to nothing. I make meaningless movements and deliver mindless tasks. Friends are becoming more and more of a fantasy than a reality due to my lack of motivation. I've holed myself up like some sort of hermit, yet I have nothing to show for my isolation, unlike many hermits do...

I beg myself to find a new job, but I fight back in self-doubt. I need something to fill my days, but I refuse to search. I battle myself on every situation, every idea, every encounter that I might come across. I battle myself because my mind knows nothing else. I battle myself because I know the outcome, I know I will always lose. That is what I know. That and that there is so much more I know, but I will not allow myself to see...

This self torture has become a sick love affair. I want to pull away, but I seduce myself back in, succumbed to the sweetness of a tasteless void. I do not beat myself up over the nothingness that I feel that I have started to become, so self pity is lacking. I'm all too aware of myself for that. I have no idea whats going on inside me though. I wish I didn't know who I was, maybe then I would let myself in a bit more...

I'm a stranger in my own body though. Why the hell would I let myself in? I've written all that I could, though. I've found solace in this void, I can only dream of seeing something in the horizon that isn't a mirage. Something that is me. In love and in hate with my Borderline Personality Disorder...

One day...I'll see...maybe.

Doot da doo doo do, da doo

these hands, they are far from being clean
they have seen things you've never seen
they suit well covered in blood
because they are made to spill your guts
(your guts)

well ill find ways to get inside your soul
ill find ways to steal your gold

my heart will never be content, with revenge

your lips spewed out a truth
a truth that you only knew
it sounded like an escape, to us
(and thus) these hands took you away

well ill find ways to get inside your soul
ill find ways to steal your gold

my heart will never be content
with revenge and dirty hands

Orange Juice & Armaretto

I haven't met eyes with the shower in two days. My feet haven't gone much farther than the fridge. Somehow, somewhere, my energy is collecting into an unreachable and undefinable ball. My arms don't wrap quite as tightly around my girlfriend anymore, my hands no longer grasp and shake another's with confident strength. I feel dead. Sleep takes the best of me, sweeps me off my feet, and steals me away from those that I love. Every step on the scale is another pound lost. Whether I consume 2500 calories or 25. I feel like an infant, learning to hold it's head up without it flopping down. Each keystroke takes more effort than the last. Am I depressed? Quite possibly. Am I in a stage of utter depression? I really don't think so. I am scared though. I am scared that I could possibly be a person that I never thought I would be. A weak one. A sick one. Every conscious moment is a terrifying scramble of possibilities that I thought were impossible. For me at least. But then again, who am I to determine who I am? No one, that's who. I can indeed determine what I do, regardless of who I am, but who I am is an unchangeable matter. I am terribly terrified of that. I can't stop being me. Whoever that happens to be at this moment. Right now I have to play the waiting game until I know. 2 weeks is much too long in my eyes, and school is just another week after that. My head is pulsing in pain with veins not big enough for this blog. My body aches to recede back into its horizontal position on the right side of the bed and consciously drift off to the sound of The Cure being played on VH1 Classic. My head will continue to swirl until I actually have something good to write.

All I ask

And now the Priests won't let me in.
I'm sinking in the sea as they say their prayers, goodbye.
Just one minute, Father. That's all I ask.
Just one word he says. Sinner.

And now the Ministers won't let me in.
I'm hanging on to the cliff and my hands are starting to bleed.
Just one pull, Father, That's all I ask.
Just one thing he had to say. You're already lost.

And now the Pastors won't let me in.
I can't see it's too dark, this ride isn't going to last long.
Just hold the wheel, Father. That's all I ask.
Just one thing he had thought. You've been blind all along.

And now Jesus doesn't know what to do with me.
I tried my hardest, but now I'm dead.

We are all pennies

I’m sitting here,
waiting, dying,
staring at my phone.

I just need a call,
a text, an email.
    Anything.
to get me by.

It never comes though.

It never comes because,
you dropped me like a penny,
never looking back.

I have traveled far
from where we once were,
in pockets of strangers
to only be thrown again.

I’ve been picked up now,
polished and kept safe,
and not yet thrown away.

Still I wait.
for a call, a text, an email,
from the friend you used to be.

Waiting

I'm not so patiently waiting,
for the day that
I don't have the urge to
vomit.

Be it the medicine,
the stress,
or the noises
that still haunt me.

Eight pills a day,
they aren't doing shit.
I'm not that dumb.

They do, however,
allow me to feel,
everything
I've
ever
hidden
from...

Everything but the one
I beg for the most.
Happiness.

It must have been
hiding from me.

I'll just wait.

Goodnight Lovers

She said her toes were frozen,
so he wiggled her feet under his leg.
“Come closer” he said with a hesitant smile.
She slid her way under his arm,
their hot breath combined into one whispered cloud.

The ground grew frozen,
grass crunched under his heavy hands.
Jumping up, he said “Let’s go”.
She didn’t ask where, but she followed.

Pink skies said hello to the stars,
and goodbye to lovers unknowing eyes.

His tires slid across the slick black pavement,
whipping out onto the endless road.
She turned the music up,
Holding tightly to his thigh.

She fell asleep, his eyes were getting heavy.
Hands at ten and two,
slipping down to seven and five.
Losing grip and losing sight,
his hands on his lap,
his eyes rolled back.

The road wasn’t endless
It turned, he didn’t.

We Were Friends, Once

Seven hundred and seventy five days
since we said goodbye.
There hasn’t been a day that has passed
that I haven’t craved your rush.
I found beauty in your strength
when everyone else turned you away.

Seven hundred and seventy five days.
Sobriety has never been harder.

Four hundred and fifty eight days
since I felt the tingling in my toes.
Your slender steel body brought me back to life.
With precision you danced feverishly
covering my skin with warm wet kisses.
Not once did you let me down.

Four hundred and fifty eight days.
These scars are a constant reminder.

One thousand two hundred and thirty three days
and counting.