My thoughts

(I don't know where else to say this, so here it is. Most of this was written while drunk, or while I was upset, and I know some are worse than others. If you have anything to say about it, please do.)


Her eyes are the stairway to the sea
One step and you are swept away
Driven under by the current to endless blue
Ever-leading towards the darkness at her center
The waves carry you deeper, powerless
Defenseless
You're caught, unable to swim
Did you ever know the truth of yourself?
Did you ever know your limits?
She is limitless
Her breath is the tide,
Her heart the force pushing and pulling the waves
Her heart pushes you, pulls you
You cannot swim
Another step and you're sinking
Another step and you're spinning
A final step and you're drowning


I am drowning.
Have I ever breathed?
Have I ever opened my lungs and taken the world into them;
have I inhaled the continents, the oceans, the rivers, the mountains;
have I inhaled the passion, the fury, the ecstasy, the power?
As long as I live, I exhale;
my Spirit constantly flowing out of me,
never filled.
There's life waiting for me and all I must do is breathe-
Is that so hard?
I've spent a lifetime letting go, a millennium losing touch;
I can't turn around, can't change what I am,
who I am.
Who am I?
I am the waning moon, always shrinking;
I am the Goddess of Nothing,
the Queen of Emptiness.
I am hollow.
No air, no blood, no soul.
Smoke is my air, vodka my blood;
and what of my soul?
What has it become?


I have become my enemy
I am the night that holds so much,
Yet reveals nothing
There are unknown depths in me
But I can never find them, never touch them
I am blind to myself
My eyes always searching out, never in
If I could but turn them, twist them to point to my center
I would see the sun, the burning fire, the life
But I can only see the moon outside of me


I am so emo it's pathetic


I stand outside myself
My name does not fit me
I am an idea, a silhouette of life
With the shape of a woman, and the movements
But try to touch me and you will only find air
I am not as I seem to be
Plato's shadows on the wall?
I am real, I am solid, I am.
But you will never know me


Isn't it easy, playing the victim?


The world keeps on dying and dying
and inside of it we're dying
and they're dying
         their hair
and they're dying
         their shirts
and they're doing all they can to stop
         dying
to stop from going into the earth
because death is the one thing we can't avoid
and it's the one thing we try to avoid
it's the one thing we hate- the inevitable
and yet if it's inevitable, why does it hurt so much?
why does it twist at my core, make me eyes leak?
my eyes must be sweating
sweating from the effort of staying alive
sweating from the effort of getting up
brushing my teeth, ten strokes per tooth
tying my shoes, double knotted
going to work to sit on my ass, forty hours a week
to make money so I can sit on my ass even longer
I want to be nothing
I want not to be
I do my best for the sole purpose of losing my identity
and yet, if I fear death so much, why am I killing myself?
why am I getting up, brushing my teeth, tying my shoes, going to work?
why am I forcing my eyes to sweat?
I can see the world in HD vision when they're dry
I don't need the television to make it clear for me
instead I'll lose all the water inside of me
I'll flush it out, bleed it out
until I'm drier than the desert
and then the world will suddenly be right in front of me
a sight I had always seen but never known
it will rise from my peripheral, rise from the waves at the corners of my eyelids
and then I will realize the inevitable:
the world is dying
and I'm the one killing it.


It's not that I don't love the world,
it's that the world doesn't love me
though I do my best to open my lungs,
to breathe in life as it comes at me,
I seem to be stuck.
there is something lodged in my throat,
a bite of an apple that blocks all else
and all I can do is work to swallow that apple,
to simply force it into myself and then dissolve it
maybe then I'll be able to let air in
to let life in


In the ocean I spin, and try as I might,
I am under.
There are no sounds, and no colors except
Blue.
Endless blue, above and below, until
I have lost the sky.
How can I find my way back to
The earth?
For though I swim and search,
I find nothing.
Only blue, continuing on into
Me.



Though I can breathe and think and see,
I am nothing.
I am a hollow shell of life, a shadow, following my real self.
I can just barely touch me, and yet there is such a distance between us.
Why would the sun, that gave me life, also take it away?
Is it betrayal, or is it fate?

The wind sweeps through my soul
and like the smoke leaving my lungs,
I drift away
Ashes to ashes,
What am I now?
Has the whole of humanity really come down to me?
I am the great secret, the elusive truth
The mystery is not what I am,
The mystery is what I can become.
I have the power to be greater than myself,
to do more than blow away.
I can join the wind- I can wash over the world
And yet, as I take another drag, I am trapped.
Caught in the depth of the smoke.
Will I ever be able to exhale?
It is inside of me, always, like a weight.
When did this begin?
I can't stop it,
just like I can't stop the earth from spinning
Maybe love can stop this madness
Or is love the madness itself?
If I can blow out in the shape of a heart,
will I see my own heart before me?


