im so stupid.

it would take forever to explain.
weak, stupid, and pathetic come to mind right now.
i saw an episode of futurama tonight that made me want to cry.
i never saw it before.
he would wait forever.
and he di(e)d.
waiting.
wouldnt it be crazy if someone wanted to wait for me?
i dont deserve that.
but fuck me if it wouldnt be nice.
my head is filled with watermelon and my throat burns.
i want to be better than this.
i wish someone else wanted me to be better than this.
maybe then id have a reason to change.
but who could ever care enough for a sad fuck like me?
theyre out there i hope/know.
and ill wait forever for them.

the sweet irony.

how everything thats got you crazy has got me crazy over you.
why would you ever want to fix a feeling thats selling so well?
it feels like a full moon night, even though the skys lit with a simple grin.
id get my head in the game if only i felt like playing.
and ive been skipping my turns for so long.
i think im going to buy monopoly.
just so i can carry around a get out of jail free card.
you know. just in case.
i wish i could make more sense of this.
but thats just the way it goes.

p.s.

what an uneventful pity party.
i wish i could be special.
im probably not.
and i dont know what to make of that.

if its not broke, ill find a way.

anything that sounds sweet is sure to make your head sour.
the aftertaste of the aftermath.
much better off like this, right?
yeah. pretty much.
its kind of like a jekyll/hyde matter with me, the way my insides get warm from the excess that makes sobering thoughts all the more so, which makes me nostalgic for the warmth so that i wont be bothered by those thoughts.
total cycle of annihilation. working this long, at least.
i have imagined that my wooden box will be bordered with bottles. but not the ones with the alcohol volume in tiny print at the bottom. cause we all know thats so two months ago. replace the remnants of liquid courage with childproof lids. which, for the record, shouldnt be made to keep just kids out. tell me that they shouldnt come up with grown-up (or something like that...) proof caps. because its a much harder task to keep an adult out of a bottle than to keep a kid from getting in. serious face here.
finding and losing myself with every trip to the medicine cabinet.
but i could never go cold turkey. making it better always has the potential to make it worse.
i am a monster pretty much. and the only time i feel authentic is when im presenting a masterpiece of milligrams to the masses. going out of my mind with the same strange pills that keep me up to see tomorrow become today.
fucking pathetic.
lose friends. lose myself. lose touch. the trip is always more interesting than the destination. but none of this is getting me anywhere.
cause and effect.
trial and error.
more like crash and burn. then repeat.
its not wit. cause im not witty. more like a mantra that plays on long after the ship has hit the ocean floor.
expect disappointment.
embrace failure.
greet rejection with open arms. theyre the only thing keeping me company late at night.
good thoughts are only good for a walk-on, leaving me telling (myself) stories of when it didnt seem so bad.
the epitome of a storyteller but all ive got are recycled lines that ive been saying since day one.
none of this makes too much sense. but why would it ever. its all in my head after all. so of course it translates all wrong. told my friend the other day that life kind of feels like a whore lately. and even though i swore id abstain, it seems that ive been getting fucked for free. it sounded good enough at the time.
i honestly cant commit to anything. ever. and thinking too long on that is enough to make me feel like i should maybe commit myself. but padded walls could never keep me out of my head. like the way how just the idea of being here one more day freaks me out or how i get absurdly excited by the thought of that handful of release, let a few hit the floor just for dramatic effect. because i am obviously the consummate dramaddict.
cut down the sides and turn me inside out. this(that) pen just isnt doing enough damage anymore.
fix. me.
i really dont want to be the eternal trainwreck. i get tired of feeling like this and god knows that i will shut the door on every single attempt that dares try. i am the classic waste. stuck down in the its-already-been-done-before dumps.
the people.
the dependencies.
the over the counter highs.
the as-seen-from-the gutters lows.
the empty undreamed nights.
that fucking phone that never rings.
the way i cant say no.
the way saying yes makes me feel so useless.
the way i dont look forward to anything anymore.
i am nothing(.) more than an uncalculated disaster. and the pens and these keys only make it that much clearer.
i want may more than oxygen at this point. dont read into that too much.
kind of a drag that id never stand a chance at catching your eye.
i am only too good at filling in as the overdramatic fuck. always. i dont know why im still at this anymore. no clue who i am or whose borrowed life it feels like i am destroying.
dead end job.
dead___ friends.
dead en(e)d heart.
just dead. did i really miss all the detours to a better(sounding) state of mind? destined to remain bleak and despondent on all accounts until i find my spine, my nerve, anything that will pull me out of this.
call me a scientist, but less like rocket science and more like a chemist.
balancing side effects and documenting tolerances. piecing together the perfect equation to find that final nail to smash into my coffin. if im not getting it out here or on paper, it just stagnates and infiltrates otherwise productive thoughts.
taking sapshots of sunsets and purple clouds instead of friends.
this isnt right.this cant be it. ive perfected the role of the blue kid who is too fucking down (on herself) for her own fucking good. the one that serves to make you feel better by comparison. "so glad im not like that". and they are the ones that only have to deal with me in couple-hour increments. but i get it all the time. lucky me. but not so much.
everyday i give(up) a little more. and i have never been more serious when i say i dont think ill be making the annual status report if conditions do not improve. dont really think my heart is in it anymore. small doses dont stay small for too long. someone get me the hell out of here.
(no)love,
me.

