Winter gets so cold.

I want to cut myself in half and let all of my contents pour our onto the table for you to see. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. As we're lying naked in bed face to face and you look at me, what do you see? I want to get high with you and never come down. I want acoustic melodies to play through the air as we float over the bed in infinite space. Melodies stuck in my head that make your intestines feel warm. The same intestines that are going to fall out on the table whenever someone decides they're ready to listen, really listen. Maybe I'm making up for when I was so numb, so oblivious that I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. I couldn't type. I couldn't breathe. It was melancholy and periodically joyful but what I came to realize is I'm not me unless I'm chasing something. And now, even when I'm focused on what's at stake, my mind still flutters to the dreams I cannot have. That's who I am. My jaw is clenched my face is smiling and you think I'm happy but as soon as that sun comes up, we both know its over. It doesn't have to be, but it is. The rivers in my mind dry up and I forget it. But there is still this well in the back of my brain that overflows with ideas of a superb utopia. That's the thing, though. You don't exist. At least not in my world, my time. Of all the people who have lived, died, been made up, thought of, created, in all the world...one of them is bound to capture the same disastrous orgasmic ideals. We're all so caught up in making our lives materialistic, spiritual, and social, we forget about the centuries before us. We're devolving and we're too dumb and low spirited to see it. We enjoy our fantasies played out on screens or written in books but we never strive to be in the movie or book. We're all broken creatures. Everyone of us. Broken enough to be humble. We all have bad habits. Mine is chasing things that don't want to be chased. Maybe I'll grow out of it. Maybe I'll bury it somewhere in the depths of the ocean. Between the devil and the deep blue sea. I strive to be as enlightened as many do. But there comes a time when push comes to shove that our floating naked bodies hovering on top of glorious measures and bars of music, just isn't enough for this world. We live in a world where being naked, our own bare selfs, is hidden. Our self is taboo. But violence is advertised. And why shouldn't it be? Haven't we succumbed to being just like the rest of the mammals in the animal world? Except we're given greater opportunities that we pull our pants down, squat, and shit on. We close our eyes really tight, and we pretend the monsters will go away. But they never go away. They just hide under our beds for us to forget about and stumble upon later. Count backwards from one hundred to keep yourself from crying. Do not be vulnerable. Society says so. I want to force myself into your arms so I can steal your warmth and make it my own. I want to jump on your back while you are not looking and knock you down and make you giggle. We are just living these fake lives with fake identities because we don't really know our own. And while we seem so intertwined within each others bodies and minds, its all just a fraud. Close your eyes and pretend. Maybe the monsters will go away. Maybe this one will stick around. Maybe, just maybe the rivers in your mind can run with fresh water again. Who are we kidding? We're too young to know any better. So, excuse me while I sew myself back up shut. Because no one is ever actually going to listen, really listen. That's my story. And I'm sticking to it.

This is how it works.

Edge of a break through or break down? You watch episode after episode of your fantasy life and you day dream about being part of it. You're at work with this blank stare on your face and no one around you realizes the beautiful mind behind it. What you make up in your webs you weave amongst your own thoughts. You see someone you find fascinating and beautiful. And you want them to feel the same way about you. You want to be with them, but only in your daydreams. Because if you had the opportunity to be with them for real in real life, let's just be honest here- you'd throw it away like yesterday's paper. I want you to see me the way I see you. If not anything else, just for one moment. That's the simplicity of one moment. Its aesthetic because its only for an moment. Looking at the air balloons with my big eyes, big pupils. You saw it. Who has it made more? The woman or the mistress? The mistress can never have you fully, but the woman is lied to and cheated on. Both long for the rest of you. The beauty that is within every chord you play on your guitar, every tile in the bathroom floor that no longer exists, every pill you popped to escape your reality when your reality was me. Every lie you tell them to make them think you're not secretly hurting on the inside. You would rather hurt in secret than make them feel bad about causing it. And when there is someone who will never hurt you, you run away. Why is that? You're pressing keys and you're singing songs. You're dropping hints here, lines there, and no one is picking them up. You've given every single ounce of everything you are to someone who will never deserve it in any case scenario. You give it all up. No one will see you the way you want to. You want what you can never have, and that's exactly why you want it. You want someone you can never keep. You like it that way. There are so many promises and goals you make for yourself, but that's the only push you have to be optimistic. Quiet melodies and secrets are what makes your body tingle. Secret sins. You don't even know what that is anymore. The older you get, the more numb you become. I just want to sit someone down and tell them everything. From the beginning. Like a book you pick up and and you just can't bring yourself to put down in order to go to sleep. Then when you finally go to sleep and you never want to wake up. Never want to let go of the wonder your mind makes up. What is everything? How far can you go to escape. Or do the opposite of escape, and be found? Every word you've never said to me runs in circles in my mind. Every word I've never said to you is on the tip of my icy tongue, but they will never spill out. They're a force stronger than any fake emotion I can put out in order to fit into your box....even though I know you won't ever notice that. You kiss her, you lie to her, and yet you tell me your secrets. But you never ask me about mine. One more time, with feeling, love. What has become of us? What are we even trying to do anymore? I barely remember crawling out of your window the morning after. Or screaming at you at the top of my lungs with tears rolling out of my eyes because even then you were not listening to a damn thing I said or felt. You numbed it. And you made me numb it too. You locked me away in the shadows and you hid everything you never wanted anyone to know about because you were ashamed. You lied. You manipulated. You told me that you would wait and you didn't. And you... You stopped loving me when I needed it most. And I never told you that. So many of you.... So I gave up. And I never gave back in. Breathing's just a rhythm. There really isn't anything left to say, but I will still say it. I will scream it. I will latch onto it with nothing but the tips of my fingernails...Because none of you ever really get it, do you? The beauty behind every whisper you hear, every blank stare you see. What's going on inside her mind? You'll never know. Because you'll never ask. And even if you do...what makes you think she'll tell you anyway?