Every second of every day since the first time that I came in contact with that electricity that shocked my eyes wide open and my heart skip a beat, I have been counting. I tried to clear my mind and think of other things, productive ones. Sane ones. But still you are like the squeeky floor bords waking me up in my sleep. Squeek squeek squeek.

Those windows on your face are reflecting little rays of sunlight into my eyes. And my whole world is instantly illuminated. And suddenly it's all I can do to keep from crying. Because its you and your sun and your electricity bouncing through my mind. Bobbing and weaving through the negative thoughts a feelings surfacing on the top. Above all else.

But I know that reason says I need to let it go. I need to let you go. But I don't want you to go. "I want you to stay." You want me to stay. But I should've gone. Away, away. But there I laid like a dog in the sunlight pointing my belly at the sky hoping to soak up some of your light. Because even if for a while, even if just for a while, that sunlight reflecting off of me was mine.

And in the way you look I hope you can feel it to. But it took all you could manage to keep from talking about that viscous conscience that's ripping you apart. And even all that you could wasn't good enough. Thoughts and feelings bubbling up, shoving my inadequecies into my face like a pool of blood. Oozing out of my emotional center pooling on the floor at your feet. As I hoped one day you'd soon be using those words about me.

But you wont. Because you've already got a subject to desire. To obesess. And her sunlight is boring through those windows and into your soul, melting into me.

It's not jealousy. Jealousy would require me to want. Its nothing that I want. Its a nothing that I wish I did. And it makes me sad to see someone else getting it, and doing the things that I wish that I could myself do. But I can't, because I'm not made in a way that allows me to do such things. And as such I have no reason to care other than the sake of caring. And I'll tell myself that I don't, because when it comes down to what it is and what it means I don't. But I do care because it's something that I can't acheive. So what is that? Envy? Or is that the same thing as jealousy?
I find my heart wishing I could do something differently or want things differently or try things in a new way, but here I am. Still trying to figure out why I dont feel like I can do anything right. Wondering what I did wrong and why the happiness of someone else for a thing I never wanted in the first place is something that breaks my heart.
Perhaps dishonesty is the root of this confusion. I am being dishonest with myself and everything that goes along with that. There was once a part of me that wanted something different than the something that I have. But that something that I've lost I had reliquenshed when it was gone, and accepted this loss as something that could never be found again.
But still as if it were a lost limb blown off in a war of love, or passion, or indifference, I still feel the phantom flinch. Willing something to move only to find that it no longer exists. A phantom itch for someone thats been severed a time ago. An itch that even if I were able to scratch, wouldn't satisfy the feeling of something being gone. The void of something lost that I didn't know I had to begin with.

Something

Theres a feeling that I get. It's when someone pays attention to me, the look on their face when they're looking at me. It makes me uncomfortable to look back and see all the things that I'm feeling reflected back. At me. But in the form of someone else's expressions. And I feel lost, and warm, and nervous. And my body starts to get sweaty, but not in the normal ways that bodies start to get sweaty. Near my butt, and under my neck. Sweat just pools. Because I'm so nervous about the way they're looking. Because they're looking at me. And I'm standing there trying really hard to look back in some way that could possibly equal the response they're getting in me. But I can't. My mouth doesn't contort the direction I want it to, its maintaining it's natural flatline. Making the time of death of every romantic encounter the instance of first contact. Eye contact. And I can't bear to look up again because I can feel their gaze boring a hole into the side of my face, the back of my thigh, the top of my breast. It burns. It's hollowing me out.
And it's not that I want to make something of this. These glances and hollowing stares. I don't want to take them home and into my bed. I don't want them to know how I smell when I wake up in the morning or know the feelings that live in my head. I don't want them to know me the way I know nobody knows myself.
But I want someone to feel that I'm there. The way I can feel them there. Staring, and hollowing. For one second. Just long enough to be able to say that somebody felt me. Just long enough for someone to know the feeling of me feeling them there.

i need space. i need space in this big vastness of space that we're in. the entire universe and i feel like we're too close together. just sitting in this room. its too close. feet aren't enough. i need miles, countries, lightyears. i cant get enough space. space. spay aced. i miss when i felt like there was too much room. that i couldn't get close enough. to anywhere to anyone. and now all i want is space. emptiness. i crave that feeling of simplicity. but im happy where im at. im content. and confused i dont know what i want. i think i know i want to be wanted but dont want to be needed. around. and what if i get what i think i want? im never prepared for that the uncertainty and sinking feeling of terror when i get everything i want. what do i do then, once all my fantasies have been fullfilled? i'll have nothing left. i have nothing left. and everything. its just like a fly to ruin a nice glass of water. when you weren't thirsty anyway.