so in my head.

im thinking about how much of a contradiction i may be right now.
lets be impartial and blame it on the lack of shuteye(s).
im burning the midnight oil with a lit cigarette in hand.
delirious, quite possibly.
but theres a smile hidden at the end of the straight face that were all accustomed to.
feeling put on the spot.
and im not quite sure what to do.
wake up the neighbors but not really.
hummingbird heartbeats.
i feel like i need to share this feeling with someone.
but as ive said before, all my friends are ghosts.
ill be spending the night with some familiar walls.
the world is too busy to pay attention when you have a good day.
and the bad ones always fall on deaf and disinterested ears.
the (bad)luck of the irish.
spring forward. fall back. its all a matter of time.

untold dangers of thinking and writing.

this seems to be all that im good for pretty much.
read. let it sink in. reflect in paraphrases.
someone let the words 'talented' and 'intelligent' slip through their lips the other day.
but dont worry. i could never be the big head type.
i honestly cant stand mostly everything you may/may not read.
but at this point, i couldnt stop if i wanted to.
its the cheapest form of therapy available to the minimum wage slaves.
and the only thing it will ever cost me is my rapidly dwindling grasp on the world and maybe all my friends.
im sure of that because ive seen the play in action. it never fails.
so i quit my establishment and moved to somewhere less noticeable. all the attention made me kinda nervous.
the only sure thing is the negative.
positives are there as a means of offering hope.
and hopeful and hopeless go hand in hand these days.
i found a fake rose on the side of the road today. and in classic fashion, i carried it home with me.
affections are disposable lately. and all the best intentions, honest and truer than all the others, are so easily discarded.
it takes more effort to realize that someone would be willing to care for a wreck like you than it does to find the underlying evidence on why they never really meant it in the first place.
and ive got a lifetime membership in the club for disappointment.
its never you. cause its always me.
lethal in the way i will shoot you down after i let you in.
i cant be bothered to have you bothering yourself over me.
you can tell yourself that you are not worth it is all you hear and your throat bleeds from the repetition.
and eventually you will believe every word. and will never be convince-able no matter who tries to make you see.
call it a phase. call it the residue of teenage invincibility and rebellion that just never went away.
but its a process and i am twenty one years into it. a turnaround isnt in the forecast for awhile.
i get lost in my own head more often than i get lost in eyes.
thinking about getting bread crumbs so maybe i could find my way out for once.
i just keep these keys clicking because its the onlything i know how to do.
i cant write about happiness. its out of character and the moment is usually gone before i can wite about how it feels.
so as of late, i have decided to keep my romantic options limited to words.
the writers of the past and the modern day poets that keep me looking inside for a shred of humanity.
i think i am defected. factory reject. and i just cant find it in me to make it right.
i dont know what i need, but i know what im lacking.
always saying that youll never meet anyone like me, but never mean it in a flattering way.
more like youd never want to meet someone like me cause im kind of a drag.
good moments are always for show.
keep the world off my cloud cause its stitched with fake smiles and your questions pull at the thread and leave me stuck in a rainy day state of mind.
if you(i) ever really knew what i was like, you wouldnt like me.
if you knew that i wanted to throw myself off a bridge at thirteen, with a little note and all, you wouldnt call it normal.
if you knew that i wanted to throw all this away at the age of fucking eight, youd call it the slowest suicide ever.
if you knew how i used to black out with the intent of never waking up, youd call me unhealthy.
blackouts are warning flags that one should slow down, and for me theyre a sign that im just not trying hard enough.
