I am too old to breathe and too old to die
So this leaves me where but between
Lost in a seethe of lie
Strike me from my bones
As morsel eat
Until all consumed
I may pass on
Or give me over to fires embrace
One last or is it first passion
A lover who at least knows her worth
Pick glass out of wounds long closed
Like memories pulling free
So short a life consumed in smallest
A drifter encased in a life of choices fallen to dust
Pause to inhale but is it life or just a slipping of darkness into day
Bound by our shackles forged in persuit
And struck round until freedom is as foreign as love.
Sift through wreckage
Found in huddled
Lost but found but wanting
Soaring in flight
Crashed down to ungentle earth
But at least the fire is out
Or truth its moved inward
Pouring out from fingertips
Warm yourself but
Always pull away
Afraid of burning up
Kindle instead and ignite
In seconds between flight
And the fading
The sound of breaking glass
I noticed this for the first time today. It’s something I knew. But something I just took on faith. That of course that is how I see it. And it’s a pretty simple revelation. If realizing that the thing you thought all along is really the way that you think can be considered revelatory.
So what was it?
Pretty simple. If I am emotionally invested in a person then I just see them. What I mean is this: I notice changes but only so that I can compliment them. I notice changes so that I can cement the image of who they are right now in my heart. But then I discard it. It’s not relevant and on a day to day basis I just see them. If I found them attractive before then I continue to find them attractive. Who they are is the thing I like. Who they are is where my emotional attachment and, as a result, how I perceive them. Why is this just coming to light?
A Acquaintance level 2 and a Friend level 1 both have lost weight recently. Both lost enough to effect their physical appearance. One drastically. But I don’t see it. Or rather it’s not relevant for me to consciencly notice. I saw a side by side comparison of one of them and I thought wow they lost a bunch of weight. But when I see them in person, it doesn’t enter my conscious mind.
So I just don’t see primarily cosmetic differences. I’m happy if they are happy. Who they are hasn’t changed. They are more confident but I always saw them as more than they accepted of themselves. So it’s just good that they are coming to realize that.
I know, it’s odd to see and think like this. What can I say, but that if you are not examining the why’s and how’s of your thinking, then how will you become the self you are trying to be?
Bathe me in the glimmering dark
Sing me your praises of fallen nights
Kiss me your kindness
These dreams I’ve lost to living
These words rasp out a life
Trouble chase but I’m not running
I’ll wield the blade of strife
All I have right now is this violent dark soul sucking need to connect
To be seen, to be known
And I could go out and spread my bleak nihilism
Drown in physical desires
And wake empty
Each night more empty than the last
Each touch just a step away from oblivion
But it’s not what I want
I want that lasting connection
These touch memories linger with me forever
Burning my mind and fill me with yearning
They seem to be so vital
But the night ends
And what is left but the annihilation of self
In the persuit of nothing
I’m tired of fighting for substance and coming up short
I’m tired of finding people who are vital and pushing them away with the raw need that pours out
Don’t try so hard, be yourself. Which fucking one? I’m only comfortable when I know chapter and verse, when I know specifically where we stand and how likely something more, always more, is. Do I just accept that it’s zero?
As fear and anxiety eat away at my calm, as the reality of being alone sets fucking in. Don’t be desperate. I’m fucking drowning, how the fuck else am I supposed to to feel?
Be yourself? My self is a fucking high strung artist who fucked up his past, and doesn’t see a clear way to a viable future. That’s fucking sexy that is.
And truth, just be honest. What percent honest can you fucking handle? Cause no one wants a hundred percent.
Fuck, fuck! FUCK!
