Tonight is the first night I haven’t waited up for you.
If you felt the same, I would have heard by now.
I feel on the edge of something big.
The unknown ended too abruptly.
There is no label or definition for what we were.
I feel like I need to know what you are feeling.
Am I the last thing on your mind right now?
When you have been my first for weeks.
Will that change, maybe.
Do I want it to? No.
I wish it could be easy.
I wish that time would make it more effortless, the way I know it could be.
But it won’t ever be easy for us and I can’t see a time when it will work.
If you felt the same, I would have heard by now.
I feel on the edge of something big.
The unknown ended too abruptly.
There is no label or definition for what we were.
I feel like I need to know what you are feeling.
Am I the last thing on your mind right now?
When you have been my first for weeks.
Will that change, maybe.
Do I want it to? No.
I wish it could be easy.
I wish that time would make it more effortless, the way I know it could be.
But it won’t ever be easy for us and I can’t see a time when it will work.
All I know is that I could love you and feel safe.
And coming from me this means the world.
In every moment that hangs in time,
And with every breath I inhale,
I feel the distance.
The air remains in my lungs,
It sits.
Resting.
The constant weight of a reminder.
You're not here.
A feeling; I should have never let you go with these things left unsaid.
We are the tip of an iceberg.
We are potential, and possibility, but on a tight rope.
I'm trying to hold onto this before it fades.
I'm thinking forward to that day when I can breathe out.
Wishing it was tomorrow.
Hoping that it still feels the same.
Glove.
And I want to know if you'd miss me,
If my tomorrow didn't come.
Would you notice the space where I used to be?
Like a see through cardboard cut out; in the room but still so vague.
Would you feel the shift in the air if my footsteps didn't fall where they would have if I was still around?
Would you remember and regret?
Would you allow yourself to forget?
And if tomorrow I just stopped,
Would you stop yourself too?
Maybe you would wish our time better spent,
But I won't know until I'm gone.
So for now I will just answer for myself.
One day I will sense belonging;
But not until I'm gone.
If my tomorrow didn't come.
Would you notice the space where I used to be?
Like a see through cardboard cut out; in the room but still so vague.
Would you feel the shift in the air if my footsteps didn't fall where they would have if I was still around?
Would you remember and regret?
Would you allow yourself to forget?
And if tomorrow I just stopped,
Would you stop yourself too?
Maybe you would wish our time better spent,
But I won't know until I'm gone.
So for now I will just answer for myself.
One day I will sense belonging;
But not until I'm gone.
Everyone has things that they would change if they could.
Little things, big things, things that would drastically alter the day to day workings of life as we know it.
This is just a little thing, but I think it might be too late to change it, I don’t know.
What I do know is that we were good, you and me.
We were a good team, I thought.
We were too similar.
I wish that I hadn’t cared so much as to push you away and to test you.
Even though you failed and didn’t fight for me I don’t care.
I just want you back so that feeling I have of being replaced and of being nothing would go away.
You won’t see this, because despite being too much the same we are worlds apart.
But either way, I miss you just the same.
Little things, big things, things that would drastically alter the day to day workings of life as we know it.
This is just a little thing, but I think it might be too late to change it, I don’t know.
What I do know is that we were good, you and me.
We were a good team, I thought.
We were too similar.
I wish that I hadn’t cared so much as to push you away and to test you.
Even though you failed and didn’t fight for me I don’t care.
I just want you back so that feeling I have of being replaced and of being nothing would go away.
You won’t see this, because despite being too much the same we are worlds apart.
But either way, I miss you just the same.
250311
Too many tears have been shed from this prison, but they are in vain as nothing can change.
Lining the walls with paper to free myself seems too much like padding a cell.
Lining the walls with paper to free myself seems too much like padding a cell.
A Summary of 289 Days
Deleting more characters than I am actually writing tells me that I am lost.
It tells me that I don’t know or like what I have become but I know that I have said I will change before.
I guess Im still here to show you that I haven't and that I can’t.
After everything that I have been through in my 20 years of existence you think I would amount to more.
Maybe what I amount to shouldn’t matter.
Maybe I should measure my worth in the ratio of laughter to tears but the pathetic thing is I know what one would be greater.
Does greatness matter?
