I am an obsession

I am an obsession
A candle made flesh
Fire builds to conflagration
Until all flesh pulses
Desire waking
Never enough
Until all fuel is destroyed
And waking from the dream
Find myself alone
Bereft of her
Unable to see futures
Who would love destruction
Who would dare stand in fire

My version of a panic attack

My heart beats faster and the pain comes pouring out. The desire to end and the frantic need to be held and loved and told it will be all right. It’s my version of the more traditional panic attack. This shift to sudden sadness. And I need to isolate myself because I can feel the tears, the sobs coming and I can’t explain it without explaining everything I shouldn’t. All the secrets, all the truths that wait in the darkness, waiting to grab hold and twist their way out of me. That’s what it feels like. And I know that voice lies but it feels like truth. I feel so alone as my heart slams and the blood pulses. Just a touch from my love and it’ll quiet, but there’s been no one to do that in years. I’m just a broken doll. Discarded, discovered, then cast aside again for something better. There’s just this stretching of days and this nothing, this nothing, this nothing. Not enough to be loved, not enough for anyone. All chances fled. All hope denied. Not even sleep is a refuge when you remember your dreams.

Vacation time

This sad fool in motley granted fleeting asylum in the land of ease,
a creature of despair made mad by joy
Sits calmly in balance until revocation
Then despair works it’s way from bones and bleeds on the night air
Raw from soft living
Pain of the past hits like a wrecking ball
Demolishing the city rebuilt
Dreams remembering they are nightmares

Brutal introspection

I can never leave well enough alone. I always push, always want more than is there to be had. Some of that comes from a deep feeling that every person I truly care for is going to leave me. If they see the part of me they’ll hate, they’ll leave.  Or instead, I choose to associate with people who don’t want me, or are taken in some way.  Be it their own lives, their relational entanglements, or their mental state. And if, by some miracle, I find someone who likes me, I will push and push for more and more until they have no choice but to walk away or sacrifice their own sanity, which I’ll see and walk away to save them.  I don’t know how to stop this.  I think I’ve learned, each time and each time I fuck up.  Now, the fuck ups are all a little different. But, they are variations on the theme. The happier I am, the more likely I am to self sabotage.

The other part comes from seeing myself as a monster. For the things I’ve done and the things I’m capable of.  For who could love a monster, such as I.  And if you could, why? Pity? Martyrdom? I won’t have love from either. 

At the end of the day, I’m fucked up. And despite how much less fucked up I am now, as compared to when I started this journey, I still have a long road. A long road I fear I’ll never see the end of.

The day begins

This ponderous waiting, I realize that the day doesn’t begin until she is here. It exists in this anticipation but until she is here, it’s not enough. It is real but not worth its reality. I wonder how I will be when she, inevitably, leaves. The mere thought of without her, nearly brings me to tears. It physically hurts my heart. Yet, I feel safer pondering this as an inexorable collapse than to hold onto hope. Hope that we become something more than hanging out, hope that not just love blooms but that the relationship will work. I don’t want to give in to that fantasy. I don’t want to embrace what might be and never become. I also don’t want to to ever leave her side. It’s why I tell friends that I’m proper fucked. I can’t leave her. Don’t want to be without her. For whatever amount of with her that I am, I will accept. But I can’t stop from longing for more. It is that juxtaposition that makes me so lost.