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

Miya Folick is everything I love about music.

At this point I’ve watched Miya Folick perform this song a hundred different times, and every single time I’m still blown away. The feelings she invokes with her voice, the way she writes sharp, intimate songs with soft words, and the way she lets the music take over with every performance, I’ve found that Miya Folick is everything I love about music. Just listen to this song and I promise, you’ll be hooked for life. I know I am.

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

Just in case anybody was worried/missed my posts, I’m still alive!

Hello to all the lovely people who follow/read my blog. It’s been over a month since my last post!! That’s a crazy long time, especially considering I was averaging close to 9 posts a month for over a year! I just wanted to drop a post letting anybody who was curious know that I’m still alive and will resume posting on a semi-regular basis in the next few weeks. I’ve still been visiting WordPress on a daily basis, because I love reading what everybody else has to say, and I’m excited to throw my writing out there once again! So thanks to all the people who’ve been reading some of my older posts! I’m extremely proud of what I’ve built here and want to continue growing and writing and finding my 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

“The wind is howling, turning raindrops into bristling needles on my arms, and in that familiar pain I can almost remember where the scars all started.”

You don’t have to be afraid,

My sweet primrose,

Of the coming storm.

The clouds are rolling in,

And in that gray wave

The Lions of the sky reign.

Their manes, majestic ash,

With roars born

From a clash of light

Fighting to find solid ground.

Look past the lightning,

And listen for the moments

Between the Thunder;

A storm is nothing more

Than a lonely sky

Searching for a home.

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 don’t know why I bother.

It’s 85 degrees outside, and the air in this old office isn’t what you’d call “top notch”, so my shirt is sticking to my chair, and my shirt sleeve is stained with forehead sweat. I walked in, sat down, and the heat made me sick within minutes. I’ve been up to empty my guts 3 times since 8AM, and it’s not even lunchtime yet. To make matters worse, the bathroom is right behind our offices most populated set of cubicles, so whenever I must go, everybody sees me get up, walk over to the bathroom, disappear for 10 minutes, only to return looking like I just finished a few rounds in the ring. Repeat this 3-6 times daily, and I’m sure everybody is disgusted by me. I wash my hands, and come in wearing decent enough clothes, and shower and have deodorant and brush my teeth, etc. etc. However, all of that is thrown out the window the second you notice the fat little Asian of the office seems to be taking enough shits for everyone on the payroll. At first, people will chalk it up to being lazy, thinking I must be wasting time on my phone, texting friends, browsing social media, playing Pokémon Go like a true American. That line of thinking evaporates quickly the second somebody talks to me though, as it becomes painfully obvious just how socially inept I really am. My co-workers quickly come to the conclusion that I’m not wasting my time on my phone in there, because it’s impossible that I could be holding a conversation with another human being, even if it was just a Facebook post or a stupid tweet. No, this…person? Yeah, I guess I’d still be considered a person. Anyway, the barely person that I am is either shitting their brains out (true), or using alone time in the stall to cry where nobody can see, giving her the strength to get back out there for at least 45 minutes before her next mental breakdown (also true). What can I say, I’m a multitasker? Between the heat, diarrhea and a lifetime of self-loathing, my body can shift from raging volcano to bottomless Antarctic pit in a matter of milliseconds.