One cut
That's all I need
One little cut
Only. maybe two cuts
For the sake of symmetry
But for symbolism, three would be better,
Because I am the third child
But again it's not even, so four cuts
And because I've already made four cuts,
Why don't I just finish while still ahead?
To help me, though, I need one sip.
That's all it takes.
One little sip.
Only, that sip wasn't a full sip,
So, in fairness, I must take another.
Only, that one wasn't right either
So, to get it right, I'll take a third.
But it falls out of the corner of my mouth,
Meaning I need a fourth sip.
And because I've already taken four sips,
Why don't I just finish the bottle?


With each sip I take, more of my soul is lost
the drink burns through my soul,
consuming me.
I drink to lose myself,
and I also drink to find myself.
The Great Riddle
I do it because I know that I hate it
I do it because it shows me:
This is not who I am.
This is not who I want to be.
By knowing who I don't want to be,
It's the closest I've ever come to knowing myself.
By becoming more lost,
It's the closest I've ever come to being found.


My foot presses harder on the pedal
My heart presses harder on my chest
Is it suicide if I'm trying to live?
Rubber peels off around a corner,
The brakes crunch while trying to gain traction
The world is white and silver around me
The moonlight reflecting off the snow
I reach a hill, one that plunges into the bottom of the earth
and then soars back up into the heavens
As I begin my descent, I do not brake
Instead, I press harder on the accelerator
I'm sitting, but my breath comes quickly
My hands are cold against the steering wheel
Is the car shaking, or am I?
The end is near, I can feel my toes curling
And in a moment, I am no longer going down
The car tilts and I am launching up the hill
Rising towards the stars above me
I near them, and I smile.
I made it.
I am alive.
But it's not enough.
I press on the gas once more,
innocent of my error.
I reach the top of the hill, proud.
In front of me now the road is flat.
I have survived the worst, and now,
I am free to do anything.
But just as I come over the crest,
the world begins spinning.
Control is lost, and so am I.
I spin, I slam, I flip, I smash.
I live.
The car is destroyed, and yet,
I walk out as pure as the day I was born.
Maybe because I was just born again.
I thought I was taking a chance with death,
But as it goes, life took a chance with me


I was driving dangerously Christmas Eve and I knew it, but I couldn't stop. Something inside of me was telling me to go faster, to test the limits of my fate. I could taste my own fear, the way it rose up my throat, but I overpowered it. I overpowered myself. It wasn't done out of depression. I myself will never understand why I did it. At least, not fully. I know I was desperate, but for what? Life?


It's strange how the one thing I know I have,
is the one thing that is out of my grasp.
I know I am alive. I know I live.
I breathe, I feel, I bleed, I see, I smell,
and yet I am convinced I am not living.
Why do I refuse to embrace what is in front of me?
Why must I constantly search for something more?
Maybe, if I don't look for life, life will find me.
But no, I am too desperate to risk that.
For my greatest fear is to wait for life,
Only to find that it has passed me by.
So I will take my chances, and hope that
One day, I will realize:
I am alive.


Maybe it's not about getting what I want
Maybe it's about knowing what I have,
and never taking my life for granted.
Despite my doubts, I know I have people who love me,
and I know that I will never have to be alone.
Whatever solitude I feel in this life
is of my own choosing.
I hold my life in my hands,
and I know the feel of absolute power.
People think they have no control,
that they can only hold on as the world spins a crazy circle,
but I know better.
I am the force that spins the world,
and it is my own heart that fuels the cycle.


The earth stretches out into the sky,
and I wonder why I cannot do the same.
All my life I have been flying,
and yet I cannot find my wings.
Did I lose them when I grew up?
Maybe that is why childhood is cherished.
In our youth we are limitless.
Our wings spread out behind us,
and though we can't see them,
we know they are there.
I don't know when my wings betrayed me,
but there are gone, leaving me to fend for myself
in the wild battlefield that is the earth.
I want only to fly from it all,
but no, I took that power from myself.
I wanted to grow up, wanted to lose my wings.
Wanted to lose my imagination.
Wanted to lose my soul.
So, if there is anyone to blame for my crippling humanity,
it is only myself.
I am the one holding the shears,
and I am the one who clipped my wings.