trying to give that up though, cause its only taken two years to build up a life of regrets.
and really, like i need to add the damage of my actions under the influence to already fucked up head/state/life.
this keyboard is my confessional booth cause i couldnt bear to hear the tinge of sadness in a priests tone.
not like religions my bag anyways.
i was the kid that thought heaven would be the most boring place ever. a bunch of people terrified of a god that theyve never seen but read about in books, living life without even really living just so you could get a good seat in the afterlife. but is it an afterlife if you never really lived.
i was the kid convinced that hell would be a blast. hell was like the place that all the cool kids went. kinda like a south park kind of hell before south park was even around. eternal detention over damnation. all the people that did what they wanted to. werent afraid to break rules.
this is long and longwinded. like anyone would read this and understand what im trying to say. im not too sure i even know what im trying to say. but this is how it goes in my head. keyboard or not.
this is my reason for loss of sleep. for loss of sanity.
i burn my bridges when im only halfway across them.
i hold grudges more than i hold hands.
i dream of times i never knew. hearts i never loved. and words that i never wrote.
its hard to look at myself and see ive made it this far. with so little to show for it, and so much lost.
almost ten years of hating myself and distancing myself is almost as normal as breathing by now.
all this time ive been dreading every tomorrow and its the reason for my lack of goals, and my lack of commitment, and my lack of maturity, cause who ever could have thought id still be here.
im stopping here cause if i dont then i wont stop writing. like at all.
sometimes i wish for a single set of eyes to see this and know that as alone as we both feel, were really not.
throw that into my pile of wasted time.

second chance at a first impression.

not that anyones reading or anything.
one. i look and act along younger than i am. it doesnt work in my favor too often.

two. if you met me, maybe you would like me. its the fifth and sixth impressions that will change your mind.

three. i have a bad habit of fucking up. alot.

four. there are a few people that would like to make sure i do not forget that.

five. i kiss more people than i should.

six. i sleep with less people than you may hear about.

seven. the rumor mill is always churning some kind of bad news about me. dont believe any of it.

eight. in love with words. pen to paper or texts only though. face to face and phone calls make me nervous.

nine. currently trying to be more and less than what everyone thinks of me.

ten. i internalize and overanalyze everything. it keeps me up at night. it keeps these keys singing.

eleven. im not too busy to answer your call. i kinda just do not want to talk to you. im sorry.

twelve. as soon as i let someone in, i start working on plans to push them away. blame my microscopic attention span.

thirteen. i will never talk about my family. some bridges will remain burnt beyond repair.

fourteen. i hate christmas. thanksgiving is not as bad, but its still a drag. blame thirteen.

fifteen. i have been dreaming up my funeral for years. so far i am convinced you should probably just skip it.

sixteen. right now i am swooning over the kids in my headphones. unattainable and unrequited. kind of perfect.

seventeen. i am trying to stop doing stupid things that i can control. drinking and whatnot just leaves me with a longer list of sorry notes to send out. i am still dealing with everything i fuck up when i am not under the influence.

eighteen. im tired of the polar options when i comes to me. love. hate. find the middle ground and care enough to not care too much. noone knows what its like to be friends anymore. its sucj a fucking drag.

nineteen. i am shy, secretive, immature, and forgettable. you should probably keep that in mind.

twenty. i always waste wishes on finding that person who gets all this. and still wants to give me a chance.

ive got more but twenty feels like a good place to stop.
youll see me more here than you did before. good or bad, i am still not sure.