What matters?
I want someone to tell me what matters.
I need to know what matters.
Sometimes the burning behind my eyelids keeps me from sleep.
Sometimes when I lay still I can feel like I’m floating.
Sometimes, if I think hard enough I can pretend that there is nothing around me.
Sometimes in the darkness I forget.
It tells me that I don’t know or like what I have become but I know that I have said I will change before.
I guess Im still here to show you that I haven't and that I can’t.
After everything that I have been through in my 20 years of existence you think I would amount to more.
Maybe what I amount to shouldn’t matter.
Maybe I should measure my worth in the ratio of laughter to tears but the pathetic thing is I know what one would be greater.
Does greatness matter?
What matters?
I want someone to tell me what matters.
I need to know what matters.
Sometimes the burning behind my eyelids keeps me from sleep.
Sometimes when I lay still I can feel like I’m floating.
Sometimes, if I think hard enough I can pretend that there is nothing around me.
Sometimes in the darkness I forget.
These words are nothing.
These words aren't all of me.
I don't want this to be all of me.
These words aren't all of me.
I don't want this to be all of me.
I'm a songbird, and I need to sing.
Don't take these words from me and leave me mute.
I'm a free bird, and I need to fly.
Don't clip my wings and tie me down.
I'm a love bird, and I need my heart.
Don't break it and take its beat.
I'm a bird trapped in a cage of ribs and my wings flutter like a heart.
I'm weighed down by layers of blankets like skin and they stop my song.
When butterflies like lips pass by and touch my window like face I feel like a feather that's lightheaded.
Crack the shell and let me fly away.
My feathers are faded and I need the light.
I want someone to cook dinner with, drinking wine out the bottle.
and I want someone to dance with, when it rains and mud spatters our clothes.
I want someone to cuddle under a blanket whilst drinking tea.
and I want someone to walk with, under the stars in the dead of night.
I want someone to hold my hand, and show me it's okay to fall.
and I want to feel that gentleness, that fragility of a true embrace.
I want the laughs, the highs, the movie moments.
and most of all, I want it to be effortless.
You sold out on me.
You give me butterflies, but they aren't the good kind anymore.
They are the empty kind. The kind when there's no lining on the insides because you took it all away.
Such a small part of me, yet right now it seems so great.
I didn't even know you had it.
You once were like me, different and strange and I liked you, because you were like me.
You made me feel not so alone.
But you sold out. You're just like the rest now, following the crowd, and with something beautiful on your arm to show for it.
Well, I hope its worth it boy.
I hope you like your glory.
Maybe one day you'll realise that it's all hollow.
Then again; I think you'll still pick that beauty and that glory over me.
They are the empty kind. The kind when there's no lining on the insides because you took it all away.
Such a small part of me, yet right now it seems so great.
I didn't even know you had it.
You once were like me, different and strange and I liked you, because you were like me.
You made me feel not so alone.
But you sold out. You're just like the rest now, following the crowd, and with something beautiful on your arm to show for it.
Well, I hope its worth it boy.
I hope you like your glory.
Maybe one day you'll realise that it's all hollow.
Then again; I think you'll still pick that beauty and that glory over me.
I feel so old, old beyond my years.
I am fed up of being lonely.
Fed up of sitting alone and thinking.
I know who i want to be but that person is forever out of reach.
I want to feel loved again and I want to stop being afraid of love.
I want to feel weightless, not burdened by things that I shouldn't be thinking of.
Frozen heart.
Stopped in time, slowed by hurt.
What do I want?
I am pretentious, I am alone. I am lonely.
And I know she’s who I am.
She’s me but slightly altered, and that makes me feel numb.
But you're the one who I resent, and you're the one who changed.
Even if the me that was with you then is different but the same.
No doubt she’s in the clothes I wore,
and lying where I lay.
And hearing words you said to me,
nearly every single day.
And I hate you for hating me and I can’t put into words,
how much you've changed who I am and how much this all hurts.
Still most of me just doesn't care, and wishes you were gone.
Because when I see these images, it just seems strange and wrong.
I used to be the one with you though I don't want that now,
I don't want to talk, or see your face, but I have no choice.
I'm scared to let my guards down because of what you did.
