I’m walking around without a destination in mind. I used to think that was a waste of my time, but now I know that I don’t need to have a specific goal so long as I keep moving forward.

I think I enjoy the night

Because it feels like

The beginning of the end.

I can use that darkness

To find myself again.

In the morning, it’s as if

The broken bits of me

Have become presentable,

Even taking on the form

Of avant garde art;

A patched up soul,

Center stitched heart,

All held together

By a long forgotten truth;

It’s okay if I make mistakes,

And even though it hurts,

I can still believe

That I deserve love.

“Everyone is a someone, and while you don’t know who you are right this second, it’s still a fact that you will always be you.”

Walking around the corner, I looked up, searching for the sky. The buildings blocked any shine from the Sun, and all I could think was “what a boring view.” An endless universe exists up there, and I can only see a fraction of a fraction in the best situations, and here I am, living in a place that takes away from my already scant view of the universe. I can’t even see the sun rising or setting, instead relying on nuclear powered clocks to tell me when I need to start my day. Those same clocks have dictated every aspect of my existence, and they have no idea who I am. To be fair, clocks are inanimate objects, and thus are exempt from having to pick out the traits that define my person. Clocks can’t be expected to know who I am, but it shouldn’t be asking to much that I might know who I am.

I’ve lived my life, but I’m not living, am I? A part of me is screaming for some adult logic. I’m busy thinking about the infinity of the universe, but I still haven’t finished my bachelors. What could someone with so little experience do? I need to follow the advice of those that came before me, and trust that the path they have put me on will guide me into a great person.

But would that person be me?

“In the end, it ends how it began; you weren’t there, and you aren’t here, and I’m sure I’d be fine, if you just stayed..”

It’s nothing more than simple math; if you add 0 to anything, it doesn’t do a damn thing. I used to think I was a 0, that I was just nothingness floating through space, not contributing anything of value, but also not taking anything away. Over time I started to feel that I couldn’t be a 0, because my heart felt so heavy. Surely I’ve picked up a few things over the years, giving me some sort of value. I finally took the time to look back, back into my life, and it all become clear; I had picked things up, but none of those things stuck. Behind me is a trail of recyclable litter, useless garbage, and death. I took from those around me, but I didn’t put those things to good use, and ended up just throwing it all away. So I’m not a 0, I’m a negative value. I’ll rip away from others, steal the things they would willingly share, if I only would ask. I leave nothing, learn nothing, and become so much less than nothing…I am less than nothing…and I can’t imagine a scenario where I could ever make up for what I’ve taken from the world. I can’t even the score. I can’t give enough to cancel out the net loss that is my 27 years of existence. I can’t do a goddamned thing…for the world…or for me…so please, understand when I say I want to die, it’s not because I’m trying to make up for my sins, or atone for anything; I never could do those things. All I can do is fade away selfishly, using my last moments to take just a tiny bit more from this world. But that will at least minimize the damage I would do if I kept on living, and it will give me a chance to rest…so please, understand…I just want to stop being this monster…I want to stop this feeling, cancel out this knowledge I have about just how terrible I really am…I’m tired, so please…don’t hate me when I die.

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.

 

 

I have my own wings, but still relied on you to carry me. Even when it’s all handed to me on a silver platter, I’ll find a way to fail.”

Did her fire inspire you to change?

Did her words make an impact,

Driving you towards that cliff,

Closer and closer to the edge,

Beckoning you to trust that she

Would be the wings you longed for?

 

You wished for daring adventure,

That breathless sensation

Of fear mixed with desire,

That chemical reaction

People call love.

 

Unable to contain that heart,

Which longed for a reason

To abandon all reason,

You wished for a second chance

To earn your wings

And fly.

Come join me on Facebook!!

I have made the decision to finally create a Facebook page to help spread my blog! I currently have “0” likes, and I don’t see that really changing beyond a few people. Still, I think it’s a space where better conversation can occur (I read every comment I get, but I’m not the best at always responding!)

If everyone could do me a favor and please share my blog and Facebook page with your family, friends, or strangers who look like they’d enjoy a trip through my head, I will be forever grateful! And while you’re at it, please also follow me on Twitter!

http://www.facebook.com/thatlittlelightfromyourlampshade

Twitter – taylorfinn0810

I’ve made more friends with ideas set in ink than warm bodies, and that’s perfectly fine with me.

I just want to read books for a weekend, without worrying about work or the world. I want to take away my sense of responsibility, for myself and every other self within a 10,000 mile radius. I want to spend hours browsing at bookstores, moving my fingers along exposed spines. Between all the paper and ink, I am a Queen. I am the only voice of power, and only by my mercy will these voices be heard. The threat is, of course, hollow. My feet, face, hands, stomach, legs…so my entire body… it’s shaking and wiggling and it’s impossible to hide my desire to read every last pen stroke in this paradise. I just want that sort of weekend. Hell, I just want that sort of life. And maybe somebody who wants to make a book club, just for 2.