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

I hate feeling alone… and I hate feeling scared, used and abused… but what I hate most of all is this inescapable sense of being open game. I hate feeling so vulnerable.

It’s not like I felt 100% secure in myself before, but I didn’t feel exposed all the time. I cared about how I looked, but only to what I considered a normal degree. I spent time each morning doing my hair, making sure it looked nice, and that was that; I didn’t waste anymore time or effort. Nowadays I spend the whole day catching glimpses of myself in puddles and dirty windows, and I am never satisfied with what I see. I sit in my car before work, messing with my face, trying to manipulate my hair, eyes and general physiology into something presentable, but I never get out of my car feeling human. It’s like I’m always wearing shoes that are just a tad to tight. 

It’s that feeling of opening the fridge to see what’s inside, closing it without having grabbed anything, and realizing you just checked your washing machine for food, and yes, you never even started that load of laundry, so you’ll be sleeping without sheets for the millenith time this century.

My face has no purpose, so everywhere it appears is another new nowhere. It’s not as I’m terrifyingly ugly, but I’m so out of place that I’m often mistaken for avant garde art, if an avant garde artist was on meth, and wasn’t really an artist at all but just some drug addicted 20 something sharing her “art” with her 97 Instagram followers, 8 of which are accounts she made to try and inflate her online persona.

I’m confusing to the public, regardless of the time, place, or lens through which I am viewed. Smartphone cameras consider my face as a smudge, so at least I can avoid being tagged in pictures posted to social media. But if you don’t exist on Facebook, are you even real? Without my opinions being expressed via Tweets and hashtags, I might as well not have opinions at all! My existence is a lie! Maybe I’m just the first of a new breed of modern ghosts. Maybe, if I spend another 5 years avoiding things like the Sun and any situation that has me interacting with another human being, I’ll finally just become a transparent blob. Perhaps, in that someday 5 years away, people who cast their gaze across the dotted lines of the early morning expressway will experience various levels of awe as they marvel at the modern wonder that is a driverless 2013 Honda Civic. Perhaps those people will even spare a thought as to why anybody would spend the money to retrofit such a vehicle to be self-driving, and perhaps even a few of those people will see the faint outline of my bulging form behind the wheel and realize this isn’t a technological wonder; it’s just a really pale and depressed fat human ragdoll.

Maybe I’m being too harsh on myself. 

Or maybe I just don’t give a fuck about my life.

But honestly? I hate myself, and I believe I deserve to feel this way.

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

“My chemical makeup makes it impossible to forget you, but I’m hoping that with time I’ll remember the me that existed without you..”

There is no happiness in the world, just a series of paths that grow progressively darker as more time passes. In the end, it culminates into something so black, you can’t see anything moving forward, and you can’t see anything when you look back, so your left choking on empty memories, and in that dark womb you’ll wonder if anything has ever happened to you that would have made life worth experiencing this cruel, crushing, relentless weight… And even at the end, when I have nothing left but pain and regret, I close my eyes and somehow catch a glimpse of who I used to be. It’s only a reflection, but it’s real, and I know that at some point in my life I was able to smile…but this is a reflection, so I can’t ignore the eyes in which I see the reflection… At the end of all things, where I’m alone in a universe that doesn’t care, I can’t go to sleep without seeing your face…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., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“I’m failing. Everything that I am; body, mind, spirit, and all the other shit in between, I am a failure.”

I can’t resist the urge to break. It’s almost like a need, a physical itch that demands I scratch it with a freshly sharpened pocket knife.

I hate this feeling.

I am filled up with things and stuff instead of love and warmth, and it hurts. I want to cry. Every day I want to do nothing else but cry. I scream at myself in the car until the stares from strangers drives me into a deep enough shame that I choke on my stupidity. I want to be numb, so I take these pills. I want to forget, so I do these drugs. I want to erase myself from this world, so I spend as much time as I can on my own. I want to die, so I research methods of suicide and write notes for the police, my parents, and everyone else. I want to suffer, so I make sure God can do nothing but hate me. I want…I want out of this cycle…I want to live and smile and have hope…I want to not eat until I’m sick, throwing up in the bathroom, returning from every meal with a fever…I want to stop being so lazy and tired, to find the motivation to move my stupid body, to make it react, to force it awake…I want to find love for myself, any reason to love me at all…I want to do something with the love others have given me aside from ripping it up in front of their faces…I want to be proud, to make others proud of me…I want to exist without wishing I didn’t exist…I want to exist without thinking I have to suffer for my existence…I want that, all of that…but I did it again. In the time between my millionth plan to become a better person and lunch, I’ve tossed it all away again…again and again and again…all that planning, the time and energy and effort, and all of it wasted again…once again I did nothing…once again I managed to find a new low…again and again and again…I don’t want anymore, never again…I don’t want to suffer, and I don’t want to die…and I don’t want to live…so what can I do?