I am scared to be hurt, scared to lay myself bare and it’s all because of you.
I can’t forgive you and I won’t, for this fear runs through and through.
Out of Sight, Out of Mind.
A kiss on the forehead, and unwanted attention.
The result of the disposal of attention desired.
More freedom, more choice, more reason and logic.
More time to be myself and to make the most of everything.
But now freedom feels vast, hollow and limitless,
and the opportunities for choices come by less often.
Reason and logic still stand dominant, but this persistent emptiness follows, and here it remains.
Once again, I feel small.
Insignificant, and here for the taking.
No stands for nothing and I am not heard.
Once again, I feel worthless.
But who am I to complain of this, I sold my valuables away for this..
Who am I to complain?
The result of the disposal of attention desired.
More freedom, more choice, more reason and logic.
More time to be myself and to make the most of everything.
But now freedom feels vast, hollow and limitless,
and the opportunities for choices come by less often.
Reason and logic still stand dominant, but this persistent emptiness follows, and here it remains.
Once again, I feel small.
Insignificant, and here for the taking.
No stands for nothing and I am not heard.
Once again, I feel worthless.
But who am I to complain of this, I sold my valuables away for this..
Who am I to complain?
The Last Kiss
She sits and stares into the mirror.
As she blinks a new wrinkle falls round her eyes.
Behind her in the bed lays her other incomplete half.
Him unaware of her pain, a tear falls down her cheek.
Stuck in a rut and her thoughts elsewhere.
Distraction is all the rage these days, and she will seek it where she can.
How long can she put off the touch, and the emotion?
What do you say when whats desired by all is not wanted by you?
Juggling has never been a talent of hers and she's dropping the balls.
Which ones to keep in air are no longer her choice.
How long can she sit here;
Watching time fly past.
How long can she sit there?
As she blinks a new wrinkle falls round her eyes.
Behind her in the bed lays her other incomplete half.
Him unaware of her pain, a tear falls down her cheek.
Stuck in a rut and her thoughts elsewhere.
Distraction is all the rage these days, and she will seek it where she can.
How long can she put off the touch, and the emotion?
What do you say when whats desired by all is not wanted by you?
Juggling has never been a talent of hers and she's dropping the balls.
Which ones to keep in air are no longer her choice.
How long can she sit here;
Watching time fly past.
How long can she sit there?
My Confusion, The Universe and Blood.
Laying here with my hand on my neck, I can feel the slow and steady, constant flow of my blood.
It reminds me I'm alive. It reminds me that I'm not just human on the surface.
I am bone, sinew, tendon, flesh and cells.
Each pump of blood keeps me working like a machine.
When we are the most complex and complicated machine known to man, known to this world, how can we merely call ourselves human?
Human versus Machine, such a difference, yet so the same.
Are all feelings individual and unique? Other machines have felt as much as we, they relate. Our networks interlink.
How can we say we are human when a seemingly spontaneous choice of path has been previously walked? Has been programmed into us, into others.
How is it that I have felt like this before? Will I feel like this again?
Am I wrong? And am I different? Or will we all feel this way?
Why is it that when I feel the blood pulsing through my veins, my heart and my body that I feel less human, and more like a machine?
Why is it that the world as I feel it vanishes beneath me leaving me with only the beat of my heart. I feel inconsequential, small and lost, unnoticed. Yet at the same time I feel that all of this is out of my hands, and that none of it is within my control.
None of this is my fault.
Alongside DNA feelings and choices and the paths we take are what make us individual, yet others before me have made the same choices, what distinguishes me from them?
With every beat of my young and unsure heart my choices and decisions seem not to be my own but in the hands of someone else; this comforts me.
Does this bring me on to a 'God', a 'Creator'? Have our lives and has this world been mapped out like software on a computer? Are we all just walking hardware?
Perhaps I am pondering the meaning of life, or how we came into existence.
Or perhaps I am finally realising there is so much more to this world than I thought.
I am realising that the complexity behind a simple choice or decision, and the million and one combinations of emotions and feelings are just as profound and as intricate as our genetic make up.
On the surface I see simply skin, but underneath I feel it all move; I feel my body working I feel the cells grow and expand, pulse, twitch, circulate and respire.
I feel it all happening, and I know I'm not controlling it.
