Scenery will always be the death of me.

Oh man. I can feel it at the base of my lungs bubbling, building, burning, and juicing over into my arteries. This time its not from exhaustion. Its not from depression, addiction, or sulking. Its from frustration flaming over into anger. I want to be the girl that you want me to be, but you aren't letting me. Adrenaline makes my pulse a little harder and my lungs fill with air my heart wants to boil into a scream. I am exactly where you left me. And you, my friend are completely oblivious to the fact that every single word that comes from you is another little needle sticking into my skin. I want to give up so badly. But that is exactly what I always do and I told myself I wouldn't. It's like everything I have been avoiding doing for what feels like forever, I decided to try again with you. How blind are you? The images we conjure from our memories and mind tells us who we really are. Please stop telling me one thing when you mean another. I've decided to dance away my fears, anxieties, and loneliness to music I understand nothing about except for the fact that it makes my feet move. My thoughts are stretching out of my head like some sort of gamma radiation ray. Its reaching for you to pull it out. Literally right in front of your face and you smile at it and turn away. Look at me. I don't give a shit if that doesn't make sense. Every hair follicle on my body tells me that if I start it all over from the beginning, it would be so much better than just trying the same thing once more. I chose to ignore the pain of the world for a reason. I don't want to indulge in a tragedy that isn't right next to me. How come you guys are so quick to tell me of the deepest hurt you've been through? Mine is a secret. Because I only want to relive it if I actually know the other person gives a flying fuck. There are scenes in my head that I can replay over like a part from a movie I've seen a thousand times. The details constantly changing, but the facts remaining true. I wish I could play them for you so you knew how vividly I remember them. How come I'm stressing over here wanting you to share with me when I have stories you've never even fathomed about? Hah. I love how you can't even bother with a "sleep tight." My hips speak more truth and rhyme than my mouth ever could. Alice fell down the hole into her world all by herself. Maybe on purpose so she didn't have to share it with anyone else. Maybe that's what I'm doing. I'm glad I didn't show you my world. You wouldn't have appreciated it anyway. I like to photosynthesize with the sun and I like to trade my idiosyncrasies for chemicals to pour into my brain, hair, nails and skin. What exactly did I put in Chicago? Funny how you can forget things so easily. The beats are on a loop in my head. Loop after loop after loop, and mother nature fucking gets me. It doesn't have to try. All I've ever wanted is for one of the appointed to divulge their selves into my freaky, colorful, musical, and beautiful world. Its amusing to me how passive aggressive I can be while consistently vomiting my imagery all over the web for every one to see, but hardly anyone to read. I can't tell which part is which and if I'm at the beginning or end. What exactly do you think we're accomplishing? Dancing so close to each other in circles...just over and over...but never actually touching each other? It's just another game. Funny to me how much more beautiful a person looks when they're sad as opposed to when they were happy. I think we've got it all wrong. The point of it all isn't to be happy. Its to feel every single form and fragment of every human emotion possible. That's why all the intelligent people are constantly unhappy. They're just experiencing life instead of living mindlessly happy. I will just spread out all over a bed in a familiar room with unfamiliar surroundings, close my eyes, and imagine myself as a line in a song, a step in a dance, a scene in a play, a lover with no one to love. A fighter with no one to fight....just basking in all that is the world. Unhappy or not...I am embodying everything the world wants me to be.

Sail.

Blame it. You can blame it on anything you want, really. Sometimes I think things will be different for me. That my emotions and feelings will grow, develop, mature. But then I remember why I'm here in the first place and I remember why I do the things the way I do them. Call me all the names in the world, fine. But you don't understand why living this way is so much easier for me. People in my life take a shit on me, and I just let them, because if that's what makes them happy, screw whatever I feel. Every time I find something hopeful, fresh, new, fun. Something that makes me happy, I get excited. I should know better by now. If it sounds to good to be true, it is. So, its time to run away again with my tail between my legs hoping I can go back to feeling numb. The thing is, I frame myself on always being there for other people. Always. Every now and again there is a diamond in the rough that proves their shine. But why are kind, honest, loving people are rare? Shouldn't everyone else be rare? That's what they taught us growing up. Its so easy to believe the truth when the truth is ugly. People just live their whole lives without ever being appreciated. Maybe I'm one of them. I never asked for that, you know. It's bad enough I can't afford a full tummy, but when I go out of my way for someone...and they never even say thank you...the fact that it didn't bother me before is more bothersome than the fact itself. Thing with me is I always find myself claiming something that was never mine to begin with. It never surprises me anymore. It never surprises me when someone doesn't even try. No one ever has. They don't try, they don't fight, and I'm just used to it. I mean it when I say, "Life sucks, then you die." It's okay though, because even if you take the time to read this and understand how I feel, at the end of the day, I'm the one there for myself. I calm myself down. I listen to me talk. I hold myself while I cry because no one else does. Remember? I do this shit on my own. Because the very minute I let someone do it for me, they leave. Who needs em? My heart races as I try to pinpoint accurate and aesthetic lines to make myself sound better than I actually am. Today, the storm accompanied me on my way home. The lightening opened every pore of my skin and the thunder raised every hair. The music from my speakers understood me more than I understand myself and for a moment...everything was alright. Its funny to me how warped everyone has it. How everyone thinks everything can just fit in this little tiny box along with your favorite trinkets. Somethings never will change even though you knew for a fact they would. Where would I be if the world was ugly? I'd be dead. I would give up. I would ignore my thoughts of reason when I feel this way. But it is, so...here I am. Hey, at least I'm trying. Apparently a lot more than most people around me are. One day I will take my brain out and ring it out like a wet rag for the entire world to see. At least...maybe then, you'll notice me a little more. Maybe then, I'll actually be worth something.

