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

“Life with you wasn’t perfect, but it was only with you that I found myself grateful that I was alive.”

I understand that what I’m doing isn’t exactly “healthy,” okay? I can comprehend that the momentary sense of euphoria is the result of a release of endorphins in response to the pain. I could get the same effect from something like running, or fucking. Yet here I am, all alone, exhausted from doing fuck all over the past million minutes. Actually, I’m probably being a bit harsh on myself, because I have done a few things over the past week. I managed to drag my ass into work, Monday through Friday, 8AM to 5PM. I didn’t get all of my work finished that I should have, but I can take my work laptop home, so I can play catch up at some point in between my wild and wacky weekend antics (which is, of course, just me, sitting alone in my pitch black bedroom, with nothing but a 2 liter of Mountain Dew as sustenance and my non-work laptop as a means of feeling connected to the world, even if only through binging early 2000’s Anime and re-watching old YouTube videos). I also did some shopping this week, so my pantry is full. It is true that 99% of that pantry space is occupied by Cup Noodle, but I did get a nice variety of flavors, because I care about having a diverse and well-rounded diet. So yeah, I’m chugging along at a nice, even clip. I deserve a reward for having such a productive week, right?

And that’s where all these scars and bruises come into the picture.

Everything else gives me nothing, no sense of accomplishment or purpose. I’m just an emotionally vacant hole, and I’m backhauling in all the bullshit I can find in a piss poor attempt to feel full. Of course, that’s not how anything works, so nothing gets better, and I’m still a husk of a human. Is it so strange that I would turn to self harm in this situation? To me it feels like the logical conclusion. I need anything to wake me up, even if only for a few moments. The edge of a knife against my wrist gives me the rush I need. It’s a sharp pain that quickly fades, but the ridges that decorate my skin will tingle for about an hour. I can extend that feeling beyond that initial hour with a little bit of pressure. A few quick punches right on top of the cuts really helps to wake up those nerve cells. If I can keep it going for a solid 5 minutes, all of the skin around the cut will become a marbled mess of black and blue, and the cut itself will widen up a few centimeters, so the blood will keep flowing and flowing and flowing. By the time the bleeding has stopped, and I’ve cleaned myself up in the shower, the sight of my fucked up body in the mirror is more than enough to draw from me some genuine, untethered laughter. I mean who wouldn’t just lose their shit if they looked like this?! Both arms, from the shoulders to my fingertips, are patchworks of bruises and bright red lines. One glance and it’s so fucking obvious how much I deserve to look like this, or even worse. And I latch onto that thought, because I could look worse, right? My hands still work, which seems sort of fucked up, considering what they just did to my arms. So I bury those smartass hands in my bedroom walls. But my legs are also working just fine, having walked me from my computer chair, into my kitchen, and back again. They are accomplices to this travesty! This crime cannot go unpunished! So I light up a few cigarettes, using my legs as ashtrays, putting out the final dot of heat on my ankles and thighs. And yet I still feel like I’m forgetting something; and that’s when it hits me! I still have lungs that keep pumping me full of life-giving oxygen, and a stomach that continues to try and break my belt with its constant need to expand! But worst of all, I still have this heart, beating away, pushing blood through my veins even as I try to force that blood down the drain! I still have this heart!!!…. This heart…. That feels like lead…. This heart that can’t seem to carry me anywhere, and so I find myself leaning on the shoulders and ideas of others to carry my things, things I should be able to carry with my own strength…. This heart that has nothing left beyond the basic, barbaric function of keeping me alive, even if the rest of me is begging for it to fucking stop….

Well, I can take some pills to turn my stomach into knots that will surely come back up my throat and all over my toilet. And those same pills will grip my muscles, drying out my mouth and making it harder to take any sort of breath, so my lungs will be screaming at me shortly. But my heart? What can I do about my heart? It’s the one responsible for this mess, more so than anything else. But what can I do? It’s getting late, and I can feel the rest of my body shutting down. At this point I can only hope this isn’t going to be me simply falling asleep. I have to hold out hope that I finally did enough, that my heart got the message loud and clear. I have to believe…I’ve finally paid enough…to earn a little bit of peace…

But this was just another normal week for me. I’ve done this for 6 years now. And yeah, I understand that what I’m doing isn’t exactly “healthy,” okay? I can comprehend that the momentary sense of euphoria is the result of a release of endorphins in response to the pain.

But I can’t stop.

I could never stop.

Until my heart can catch up to the rest of me, I’ll ever be able to stop.

So I’m just waiting for that moment.

When I can finally, finally stop…

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

“With nothing to keep me grounded, all I can do is drift towards the Sun, waiting for gravity, or at least something like that.”

When gravity fails you don’t fall, instead you drift away into the sky as the heat from the sun increases to give you the world worst case of sunburn, and so you are left waiting as you drift, waiting on anything, something, to come save you. Now, replace gravity with love and the same rules apply. So I’m just waiting, with a sunburned back, on something to save me…

It starts out so simple, just a force of nature, just the gravity that keeps us all grounded; that was his love for her. Is it stupid to have love on par with such a basic force of nature? Well, take it up with God if you’re pissed about it, cause that’s just how things are.  

It ends, and so it turns bitter, and it all feels like it was for nothing, like you gave it your all while they…holy hell, why did you give them everything if they couldn’t give you a single damn thing, not even one word, you were worth one goddamn word, anything, something… it was all for something, right?

Well, they haven’t been here for awhile now, but that touch hasn’t quite faded yet; it haunts everything, every new meeting, every new experience is somehow still touched by her; she’s not there, but he still feels here memory, as fresh as a sunburn at the end of July, roasting every day throughout August to ruin a perfectly good life.