Existence is out of my hands.
How can all this be happening within me and yet I am unable to make a conscious decision to simply switch off?
How can this machine of life, with no power switch, be compared to any of the greatest machines and inventions of all time?
Yet what is confusion? A virus, some rust in the machinery?
How can not knowing what to do bring all this thought?
I guess I want to know who is responsible. For me, for everyone, for being human.
If I made a decision that hurt someone, is it really my fault?
Who is in control? The choice or the human?
How can the worlds greatest machine manage to keep going through it all, but fail to find clarity at any given point?
How can the worlds greatest machine fail to make a simple choice?
Is it the perfections that make us human, or is it the imperfections?
Humans all make choices, but some find it harder than other, is this humanity?
Perhaps it's not the ability to make a choice that defines us as beings or as a race, but the inability to make a choice.
The confusion, the haziness, the unbalanced scales.
After unintentionally pondering the big questions to no avail, the answer to my smaller queries is seemingly more lost than before.
Confusion has led to more confusion, and as I feel my heart beat, and marvel at my mechanics,
I have no answer.
I have no point.
And at this moment in time,
I ponder it all.
It reminds me I'm alive. It reminds me that I'm not just human on the surface.
I am bone, sinew, tendon, flesh and cells.
Each pump of blood keeps me working like a machine.
When we are the most complex and complicated machine known to man, known to this world, how can we merely call ourselves human?
Human versus Machine, such a difference, yet so the same.
Are all feelings individual and unique? Other machines have felt as much as we, they relate. Our networks interlink.
How can we say we are human when a seemingly spontaneous choice of path has been previously walked? Has been programmed into us, into others.
How is it that I have felt like this before? Will I feel like this again?
Am I wrong? And am I different? Or will we all feel this way?
Why is it that when I feel the blood pulsing through my veins, my heart and my body that I feel less human, and more like a machine?
Why is it that the world as I feel it vanishes beneath me leaving me with only the beat of my heart. I feel inconsequential, small and lost, unnoticed. Yet at the same time I feel that all of this is out of my hands, and that none of it is within my control.
None of this is my fault.
Alongside DNA feelings and choices and the paths we take are what make us individual, yet others before me have made the same choices, what distinguishes me from them?
With every beat of my young and unsure heart my choices and decisions seem not to be my own but in the hands of someone else; this comforts me.
Does this bring me on to a 'God', a 'Creator'? Have our lives and has this world been mapped out like software on a computer? Are we all just walking hardware?
Perhaps I am pondering the meaning of life, or how we came into existence.
Or perhaps I am finally realising there is so much more to this world than I thought.
I am realising that the complexity behind a simple choice or decision, and the million and one combinations of emotions and feelings are just as profound and as intricate as our genetic make up.
On the surface I see simply skin, but underneath I feel it all move; I feel my body working I feel the cells grow and expand, pulse, twitch, circulate and respire.
I feel it all happening, and I know I'm not controlling it.
Existence is out of my hands.
How can all this be happening within me and yet I am unable to make a conscious decision to simply switch off?
How can this machine of life, with no power switch, be compared to any of the greatest machines and inventions of all time?
Yet what is confusion? A virus, some rust in the machinery?
How can not knowing what to do bring all this thought?
I guess I want to know who is responsible. For me, for everyone, for being human.
If I made a decision that hurt someone, is it really my fault?
Who is in control? The choice or the human?
How can the worlds greatest machine manage to keep going through it all, but fail to find clarity at any given point?
How can the worlds greatest machine fail to make a simple choice?
Is it the perfections that make us human, or is it the imperfections?
Humans all make choices, but some find it harder than other, is this humanity?
Perhaps it's not the ability to make a choice that defines us as beings or as a race, but the inability to make a choice.
The confusion, the haziness, the unbalanced scales.
After unintentionally pondering the big questions to no avail, the answer to my smaller queries is seemingly more lost than before.
Confusion has led to more confusion, and as I feel my heart beat, and marvel at my mechanics,
I have no answer.
I have no point.
And at this moment in time,
I ponder it all.
Times Change
Its amazing how things literally can change overnight..
And I want to write and write, but the words don't even come anymore.
Everythings turned upside down and I am finding it so hard to adjust and find out where I actually want to be..