What can a loser like me do…

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

I don’t know where I’m coming from, and I don’t care where I’m heading. I wish I had the strength to just…stop.

I’ve spent the past 6 years trying to erase everything.

If our lives are homes that grow with time, than what I have been doing is leaving the front door unlocked, every window open, and I couldn’t even wait for the world to rip out anything of value, so I actively participated in the pillaging, until nothing of value remained.

I’m an empty house, stripped bare from 6 years of trying to erase whatever we shared, and I shared it all, so it all came down.

20 years of life that I remember, and each memory has now be drowned, and it only took 6 years to destroy whatever I used to be, so the work is done…right?

Yes, that must be rightbut if that’s true…

~Why am I still breathing?~

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

“A night without liquor, mistakes made in poor lighting, and the numbing taste of a strangers lips would do me a world of good. If only I knew how to accept anything good..”

Coiled around every kiss is the taste of a temporary love. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but we’ve all forced ourselves to stomach worse things than this, in the name of desire. Nobody enjoys a burning esophagus, nor the rancid taste of stomach acid that accompanies every exhale. A goodnight kiss has been replaced with a shot of sour breath breaking across the face of a stranger. Going to bed alone would be the smart thing to do, so of course you drag a warm body up and under the cover of your sheets, because under those covers you can almost convince yourself that warmth is coming from a place of genuine care. But that lie falls down, down, down into the cavern that used to be your sense of empathy, and it keeps falling until the air is filled with the echo of shattered porcelain, and you begin to realize how empty you’ve become in your search for another love.

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

“Raking away at already red wrists, as if self inflicted scars are the latest fashion trend, I’m racing towards another round of awkward conversations about an imaginary cat, a pair of clumsy feet, and a person who stopped caring a long time ago.”

Someday you’ll come to understand how I feel. You’ll wake up, and before you even get the chance to roll out of bed, an intense self-loathing will be simmering right beneath your skin. You won’t be able to make sense of it, and with every passing second the pressure of being alive will grind your ribs into chalk, leaving your heart entirely exposed. Nothing that you are experiencing will make any sort of sense. The stale apartment air will have raked away at your arms, leaving them as withered husks, floating as useless air, unable to hold on to even the lightest trace of hope. A guilt will begin to gnaw away at stomach lining, and your hands will prove even more useless as you fail to hold back the flood of doubt, fear and rage that comes roaring through those new holes in your humanity. With everything that you once called your own breaking rank in a mad dash to get out, the unavoidable emptiness of being alone will begin to sink in, and if it wasn’t for the fact that your autonomic nervous system was a thing, you would have given up swallowing air, as every mouthful is just another tablespoon of bubble gum flavored cough syrup; another poor attempt at drowning out the pain of living without love.

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

Days turned to weeks, and now it’s been months; exactly 96 days I’ve been sober. But that’s left my mind with nothing but time to wonder about you and me…so I’m sober, but I’m suffocating, trying to accept a me without you…

Now I remember your face

The name you remind me of, so fake

This bitter pill, just a bit overkill

But theater has its place’s


We have come to a fork in the middle of this road

Damnit, who put this here?

Blocking my way, making it harder to say

What I need to


Well if I weren’t drunk, I could walk in a straight line.

But if I weren’t drunk, would I have the courage to dance?


So I’ll take another shot,

Some cold, liquid courage,

Injecting some iron

Into my spine

O, but it’s irony at its best

When you say, “I meant it!”

You meant it, you meant it!

O, how you lie


So you’re exposed, losing composure

Gaining a gloomy expression

What was that for, why so down?

You never could answer my questions


Seemingly unbreakable, I’m fragile

Your outer shell still intangible

The clock is broken, but I know the time;

I’m learning to not take the gamble.

Well if I weren’t high, all of the time, I would be pretty damn successful

But even on this high, I can tell that it’s time, and so I am walking away


Your face is beautiful, it’s true.

Physically flawless, a wonderful view.

But there’s nothing underneath;

You’re an empty physique.

And it’s time I said goodbye to you.