Happiness is a lie manufactured by all, only figured out by some. Back Home
When you fall in love you're left with a false sense of relief. As if your life can now be complete. Everything's whole and forever secure. But no one has ever admitted the truth--that falling in love means having every piece of your once empty soul slowly removed one by one, and placed neatly in front of you--so that you can plainly see what's becoming of you, but since it's so neatly arranged you deny the pain that the removal of these pieces is causing. You deny the pain until you wake up one day and stumble across the truth--You. You inevitably stumbled on your neatly stacked, shattered version of yourself. You spill the pieces and cause a mess of your sanity, making you utterly repulsive to even be looked at by yourself--let alone another person. You've fallen in love but broken your mind; and who wants to be loved by a broken mind?
Loneliness inevitable--Happiness deniable.
I wonder why everyone else in the world seems to have found everything they're looking for. Have they? Or are they just much better than I am at putting on the act of contentment? If it's so, than how do I learn? And would that be the answer to all my problems?
marlboro menthol light 100's
The tip burns slowly, forever reminding me of our inevitable descent into complete burn-out. The smoke curls out and around my mouth letting me never forget how many times I'd wished I could have held you instead of yelling at you, sending us down our slow but soon to end path. We'd flick away the harsh words said and numerous tears shed, just like the ashes that pile up around my feet now. We thought the dismissal of those words would fix our withering future, but it was too late. The burning hot red of love only lasts when away from my flammable mind. I lit the last cigartte of our dying existance under the assumption that there would always be another chance to save the smoke. I breathed you out for the last time and it's left me wounded still. My mind will always crave one more.
I was crazy for being in love with such a broken soul. I was crazy for thinking I could mend it, as well as my own. I think being crazy was the only sane thing life could hand me.
I can't love you because I can't even love myself. I stare blankly at the white walls of my room and realize that I'm as bare as you--maybe worse.
Can I ever live a day without wondering what a life we once created? Can you ever mean an enternity to such a simple mind?--A life once so meaningful should never be thrown away--only set aside for a time when you'll need the sanity of the insane: forever admiring your beautiful mouth, that I can only look upon with the wonder of how perfect it is and always will be. An eternity would never be enough. Take everything for what you will, but please don't take away my everything--my driving will is all I have left.
I sit in my driveway waiting for him to show up. I blow the smoke out at the night air and it causes the reflection of metal off the lamp near my stairs. I wonder how long I can sit here and watch it, until I finally realize that it will never be your silhouette coming back for me. His car pulls into the driveway, he gets out, walks over and kisses me in greeting. I cringe, in hopes that maybe one day that could be your body in front of me; needing me to the point of agony. But my body is ugly and frail to your hauntingly dark, yet so breathtakingly amazing eyes. Somewhere, sometime, I swear to you--I will be what no one thougth I was, and caress your face with my hand and tell you that you're the only thing I can love in this apathetic but gruesome dream that I laughingly call my life. You're all I can ever risk dying for. Your love has the power to kill--so I willingly place the cold metal of the gun barrel against my temple and pray for the courage to be set free.
Love me for everything I'm not, and I'll hate you for everything I will always be.
Take me away to a place so unreal--where I can melt away into nothingness and still be sublimely happy knowing that my withering and dripping soul can rest in a spot protected only by your apathy: Your ungodly ways suit all my needs. It's a fucked world that thrives on the emptiness of unjustified love, but shuns away the obvious and perfect fate that still eludes me now. Well fuck it--I'm happy being your distasteful past. Maybe one day I'll have the pleasure of fucking your future as well.
Too beautiful to ever obtain--Ugliness lies only in your hands that touched me once and never will again.
I hope I step all over the glass on the floor, and it cuts my feet up so bad that I bleed all over the wooden tiles. I hope I bleed to death on the ground and nobody finds me for days. Nobody misses me either. If I'm dead I can't be less than what you wanted because I wouldn't even exist. I'd be nothing but a decaying bloody mass of flesh that you once called by a name; Naive. Now you won't ever have to compare me to her, because she was always so much prettier than me anyways. I'm just rotting on the floor, wishing that my last dying breaths could have been ones filled with love--from you. I guess if you live by your name you die by it too. I wish my bloody lips could have kissed you goodbye. It's a shame you never cared enough to say hello.
I hate these useless people. There's way too many of them. They think that just because they have bigger shoes that I'm scared. Get real. Your shoes are fuckin ugly as hell. Burn them. Maybe it'll set fire to the remainder of your reality as well.
All you ever did to me was lie. You pulled my lifeless weight along until it hurt and bruised my body to the point of feeling. All you ever wanted from me was emotion, and once you got enough you tossed me aside to be trampled on by your completely fucked ego. I wasted 8 months of my life on you. I put some fuckin effort into how you felt--all you did for me was shove the knife deeper and deeper in my back. After a while you shoved it in so far that all that was left to do was twist it in even more, causing the blood to pour out. I think maybe it got on your hands--staining your clothes a bit. You can't remove blood, a tiny impression will always be left. You may not ever care about me, but my memory will always be embedded in your brain. Go fuck your wonderful girlfriend. I hope you're with her forever. You two can lead very miserable, pathetic lives. I'll always be so much better than you. I'll always be surrounded by people better than you. One day you'll wake up and miss me, and than I will have the priveladge of telling you just how fucking worthless you are. Your life was better with me--my life will always be so much easier without you. One day you'll grow up and realize waht you fucked with. There are no such things as second chances.
