Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“The scales are tipped in my favor, but I’m too afraid to make a bet…27 years, and I’m still unable to bet on me…”

They say the sky wasn’t always gray;

There used to be a white light,

A star close enough to touch,

But we wasted it’s warmth.

 

We let that fire burn the air,

Tinge our shoulders bronze,

Feed our flower petals

And guide us towards tomorrow.

 

It shared everything, expecting nothing.

So what did we do?

We took those flames to light matches,

And the matches to ignite black powders,

Delivering hot lead through bodies

Of everyone we’ve ever held dear.

 

We got close enough to the fire

To light our cigarettes,

And spread the ash over gravestones;

A flicker in the moment,

And everything is turned gray.

We burned it all down,

And left our dreams as dust.

 

Where has the Sun in the sky gone?

The place where dead things go;

Towards the heavens drenched gray,

Choking the entire way.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

The difference between a hope and a wish

I hope for things that have yet to come, and I wish I could go back and change everything. I’m nothing but a mess of what ifs, weighed down by a mountain of could have beens, and underneath it all is nothing but an ugly husk of questionable, molting moralities. Hoping is bullshit. It’s what those who lack the will to act get high on so they can ignore their own pathetic reflections. Wishing is kiddy garbage. It’s for idiots who can only make mistakes and never have the guts to break the cycle. Hope is for stupid people who think only of tomorrow, while wishing is for morons who can’t stop thinking of yesterday. I’m not sure which is worse, so I might as well fucking overdose on both.

 

“I hope that I can make up for everything, before my time is up.”

~I wish I wasn’t so fucking useless. ~

“I hope I don’t die without having accomplished anything at all.”

~I wish I wasn’t afraid of an afterlife. ~

“I hope that I’m gone before I have a chance to hurt anybody else.”

~I wish I hadn’t thrown those bullets out of the car window before I got home from work that day. ~

“I hope that when this year ends, it’s really the end.”

~I wish I had found the courage to take a few more pills, just enough to get some silence. ~

“I hope it stays warm through October; I don’t want to be buried in the ground when it’s cold.”

~I wish I had cut myself deep enough to bleed out. ~

“I hope I can do this before August; I don’t want to ruin my Sisters birthday.”

~I wish I could have died before wasting so much money on college. ~

“I hope that, when the Spring finally melts this snow, it can also melt my cowardice and I’ll be able to pull the trigger.”

~I wish I had killed myself before my first high school crush. ~

“I hope that I crash this car into a ditch and freeze to death; I fucking deserve to suffer quietly and alone before I die.”

~I wish a baseball would have hit me in the head during little league, so I wouldn’t have to live wishing I had the strength to hit myself hard enough to fucking die. ~

“I hope my death will somehow make up for all the shit I’ve caused throughout my life.”

~I wish I had jumped further from the pier, just far enough so my Dad couldn’t have jumped in and saved me, just far enough so that I would have suffered and drowned like the idiot 6 year old I was deserved. ~

“I hope that as this year begins, I don’t let it begin.”

~I wish I had never been born. ~

 

Wow, it’s truly amazing how pathetic I am. Hoping for an end while wishing that end had already come to pass, what a fucking piece of shit, what a truly disgusting, terrible, ugly creature I am. Fuck me. Seriously, just…I can’t even comprehend how fucking awful I am. Please, stop hoping and stop wishing and just pull the fucking trigger.

Just fucking die.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I’ve stretched out my soul to widen my shadow, the only part of me that seems to understand how much of a fool God must be for creating this bullshit.

The Summer flickers into the year with lingering regrets;

A medley of melted marshmallows and perfume laced bug sprays.

It’s not a storm like the Spring, raging in, forcing growth and change, no.

Summer stumbles with no direction, as if lost in all this sunlight,

As if the added hours of daytime and sweltering drafts have incited a lethargy

That takes a provenance in refuse cartilage of swollen anatomies.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

It’s not Hell on Earth, it’s just Hell.

“People can break into pieces, and every single one of those pieces still has enough of us to feel, enough of us to love, enough of us to break again…We may only have 1 life to live, but in that life, a person can die more than once.”

I tried to wash this all away in a rush of pills and alcohol. It was one mistake to match every other mistake I’ve ever made, and all to soon I hit the bottom of every bottle within arm’s reach. The only thing worse than hitting rock bottom, is hitting rock bottom to fast. I’m already out of options, but the drugs haven’t taken full effect. I’m still capable of thinking and feeling, and since I am already at the bottom, I have nothing left but time.