Anger
so strong I can taste it on my tongue
metallic and addictive.
I look at the arm, connected to the hand
of a stranger that is holding my throat.
My first instinct is to laugh.
A short whale wants to wrestle.
A feral growl escapes my throat.
My vision goes red as her grip tightens.
An arm - my arm - rises up,
knocking her claws away from my throat.
Bitchslutwhorecunt.
I raise my fists, nails biting into my palm,
and I move to strike her.
The move feels natural,
as if I were made to punch her.
But I have never hit anyone before.
I have never been choked by anyone before, either.
I blackout with rage, losing myself.
I am no longer human.
I am fire.
I want to burn her.
I want to make her scream in pain.
I want to watch her writhe on the ground.
I want to watch her hurt.
And then I pull away.
I become water, flowing away from her.
I will not let the fire of my anger consume me.
I am still furious, seething, burning.
But a stream of my consciousness cools me.
For I will have many battles in my life,
some I will win and some I will lose.
Some I may simply walk away from,
and others I might not be so calm.
But in the end,
the greatest battle I will ever face
is against myself.


Fuck that shit.
I should've hit her.
I should've hit her until my knuckles were raw.
I should've hit her until she hit back,
and others joined the fight,
and I was hit so hard I couldn't see.
I should've hit her until I fell down.
I should've hit her until I puked,
puked up all the filth inside of me.
The dirt is weighing down my stomach,
thickening my blood.
I need to burn it out of me,
and only the fire of my rage can do that.
So yes, I may now feel holy,
for I was the ‘bigger person'
and walked away from the whale,
but I am unsatisfied.
I am left with itching fingers
and eyes that still flash red.
It has been six years since I felt like this.
I thought that girl was dead.
But I was wrong, because I was her again.
I wanted to hurt, wanted to taste blood.
I wanted to taste my own hurt, my own blood.
I should've hit her,
but by holding myself back,
I buried the devil inside of me once and for all.


I wish he would stop saying sorry. I wish he would realize I'm glad he called me, and that he should only be sorry for not calling me sooner. Friendship is never a burden, and I want to hear his problems. In a sick way, I want to hear that he tried to kill himself, that he might try again. At least now I can try to do something. I can try to help, even though I am halfway across the country. I would fly to him now if he asked. I would forget school for a week and see him. Are grades more important than a life? He's dying right now. His life is killing him. I told him he needs change, but he won't listen. He's too afraid to disappoint his parents and his friends. But what's disappointment compared to grief? I don't know what to say, what to tell him to make it better. Part of me is angry with him. Furious. I want to scream at him, tell him he's being selfish, stupid, and desperate. But I hold my tongue. He needs a friend now, not a lecture.


What the fucked happened?
Where did we all go wrong?
I feel like I'm spinning, unable to get a grip
Is the world a blur,
Or am I simply blind.
Or maybe I just haven't learned how to see.
So if I open my eyes real wide,
And glue them open with vodka,
Will it all make sense?
My stomach, filled, tells me it will.
It tells me that every sip will improve my vision.
With every swig I will see more of my life.
It is nothing.
Hollow.
Empty.
Just like my soul.
I am trapped in a life I don't believe,
Stuck in a society I look down upon.
Give me that apple, that sin.
I want to burn the cross,
Rub the flag in the mud.
I want to deny it all, to force out all I have been taught to believe.
Of all the things they teach us in school,
Why do they not teach us how to live?
Why don't they tell me how to make my life worthwhile.
I know I should find it on my own, but that seems impossible.
Instead I'm forced into college, into summer jobs, into grad school.
I'm forced into conforming,
When the only thing I want to do is break away.
Break away from my own hypocrisy.
I am the biggest fool of all,
For I fool myself.
I trick myself into believing that I am special,
I have hidden depths that others will never understand
Bullshit.
I am shallow, like a puddle.
My soul will never be compared with the ocean.
I am simple to understand.
Confused
Desperate
Lost
Lonely
Drunk
That is all I am.
There is nothing more to understand,
No greater meaning to it all.
I am a vapid, simple person.
I want to be more than a wave.
I want to be the moon, driving the waves.
I want to be the sun, lighting the world.
I want to live.
I want to understand my life.
I want to live, and understand my life, without a bottle in hand.
I want to be sober.


He tried to kill himself
And had he succeeded,
Would I have ever known?
What hurts the most is that he never told me.
I had to find out from a minor acquaintance of his,
My very own sister.
I was his best friend.
It feels like a knife has been plunged into my chest.
Even if I wanted to, I can't breathe.
Just as he had, I want to die.
I want to curl into myself and never escape.
How could he do this to me?


I'm tired of being drunk.
I'm tired of making my throat burn,
Making my hurt burn.
I want to burn it all at once,
Consume all of my emotions in a pillar of flames.
I want to go down in flames, rather than fade away.
I refuse to live a normal life.
Something about me has to be special.
Maybe if I were skinner, prettier, friendlier, nicer.
Maybe if I were perfect.
Yes, that must be it.
I drink to make myself perfect.
Only right now, after drinking so much,
I feel far from perfect. I feel totally, completely fucked.
I feel like a failure.
And what's worse?
I'm beginning to do more than think:
I'm beginning to believe I'm a failure.