I’m just screaming into the void and hoping it matters
Self imposed barriers
Last bastions of sanity
Last soldiers holding the line
Scraping out the lining of bags long closed
Opening doors nailed shut
Remember the pieces that didn’t fit the narrative of self
Remember the fights
Remember being young
Remember being stupid
Remember walking in front of speeding vehicles with a glib phrase and the secret desire to die
Remembering the unkind words and the immediate regret and the silence that followed
two people hurting and hurting each other to feel human for a few minutes before they went back to drowning separately
Remembering trying to be the hero for unheroic reasons
To rescue for the reward instead of to defend this battered soul of youth
Remembering days of loneliness and ache masked behind moments of epiphany
The long slow climb out of oblivion
Out of the things done and not done
out of the pits of what have I done
And the tainted desire for a little more
And the bitter poison fruit of vengeance
In whose seeds bore the sweetness of peace
Trying to save everyone because I could not save her
Waking paranoia because a moments inattention caused a lifetime of pain
There are lifetimes within lifetimes and deaths within deaths. Sometimes change is not enough and what was must be allowed to fade
To be, nothing more
to experience, not expect
to feel, not need
to desire, not burn
to be at peace but not peaceful
to love, but not envy.
Life itself shapes us. Molds us into the image of our fears and lusts. It breaks us when we resist and washes us downriver when we give way. The only thing we can control is ourselves. We can choose to see the world as it presents itself or look deeper and seek. We can choose the branches our lives will take. Even when choice itself and our path shows as a single road we are allowed the freedom to control how we walk it. Ultimately, the only thing we have is our minds and ourselves. But this does not mean that we must walk our roads alone.
There isn’t a thing in this world I would not do for the people I love. I know all too well how easy it is to lose them. The world is not forgiving. It takes and takes and you are considered fortunate to be the last person in your age group to be left standing. A dubious honor to be sure.
The older I get the more prized those that I love become, not because I love less people but because I find my love grows. It builds on itself. It spills out and touches more people than I ever imagined I could love. More people who I feel a kinship to. More people who I respect.
For all of that, someone who sees me as vital to their life eludes me. I find something to love in so many but I still feel alone. I think that is what galls me. I can’t be unique. There has to be someone searching as hard for me as I do for them, right?
Maybe that is the hardest lesson. No matter how much we want, how much we need, how much we strive, there is always going to be something we cannot achieve, cannot find, cannot help.
This doesn’t mean that we don’t endeavor. It just means that we need to accept that there is a chance that we will fail. And that’s OK too
I would very much like it if a paramour would ask me out. Would say you’re interesting, want to be with me? I’m so tired of choosing and after a time falling and thinking that this person wants me as I want them and being wrong each time. I’m tired of putting myself out there and seemingly wanted then dropped like they grasped a adder. I’m tired of falling for the ones I can’t be with. Tired that only the ones that are safely taken have the least bit interest in me. Tired, just tired. I don’t want to have to be the strong one, the chooser, the asker all the time. It is exhausting.
I thought I’d found her. Got to know bits and pieces over 3 months, told her I was interested in more, that I was falling in love and wonder of wonders she said she was too, 6 weeks later she was gone. Off living her life like I was nothing. This isn’t “beating a dead horse”. This is me struggling to understand. What did I do? What didn’t I do? Was it the way I did it? I NEED to know the why’s. I NEED to know the intricacies. I cannot learn, cannot grow without that information. And in the absence of a long talk with her, I have only the pieces I have. So my mind goes over and over and over again each piece. Attempting to glean new information. Consider me posting a way of clearing out a bit of the debris from the process. Maybe it’s not interesting, maybe you don’t want to see me in pain. But it is necessary. It is how I work through things and come out stronger. Leaving things unexamined in the past, only feels ok in the immediate. In effect though, it’s like leaving unstable unexploded ordinance all over your psyche.
I know it’s not interesting to read. It’s not entertainment. I write stories for entertainment. Listen to one or read Pel and Sara. My poetry is art. I hope to strike a resonant chord. I hope to affect my reader. My thoughts are just that, thoughts. Maybe there will be value, maybe not. It’s all process.
I have a more than 2 year back catalog of poetry and stories like Why or Cubicle.
Hopefully those will tide you over while I’m getting a handle on developments in my life.