So is anything waiting for you now? Is someone waiting to save you, or is someone waiting for you on the other side? Is God waiting for you to ask for help, or waiting for you to give up? Waiting is just an excuse, like everything else, but it’s the only thing keeping you grounded – and so gravity was replaced with a tainted love that burned into a bitter something, a something so strong not even years could erase its touch, and so the burns never healed, and time stopped because you stopped it, all of it, and now you are waiting for your time to start again…

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 wanted to hear something; not just words, but genuine heart. I wanted to be chased, but not if it meant forcing you to chase me.”

Beyond my understanding

The goodness I showed to you

Trying not to run

From common insecurities

If every breath felt the same

The sharp intake of oxygen to my brain

It’s all the same for you

I’m just the same to you

You didn’t need it; you didn’t need it

My heartbeat, soft as a whisper

Hold on, bright green eyes

Tell me your story again

Watch yourself fly, far far away

Flee your mistakes, flee from reality

What did I do to deserve this fire

O right, I did nothing

O right, to you I’m nothing

Nothing is sweeter, sweeter to my lips

Then your poison, three words from you..

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

“Draw from me all that you need, I won’t deny you a single thing. Just promise that when you’re feeling okay, someday, you’ll come back for me.”

I regret a lot of things. I regret not getting into bitcoin when it was just starting up. I regret going to college for a degree in Accounting when I hate all things business. I regret not upgrading my popcorn to a large bucket at the movies last week, and using my savings to purchase an indoor training bike I have yet to assemble, and for that time I yelled at Chef Robert Irvine to use the secret ingredient peanuts to make a peanut crusted tilapia with a peanut hummus and he did just that and lost his elimination match on The Next Iron Chef. I have regrets, more than I can count, but I don’t miss those days. I don’t miss wasted money or my years in college. I don’t miss watching Food Network with friends or that savory, salty popcorn I totally should have ponied up an extra $1.50 for. I don’t miss those things, because they are still here, inside of me, as moments I can revisit any time I choose. I can regret the choices I’ve made and wish things had played out significantly different (I’m so sorry Chef Robert Irvine, you will always be my Iron Chef), but I don’t miss them. They were moments, and they happened, and that’s life.

But you? I made the monstrously huge mistake of choosing to make you my life. So you can’t become another part of my life, something to reflect on, good or bad. I knew my mistake, every step taken towards that mistake, but I still made them.

I don’t regret you.

I can never regret you.

I miss you.

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

“No matter how much I think I’ve grown, I fall short, because the world has been growing too, and I just can’t keep up…”

It only takes a few seconds, or maybe less. Perhaps it’s just a blink, a flash of the sun through a pinhole in air-dried cotton sheets, or a shooting star racing towards the center of a black hole, erupting at the bend in our universe, where all events lose focus, lose time, lose everything except for the overwhelming lack of your presence… and suddenly an empty universe feels crowded, compared to waking up in a bed without you…

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

“You accepted my love so easily, but in the end, when it mattered most, I was a burden, so you couldn’t be bothered with me.”

Could anybody please explain to me where it was I fucked up? I’ve burned through every memory, but it wasn’t enough to smoke out the inciting incident. I went from a warm soul to a body consumed by wildfire, and I can’t be sure why I set myself on fire to begin with. Everything was perfect, right?

We had each other.

We had love.

What else could I give you?

Why wasn’t I good enough?

You’re gone, but every time the truth comes to the front of my mind, I shove it down, down, all the way down, right through the ground beneath me. When I started, the truth barely reached the back of my throat. 6 years later, and there isn’t an ounce of me that doesn’t hide the truth. Every footstep creates an echo of an echo, so it’s impossible to tell where I started from, and I’ll never reach the end…

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

“God made me tenderly, with love in every stitch, and how did I repay that care? I forced God to watch me as I ripped open every last seam.”

No matter how deep I go, I can’t cut it out. I was fighting against the red, but as it slowly faded into black, I caught a glimpse of the truth.

I’ve spent so many years living on a razors edge that I stopped fearing sharp objects altogether. No, maybe I was never afraid in the first place. A cut is just a cut.

It only hurts for a moment.

It only bleeds for a moment.

It will sting in the shower for a day or two.

It will form a scab overnight.

And, in a months time, only a faded red line will remain.

By the end of the year, that line will have started to turn pink. Another year, another shade lighter. 20 years later and you’d need a decently bright light to find those first few lines.

20 years, huh? I’ve been doing this for 20 years? Is that a long time? I have no idea if that’s a long time. That’s a crazy amount of time though, right? If I stop to think about it, it really is pure insanity.

I’ve never gone from one birthday to the next without making a new cut.

I’ve never opened presents under the Christmas tree without seeing the scars I carved into my body by choice.

I graduated from high school and college during the month of June, and on both occasions I was worried my robes wouldn’t be long enough to cover my arms past the elbow, so I wore a long-sleeved shirt to be safe.

I can’t remember anybody embracing my body before I ruined it… I know I was hugged before these scars though… pictures all over my parents home show a round, smiling kid being held and hugged and kissed by so many different people… and I can’t remember any of it…

I feel like I stole something from all those people. I did, didn’t I? I stole that child from them…

I wish I could give it all back to them. I wish I could reverse time and stop myself from making that first cut.

But I also can’t remember that first cut… so I guess I never could have escaped this fate, right? Am I right?

Can’t somebody, please… just tell me I’m right…