Im emptying out my head, to try to find that pure emptiness. The purest of happiness and happy words to be said and be heard. I'm trying to get it all out, all the gunk and the junk thats just cluttered inside. Spring cleaning. Me cleaning. For the new season. A new chapter in my life. With healthy thoughts and healthy living. But i know that I can't help it. All things come at a thought, with baggage and dust. And again my things will begin to collect. At the front of my brain pulling me foreward into this new demension of reality. Adulthood. Where I can't see straight, but my thoughts all feel clear. Shiny and new. Glistening. And I can touch them, and feel them. And finally have the time and the energy to find all those words that backed up. Down my throat. Preventing any easy breath. Any any breath. Now they're all pouring out and I'm seeing them now. How I've grown, my undeniable change. But I'm still me. More me than me ever was. And I'm grateful. For this small bit of sanity that I've bit off of reality.

I am DEAD

I hear sirens going off in my head. A lot of deep hitting sirens.
I cant focus, I cant focus.
Im trying so hard to open my eyes PLEASEOPENMYEYES
but i cant
they're to heavy
and it hurts to talk about.
and the words hurt to say.
and no one hears them when they come out the wrong or the right way
and im dead
im dead
inside and out
decaying from the inside rotting on the out.
but im still here for everyone to watch, and gape and and worry about.
is if it helped
NOTHING FUCKING HELPS
QUIT TRYING TO HELP
I DONT EVEN HAVE A SENSE OF MY HEAD ANYMORE
TO WRITE
SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH ME
AND NO ONE WILL HELP
im trying to get help
im tried to get help
but no one would help
or could help
or should help
because this can be caught
its a sickness
its a disease
its leaving me broken and distraught
and ridden with lots of unanswered questions.


im thrust into a pit of despair where my body aches to feel the normal feelings of love again. of affection again.

but instead my emptiness surrounds me and devours me
and i dont even know myself enough to drag myself out.

because im not who i thought i was
i was never who i thought i was.

if this keeps going i want to die. i want to die because theres nothing worth living for
and im just taking up space for something else to be alive
to think
to love
to write.

god i cant even write anymore.

[untitled]

I cannot write what my brain doesn't want. I cannot speak words my ears dont care to hear. And its in these moments I find it hard to breathe again. I never know when it's going to hit, or how hard, but it always does. And I feel strangled, and threatened. My words sound weak and wounded, and it's almost as if they've been waring away sitting in my bowls, as the stomach acid rolls and devoirs them whole.
And I feel lost, so so so so lost. I can't find my feet or my toes or my nose or my eyes. Its almost like a part of me went missing, and I don't know where it can be found.
And I keep being told that I'm young.
And I keep being told that I can stay stay alive.
But I don't feel alive. I don't feel like I'm living.
I just feel broken, with my tires sliding against the mud, and my feet slipping out from under me.
And I know that I'm falling, I can feel the wind shoving my hair down my throat. But I'll pass out before I die, never knowing what I missed, or what I wished I'd heard.
Because all those words that were stuck in my bowels, are now splattered on the pavement as a view, and image, for someone to glimpse upon, admire, and discard. Like the lowly serpent I am. Sliding deeper and deeper into this free fall plunge to whatever ends.
But like the sun warms my feet, there you'll go again. The unspecific you. The you you never knew you were, and I've never known. And you'll make my heart burn wild with love. With affection. With guilt. Because I never gave you the means or the words to feel the same burn. And I did it on purpose so I wouldn't have to see, or to learn or to hear that I was what was the worth of fighting this whole time. Of being and existing.
Those words that I kept in my bowels, that I never cared to hear. Broken and dispondent but still ringing ringing ringing ringing ringing in my ears.
They cannot hear, or see, or feel. They just know that you're there, wishing you were here, and keeping you as far away with those pleas of affection as I can muster. Because all those feelings, are lost within me, and to me. Never to be found. Never to be found.