Time is the enemy here; it always has been and always will. I’m at the bottom, but time followed me down, so now all I can do is wait. And waiting is the worst. I’m just waiting for the pills to poison my blood, light a fire under my skin that demands release. I’m just waiting for the alcohol to flush away any lingering, rational thoughts, leaving me to choke on sour breath and unvoiced regrets.

Yes, it’s all a waiting game now, the only game I seem to know how to play, and the only game you never have a chance to win. Every second I’m left waiting for the high to rip away my senses, a palpable fear filters its way into the cracks of my remaining humanity. I’m trapped in this crumbling reflection, and its hell. This is the lowest level of hell. This is the boiling sulfur, fire and brimstone, pray to your God and every God for just a shred of mercy, type of hell.  

Yet, through it all, time still crawls forward, and it drags my sorry ass out of that pool of fear and into an Ocean of nothingness. I blink up at the sky and wonder if I’ve gone blind, because whether my eyes are open or closed, everything looks the Goddamn same. I try to listen for something familiar, but as I strain my ears, I realize I can’t even sense a whisper from this saltwater room. I want to lift my head up, or sit up, or just wiggle a toe, but this saltwater is binding my exposed skin to the unshifting brine. I am trapped, and for a split second, the fear I’ve been swallowing swells, eclipsing my everything, and nothing exists outside of this gaping mouth of hopelessness that stands ready to swallow me whole.

But that second passes, and I’m just alone. I’m alone, without even my own thoughts for company. Nothing can reach me here, at the bottom of my upside-down Sea. Nothing can touch me, or burn me, or scare me. Nothing can choke me, or poison me, or rip me apart. Nothing can hurt me, because there’s nothing left in this world to hurt, because I made sure, I made damn sure, that I left myself nothing…

And even with nothing…I still wake up.

I know it wasn’t just a bad dream. I know that hell, that fear, that painful absence of any hope… I know they are all very real…but every time I do this, I still wake up.  

I know enough about my own shitty person to know how much is too much, and I stop short of pulling the trigger every time. Every stupid time. Every single stupid, fucking chance I give myself to get out, I fucking stop short! I’m right there! I can fucking see the end RIGHT FUCKING THERE! BUT I CAN’T DO IT! I CAN’T FUCKING DO IT! I CAN’T!!!!!

…I can’t do it…I should do it…I want to do it…but I can’t do it…

And it hurts…it hurts so goddamn much…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I.

Sunburn

My very first post. And it’s about Ed Sheeran. I’ve been listening to this song a lot recently. It still feels so familiar, I love it and hate it.

That little light from your lampshade

Have you ever listened to a song that spoke to your soul? Ignoring the fact that you may be an individual who does not believe in the concept of the human soul, I’m sure even a person such as that has still been privy to the skin tingling, heart aching, mind numbing, and yes, spirit rubbing experience that is the perfect song at the perfect time. From the first lyric to that last ringing note, that song, that wonderful piece of art as sound through open air targeted specifically at the emotional strings we attach to our ears (which for the most part only catch negative words that turn ourselves against ourselves, but i++n this case work to catch that rare experience of one human fully understanding at least 1 piece of another). For me, that song came in the form of Ed Sheeran and his little dozy of a…

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Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I expected him to change, because he said he would change, and I am in the habit of believing bad people when they tell me they’ll do something.

I think it started back when I entered High School, and I would spend entire nights just staring at my arms, wishing there was some sort of magical lotion or bandage that could erase all these obviously self-inflicted cuts. I would be so ashamed, I would write myself an angry letter, boldly declaring I would never cut again!

Of course, that isn’t how things went.

I cut again.

And I let the shame build up, balanced on top of all my broken promises to myself. So, when somebody else promises me that they will change, that they won’t hurt me again, I believe them.

I have to believe them.

If I can’t believe that bad people can change for the better, I have no more excuses for why I’m still here…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

Her shadows are shorter now, seemingly eaten up by the clouds. I know she’s still here on the ground, but the more I search, the more it feels like she doesn’t want to be found.

I pluck away at my feathers

And scatter them to sandy riverbanks.

Some find a home in stray branches

While others fall only to drown.

My hope is that you will see me

Before both of my wings are gone.

I’m giving up my open skies

To walk the same Earth as you.

 

But I am also well aware

That you never sought me out,

That you never glanced at the clouds

And wished to sail amongst them.

I’m giving away my hope,

Betting my everything

That I can survive this fall,

And that you will return to me

A reality better than my dreams.