And I want to write and write, but the words don't even come anymore.
Everythings turned upside down and I am finding it so hard to adjust and find out where I actually want to be..
So what do you do, when one half of you is completely and utterly idyllically happy, and the other wants to run for the hills?
I want to hide and shine at the same time and I want things to be able to happen when I want them to, I don't want to wait.
What do you do when you cant let go?
And when something makes you feel sick to your stomach every time you see it, or them, or her, by some obscene power it has a hold over you, an unbreakable heavy hold?
What do you do when you want to work for something, so much, but you're too lazy?
Or, you try so hard, but you always cave in?
How is that dedication.
How is that WANTING something.
What do you do when you're stuck inside a person, a shell, that on the outside makes you want to cry, but whatever's on the inside is happy enough to not do anything.
I think with you, I can he happy and perfect, but when you're gone I'm left with the outside shell.
It's not a question of 'How can I do this without you?'
But, 'How can I do this with you?'
3/3
I look into her green eyes and wonder how someone so familliar can be so foreign to me.
I can see the cigarette burns on her clothes. The cuts on her legs.
She's paler than normal. I know she's tired, and I know she feels the strain.
She tells me this often.
Right now we are at two different stations.
I'm standing on platform at Angel, heading north-bound.
She's slouching against the barriers at Crossharbour in ripped tights, smoking a joint.
Just waiting; her train came off the rails.
I can see passion in her eyes, but its not for the good things.
It's for poisons and toxins; flesh and substance.
The night to my day; she's full of sex drugs rock and roll.
I've tried over and over to make her see what I see, but some feelings can't be harnessed for the better.
I want her to be more like me, I know life would become more simple then.
Part of me wishes I didnt know her.
Part of me wishes it was just me, alone.
But we come as a pair and we co-exist. This will always be set in stone.
From day one we battled with eachother, who was older.
Who was stronger, who was the more honest.
Who is more genuine?
I stand here looking at her, with the scars on my arms from the mistakes she has made.
I'm not to blame, but it's my fault. She's my fault.
Still, I will take it out on me, I always will.
Our blood and pain will always be shared.
It's hard to forget, but I try.
Each time I see this.
I think this is the last time, the sunset to sunrise, but I'm never right.
This is my goodbye.
I see her; a partially broken being; roughed up, incomplete, lost and confused.
Each time I wonder if things will ever change.
I wonder if they will get easier.
I wonder when it will stop being me and her, and will just become us.
Perhaps it will become either/or.
Each time I see her, I pity her.
Then I shut my eyes. Breathe in, tell myself that this is me.
Then I walk away from the mirror.
I can see the cigarette burns on her clothes. The cuts on her legs.
She's paler than normal. I know she's tired, and I know she feels the strain.
She tells me this often.
Right now we are at two different stations.
I'm standing on platform at Angel, heading north-bound.
She's slouching against the barriers at Crossharbour in ripped tights, smoking a joint.
Just waiting; her train came off the rails.
I can see passion in her eyes, but its not for the good things.
It's for poisons and toxins; flesh and substance.
The night to my day; she's full of sex drugs rock and roll.
I've tried over and over to make her see what I see, but some feelings can't be harnessed for the better.
I want her to be more like me, I know life would become more simple then.
Part of me wishes I didnt know her.
Part of me wishes it was just me, alone.
But we come as a pair and we co-exist. This will always be set in stone.
From day one we battled with eachother, who was older.
Who was stronger, who was the more honest.
Who is more genuine?
I stand here looking at her, with the scars on my arms from the mistakes she has made.
I'm not to blame, but it's my fault. She's my fault.
Still, I will take it out on me, I always will.
Our blood and pain will always be shared.
It's hard to forget, but I try.
Each time I see this.
I think this is the last time, the sunset to sunrise, but I'm never right.
This is my goodbye.
I see her; a partially broken being; roughed up, incomplete, lost and confused.
Each time I wonder if things will ever change.
I wonder if they will get easier.
I wonder when it will stop being me and her, and will just become us.
Perhaps it will become either/or.
Each time I see her, I pity her.
Then I shut my eyes. Breathe in, tell myself that this is me.
Then I walk away from the mirror.
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