| I don't care what my heart says. "Maybe I will always haunt you."
Some douchebag pseudo-intellectual was ranting against suicide in my English class today. My teacher wouldn't let me argue against him, even though he knows that that's all I'm good at. How painful it is to hear someone say the entire "There are people in third-world countries starving right now!" spiel. How infuriating.
I've taken to writing a story, but it's terrible.
I am transient thought, comprised of moments long since passed. I am arrogant and shall rot.
There's nothing left underneath all of those souls. Christian spilled out.
so fucking infantile.
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| i really need to learn to comprehend the things that i hear inside of myself, those single little teardrop moments where i can know my heart speaks but not know what of.
today i have listened, truly listened, and i came to the first realization of what i hope will be many, because listening to one's own soul (let alone in the cavity filled with souls as sugar that is my vacant shell) is much harder than it should be. and today, my heart and soul spoke to me.
it said,
"you were not made to write."
so i will stop. i'll hold in the feelings i had thought i'd much rather type or write down, i'll throw them down into the trap of my body and ignore every last tiny bit of them. i'll dedicate my life to listening to myself more than ever before, because it's the only way i'll learn what they planned for me. i believe i know, deep inside, what fate has crafted me for. i just need to find it.
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| wake up, he's having a seizure
epileptic, phenobarbital failed
urine-soaked bed and drool;
lying down, head so frail
judges say i did it, no question
but they cut my chords of string
like the puppeteer, no good intention
liberty bells no longer ring
this paranoia and these seizures
more like bars than you'd think
the only way to break them
is to take another drink
take another toke
take another hit
and relieve a bit of tension
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| "Clipside of the pink-eye flight
I'm not the percent you think survives
I need sanctuary in the pages of this book
Gestating with all the other rats
Nurse said that my skin will need a graft
I am of pockmarked shapes
The vermin you need to loathe"
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| it's as if something had to go wrong
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