At the beginning of the Summer, my office hired interns. We hired young, attractive, high school interns. They all sit together, and they all do the same thing (nothing, because what high school junior knows enough about anything to be able to offer any help to anybody?). I sound mean because I’m bitter. Honestly, they are nice kids. They got here 2 weeks ago, and they try. I’ve shown 2 of them a few tricks with Microsoft Excel, and traded 1 of them 4 quarters for a ripped dollar bill that our vending machine wouldn’t take. Aside from those 2 moments, and introductions when they all started, I haven’t spoken a word to these kids. And I’m not just saying that, I’ve counted, because that’s what I do. I am so self-conscience about everything that is me, that I know exactly how many times I’ve spoken to everybody in my office. Aside from my boss, that number doesn’t exceed 2 digits for anybody. It’s all my fault as well. When I started, people tried talking to me, made attempts to help me “fit in”, but within the course of 1 or 2 conversations they realized the folly of their ways, and thus my self-induced work isolation cycle began anew. Back to the interns; they aren’t bad, and I don’t think they want to hurt my feelings, but they are still in high school, and what high schooler could resist making fun of such an easy target? They weren’t being loud or spreading rumors around the office. They weren’t even being pointed about it; I probably only noticed because I’m special tuned to pick up any and all negative things said about me, along with being able to filter anything positive into something neutral or negative. So, these high school kids see me coming out of the bathroom for the 4th time today. It’s 2:14PM, and I haven’t finished any of my work for the day, and my nose is all runny and gross and I know I’m sniffling so much it must be disgusting to have to hear, and I barely catch it, and I could just ignore it, but it’s me, so that’s not actually an option. My ears are advanced radars, and what they pick up…it’s really just laughter, right? It doesn’t have to be about me, right? But I can’t block out the words. I want to block out the words, but I can’t. It’s not even that mean, really. I already know my sniffling is gross, so the suggestion that I learn how to use a tissue is actually just good life advice. My body is a science experiment gone horribly wrong, so pointing out that so many trips to the bathroom in a day means I must really eat some terrible shit at home is 100% accurate. And yes, my hair is rather ugly when I wear it short. And yes, it was much better last week when my long hair covered my gigantic ears. And of course, it should go without saying, but they say it all the same! I must live alone, because who could put up with my painful, disgusting, awkward ass! They might be kids, but they have eyes that work just fine, and they aren’t afraid to call it like they see it. And like I said, they didn’t say this at a volume where they knew I could hear it. And what they did say was actually rather tame versus what I’m used to from high school kids. But my broken ass body reacts before I can stop it. My empty stomach drops down to my knees, and I become aware of how much oxygen I’m wasting on my fast breathing. My arms start to shake a little, then a lot, and then I have to stop typing or writing, and I do my best to keep my these fists from punching myself silly. I feel my body collapsing in on itself in an attempt to shrink the target that is me, but I’m unable to forget my own mass, and I can’t stop starring at the rolls on my stomach as my head flirts with banging into my desk. But the worst of it is that slow creeping chill. It’s born from my chest, and it eats through my veins, swallowing blood and shitting out reminders of every little fucking thing I hate about myself. The sensation creeps through my arms, and all of my scars start screaming in unison, and I’m embarrassed! I’m so fucking embarrassed! I’m so sure that everybody can see them, even though I put so much effort into hiding them! Even though I always remember to wear long sleeves everywhere I do! Even though I’ve tried every scar cream known to man to get them to fade! But what good will hiding, or covering, or even erasing them do, when I keep adding to my collection! And just as that realization leaves me feeling naked, the cold flushes through my back and legs and head, and I shiver like I’m building a snowman in my birthday suit, and I have to stop, I have to find some way to stop, just stop me, just stop everything that is me. I need to grab the scissors in my desk, bang it into the wall, and throw myself head first into those blades. I need to throw my chair through the window at the end of the hallway and follow it down, straight into the parking lot pavement. I need to run back into the factory, find the largest, most dangerous looking piece of equipment, and do whatever it takes to get it to kill me. Fucking kill me. I fucking need to die, right fucking now. God, I can’t take this anymore, not for another second, I can’t handle it. I can’t handle life, I never wanted to live, I never wanted to be this fucking thing that I am. Please, I just need to die. I want to die. Kill me. Fucking let me die…please…

The overwhelming urge to commit suicide fades along with the chills, but only to a tolerable level, and only to a level I would describe as tolerable. It’s roughly 2-4 minutes of me at my desk, hoping nobody walks by to see me silently freaking out. After 5 minutes, I’m calm enough to be my normal, awful self. Of course, I’m just repressing my feelings, so I already know when I get home shits gonna hit the fan. But I’m used to this. It used to be a once in a while sort of deal. Then it grew into a monthly deal. And from monthly to weekly, and weekly to daily. Yes, this is an everyday thing. Honestly I’m happy if it only happens once a day. I’ve literally run out of fresh skin to scar, so I’m overlapping, creating patchworks to replace those solid, parallel lines. I’ve run out of skin, and patience, and any sense of self-love…no, I’ve just ran out of any sort of love at all…

I always told myself that a life without love isn’t a life worth living. I’m finding out that’s 100% not true. My life wasn’t worth living long before I ran out of love. Now that I’m out of love, I’ve just become a ghost. I want to die, but I can’t kill myself. I want to kill myself, but I’m afraid to die. I thought that if I had nothing left to love, I wouldn’t care if I died. Turns out, if you have no more love, you have nothing left to fight away the fear. And I’ve been out of love long enough to be neck high in fear…and I keep hoping that the fear will keep growing, eventually letting me drown. But I know fear…it won’t ever let me die…it will keep me on the brink, keep me begging, but it won’t let go…

I hate this…but it’s all my doing…I destroyed all of my love, instead feeding all of my fears. This is what I am now; fear is all I have.

But…

If there is a God, then please…

Please, God…kill me.

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

Music Mondays: Tash Sultana

It’s been quite a while since I’ve posted a music suggestion, so to kick things back up I’m starting with one of my favorite musicians to watch live. Tash Sultana, there is nothing I can say that can properly sum up the life, the energy, the passion you put into your music. This Tiny Desk Concert is especially special, with the small desk making her already larger than life act become a literal mountain of sound. In particular, her track “Notion” is some of the greatest noise I’ve ever had the pleasure of pumping into my ears.

Enjoy!

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.