I looked inside and they were all insane. Millions of them, all seeking the same goal; conformity. Conform to the silence. Realize how crazy you are. Lock me away because I sit outside banging pots and pans, picking at the blades of grass that tickle my knees.
Millions of you will never equal me--one of you equals sanity; two-comfort.
The grass just piles up around my feet, and my hands hurt from those fuckin pots.
Maybe I should stop.
Millions of you--all insane.
You always determine how he feels. His transparent heart means nothing real. You twist it around and play it off like you never knew how to steal.
dream of a fucked past
My broken mouth reached out for yours and found a bottle that cut my lips. My fingers only wanted to touch your neck and feel the life flowing in and out of you, so that I would know just when to let go before you'd have a chance to run away again. My cold, dead face can feel the light touch of your lips feathering across mine. It's hours that I sit like this melting away into nothingness. It feels good. I guess you finally gave into your Satan and pressed your numbed mouth against mine. And in those few seconds I had uncovered myself from my dirt-covered tomb.
I want what I think I have because it hurts.
Completely and utterly ematiated in your presence. Lost, because you are exactly what I need, showing up at the time I need to get away from my pathetically materialistically driven life. If you are considered all things material than I would forever be superficial to maintain the ability to hold your addicting gaze.
I deny it all to you. I supply it all to you. The night will burn whenever you touch it. Your fingers fall off because the sky wasn't dark enough. I guess I'll just turn off a few more lights until you can see through my head. If you miss me I'd be suprised at your emotion. You can feel? I guess I learn something new everyday. When can I learn your heart?
"Are you happy?" he said. "You don't seem it."
"Are you sure--ya know, are you having fun?"
Walk some more. Take a quick hit. Walk some more. All thoughts enticing No. Walk in the driveway. Flick away your cigarette. Open the door. All thoughts still enticing No.
Walk up the stairs. Lay down in bed, feeling the pillows sink around my heavy head, pulling at my mind that wishes to be shut off forever. Blank ceiling.
"Keep your room clean." Another meaningless act of making life seem so fucking worthwhile.
Blank ceiling again.
All signs still point to No.
I don't see into your lies.
Why is it so hard to understand the reality of a situation? Your mind constantly rehearses all the different outcomes: good, bad. All that stays visible, though, are the terrible misfortunes of fucked pasts gone awry. I think I need a second away from this stupid way of life to realize what I want, even though I already know. I want your feelings to always be there. If they aren't I'll have to start over, just like I've done so many times before; but this time around you can't be there to pick up the pieces--you'll have been the one who's broken them.
It all lingers on the moment of silence. Words no longer make sense. Jumbled together, drowned out in alcohol. The risk it seems is so much more when influenced by my sober mind. It happened anyways. It changed everything. I say fuck it to the past, and hope I stepped in blindly. I don't wanna see the "what if's" and the "don'ts". I only wanna hear you whisper softly in my ear and know it's what you truly mean.
I wanna fall asleep and die. I wanna dream myself into death. If I dream about my death I want there to be lots and lots of stars falling out of the sky and crashing to the ground, leaving behind a trail of gold and blue dust that I can lick up, only to later realize that it was made of poison. I think that's how I wanna die. Living in a fantasy to the last moment.
Welcome to the nuthouse.
I didn't do it because I didn't have time. The blade wasn't sharp enough. I wanted to, but I didn't because of excuses. Wasteful excuses that shouldn't have gotten in the way. Maybe that's my answer.
I hate the way you think you can justify all my thoughts and words as if they were written on a chalkboard that you can erase whenever your views don't agree with mine. You think it's disgusting the way I'm left happy when I'm not with you. You were always the mistake. I wish you could throw the eraser out and learn to write on your own board.
PIECE OF SHIT
I guess while he sits at the computer,staring blankly at the screen, I wonder if there are words to describe how everything in his entire make-up is perfect to me--in a way that I wish could be matched. Perfection is the last thing on earth I could ever possess, and that's why I am at a loss for explanation of how this one person could be born so flawless. All I ever wanna do when he's around is lay on his bed, hold him, look into his eyes, and pray that he sees some flicker of hope that I could one day gain the perfection that I already see in him. In a way, it makes me feel like I have something to live for; Wanting to be everything that he wants and needs (but only with the faint realization that complete fulfillment is probably something that I could only hope to provide). I've always been shitty with aspirations. I do love him, though--so much. I try so hard to be all I could ever hope he'd still love. Without him life is just this meaningless, repetetive void that kills me slower and slower every day, making the hurt last as long as it possibly can.
The child whore looks down upon the green world and waves her hand at the sky. She causes the rain that makes me smile, but she can stop it before I reach happiness. The child whore is dressed in rags, but they look so beautiful on her. Her dirty hair falls across her eyes and she seductively laughs at us all. She's so much smarter than I'll ever be. The child whore can watch all our lives and see that they are worth nothing. She chops up her fingers and ceases to please anyone else but herself. The beauty this child whore holds in her lips is more than possessed by the world. She knows she can't stay, she's worn out her welcome. There's not enough love on this earth for her beautiful face. So with the knife to her wrists she steals all the tears, but she never could change my love.
Happiness is a lie manufactured by all, only figured out by some.