Long lost lover.

I want to feel it so badly it makes my heart pop like an over inflated balloon. Nine times out of ten I expect it to end up differently when I know better...why? My skin is raised and my chest is turning red. You've all just used me like toothpaste and now the tube is empty and I'm ready for the trash. I've decided. I won't fall in love. My love lies within the grapes in wine and the melodies the hurt, betrayed, and lonely lead singer wailing through my speakers. My body parts fall asleep and for a second I enjoy it. Reminds me that I'm still working the way I should. My glass is empty and my heart is loud enough to over power the music. Why can't anybody stop thinking about their selves for one second? Just remember what it's like to be on the other end? I'm wheezing now. Asthma. Chalk up another issue with me. Where are you now? I clung to someone because they reminded me of someone else one time. Someone that I barely remember. I'd rather be angry, I've realized. It's my favorite. Its more energetic and fueled and it feels much better than sorrow. Why is everything always the same? The further away someone is from me, the safer I feel. You can't drink away your problems, but you can drink enough to where you start to not feel the pain. There will always be someone better than you, there will always be someone there first. And while you're reaching out with bloody palms hoping that someone out there gets it, you have to open your eyes under water and realize that no one does. As many times as someone says they do, they don't. This isn't home. Home isn't home. Home is dead. And I wanna go home. Don't think that just because you read this that you know me. Don't consider yourself enlightened because you relate to me. Two people can go through the same process and realize they are still in two totally completely different places. I love being angry. I haven't felt anything for so long and its my favorite emotion. I remember being center stage, curled into a ball screaming and crying with the spot light on me and EVERYONE FUCKING APPLAUDED ME. I like it. I like it so much because everyone thinks I am pretending and that I am talented but every fucking drop of it is one hundred percent real and I WOULD GIVE ANYTHING TO GO BACK. People paid money to see me drop my barriers. I stood, on risers, down stage center, spot light on me, and I gave a monologue about tulips and windmills and I made people cry. It was real. We are all trying so hard to be people we think we are not. But really, that's all we were to begin with. As I sober up, my anger dissipates. The bleak numb feeling I am so used to having has approached itself upon my shoulders. The alcohol mixed in with my blood stream and time moved faster as if I stepped onto a carrousel, but now the ride is over. I am patient. I am kind. I don't like it anymore. I get sick, feel okay, get sick, feel okay, and the process repeats itself. Its something we overlook everyday, kind of like gravity. Gravity gets in my way. I want to bounce so high up in the air that only the ceiling can stop me. Like the characters in the story I love so much. Bet you didn't know about that either. I want you all to be happy, and if you need me to be your doormat in order to get there, then I'll just suck it up and deal with it. I live on music. I live on art, beauty, lust, and lies. I live upon the shadows. Where I hide. In the closet, the cubbard, hoping someone will realize that I am missing and come looking for me. They never do. I'm clogged. I'm stuffed up. I am wounded, but it's nothing serious. Truth is, I didn't want it anyway. Everything I've ever wanted bounces between scenic. Bounces with confessional. Bounces with every word you didn't say. And you know what? I'm okay with that.