Ace of Spades.

You start off with good intentions. A spark is lit, then the flame slowly turns into fire, slowly turns into an explosion. It's very funny how your whole body, mind, and thoughts can be completely inflamed...and yet no one will take heed until you're screaming in their face and they belch up a simple "why?" ...if I knew why...the problem would have a solution, yes? No one wants to be scum...it just somehow becomes easy after awhile. We are born onto a world that is essentially one giant head fuck. There are beauties and brilliances hidden amongst ever single square foot of this world. Most of it...we never get to see. And while reasons to be alive are out there...we're stuck being forced to rely on currency and propaganda for everything. Why isn't exploring a job anymore? The world then basically says...."there's what you want...here's what you get." And you get to decide to settle or be without anything at all. My brain keeps blood pumping, but it still craves answers to our existence as a whole person. What is all of this? And how can everyone else live so content with the fact that nothing is explained? Why was I born with the strange curiosities and chemicals in my brain? The drugs make everything calm. It feels okay. Until they're gone, then its worse. I was born upside down. The drugs aide in the sadness until they become the sadness. Then they go away...but so do you. Its not supposed to be this easy. To give up. That's why he died...so I would know not to give up. But why is it so easy? We shall overcome. With respect? What is all of this? I sleep. And I don't wake up. Everything makes more sense in dream land. How long can words be on paper until they enter someone's head? Until they become forgotten? Just like everything else. What happens when you want someone to read them and then you wish they were never written? Can you remember the same things I do? The dog, the dress, the tree? The little black book that held lines that you thought were inadequate until you grew up and read them from a different perspective. You blatantly chose to be unhappy because you're stubborn and your mind is made up that there is something far better than this out there. The irony is what is aesthetic. I know you know. And you're aware of that, too. yet we talk in circles to avoid it, because that is just what we always do. That's how we dealt the cards since day one. What makes people happy? A job? Money? Family? Love? ...or simply...knowledge or wisdom? How far out of this realm can you go before you end up never coming back? I don't want anything from you. I secretly do, but as far as everyone is concerned, I do not. And in reality and actuality, that is exactly how it should be. How far can we push our brains? ...our lungs? Our Hearts. The body can rebuild itself. physically. But how long until the visions, nightmares, and fears go away? They say fear is a choice. Unhappiness is a choice. I say they're very wrong. Who are you to tell me who I am or how to express myself? There comes a point in time where everything becomes strained. And at that point, you just have to stop. Hope it goes away. And if it doesn't? Shuffle the deck again.

Empty bed. Empty heart.

I feel it coming. Not sure why it's there, but it has always been there. How long can I ignore it? Before it becomes me? You're trying to solve the problem, but you have yet to realize that you're one of the causes. I keep reminding myself that everything will be so much better tomorrow. However, my heart keeps getting heavier and heavier. And I'm exhausted but the weight of it all is making me feel wide awake. Somewhere on this universe...the bottom of the ocean or strung along in a nebula, is opportunity. But for what, exactly? What if the bottom of the ocean is just where everyone's tears fall to? There's a strange comfort in sorrow. Every word carefully transferred from mind to fingers makes me crave to tell you things I've never told anyone before. Things of childhood. Things that I never really thought of before until I wondered why I am where I am right now. Do you ever wonder if you're given second chances? What would you do with them anyway? Who would you be now after you re-did your life? It's funny to me how a person never really goes away when they die. The memories of them fade and the details become unclear, but you never forget their presence, their essence. While that stands true, someone alive could be in the house next door and you'd probably never know it. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful happy little girl. Then she grew up. I guess everyone has to face the same patches of loneliness. There comes a time when doing things the way you're doing them gets old, you get sick of it. But...you don't know what to do because that's the way you've done them for so long. Makes you feel vulnerable. Makes you feel weak. Truth is, the tragedies are aesthetic. So no one judges them. Suicides are down to two categories: Pretty and painful, or ugly and easy. You can only pick one. You ever want to just hop in your car and keep driving as long as you can just to see where you would end up? Or maybe you get out of bed one day and say "today I will start smoking cigarettes." Hiding from the world under the blankets seems to solve everything, and now is a bad a time as any. Or as good as any. The harder you try to be happy, the harder it is to understand the corners and details of the world. Hiding under the blankets from the world is like being a bug in a glass jar, but the child forgot to poke holes in the lid. Its like my brain is stuttering and my thoughts aren't fluid anymore. Everything is broken. And there's only one thing I want. I want you. I want you to hold me and not say anything or do anything, or even feel anything...just be there with your arms around me, and that scares me. Because I've never wanted it before. And there, I said it. Its there, it's done. I want the same thing I've wanted from you all along and truth be told, I like it the way it is now. Because its safe. My heart lightens for a moment, and I breathe slowly to give myself something to fall asleep to. My head pounds because I'm suddenly surrounded by everyone's bad habits enticing me to have them too. Replace one bad habit with another. The seasons are changing. And so am I. Or maybe, rather evolving. And it's confusing me. How do I handle it? A vast wide of emotions, regrets, wants needs...and then there's you. As always. Someone has to give oxygen to my brain.