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

“I can feel the weight of these memories, so large that I can’t carry anything new into my tomorrows. At some point I have to make a choice, but I’m afraid that, even after all these years, I’m still going to choose anybody but me…”

Falling down takes time, and has layers, and can even appear beautiful. It’s sort of like a sunset on the beach in late September. It’s not truly autumn, so every evening is ushered in on the tail-end of a dying summer breeze. The light from the Sun plays games with that not so warm air, flickering more, almost dancing, as it descends onto the horizon. The space between the Sun and the Earth, the Earth and the sky, the skyline and the edge of our planet, stretched out across the deepest of blues reflected in the open Sea… For a brief moment, you can close one eye, and these vast distances and heavenly bodies all fit in the space between your thumb and index finger. 

But the moment is only that, a moment.

The Sun keeps on dancing as it slips over the edge of the world. The breeze keeps on twirling, the oceans are swirling, but it’s all beginning to fade into the background as the Moon and the stars take their positions. The transition is peaceful, poetic even, and I find so much comfort in this daily sight. The world ends every day without a fuss. It takes time, but it’s never in a rush. The Sun goes down as its own pace, and it manages to stay beautiful every step of the way. So maybe falling down isn’t such a bad thing after all, so long as we remember that falling down always comes with the opportunity to rise again. 

Posted in Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“You kissed me first, so of course this is all your fault. You didn’t have to kiss me… You didn’t have to make me fall in love…”

Your lips bewitched me.

A glossy coat of distilled resin,

Edges tinged by the Sun,

And so my heart lingers

On a shaking yellow dream, 

The same shade 

As dandelion wine.

Your kiss took root,

Sinking into my veins,

A poison, like acid rain,

And it burns, burns, burns,

Until nothing remains

Save for the idling taste

Of ashes on my tongue.

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’ve never known where I was going, I just knew I had to keep moving. But even without a destination in mind, I think I always sort of knew this is where I’d end up. In the end, we all reach the end we were destined for.”

I caught up to you, on the last train of the night. For me, it’s the last train home. But where is this train taking you? I can tell it’s not taking you home, but it’s still the last train, so where is it you want this train to take you? 

~Beyond the tracks, past the city lights, a place where not even the stars can be seen. I just need to find a place where the world can’t see me… because if the world can’t see me, that would mean I couldn’t see myself, right? That’s the only place left where I’d want to go, a place where I never had to worry about seeing who I am…a place where I could pretend I don’t exist, that I never existed in the first place…I want to find myself in a world without a shred of me…

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

And I know I’d waste my last words on something stupid, like “I’m sorry,” or “I never stopped loving you.”

Another day, another bottle’s contents swirling in my stomach, melting away the anxiety and replacing it with a physical sensation akin to choking. Or perhaps my throat is actually swollen shut? My lungs might be filling up with cheap liquor and cigarette smoke, leaving no room for something as silly as a chemical reaction turning oxygen into carbon dioxide. Perhaps that’s for the best, letting my words die in my chest before they find purchase on my breath, saving me from making another mistake, since I’m sure I’d just waste my final moments trying to tell you something, even though there’s not a single fucking thing you want to here from me…

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 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?~