that there was a way for me to put myself in your dreams.
That way I can tell you that I miss you, even when you are asleep and we can't talk.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
I wish
Friday, August 5, 2011
I am a ghost
and if it were to be told where I've been, you'd find yourself surprised.
I hide myself well.
I make it seem that I was never there.
Because I am most often a secret.
Now Playing: Caesura - Helios
Thursday, July 28, 2011
I am comfortable
with where I sit at this moment.
Confusing the lightning bugs with the stars.
Looking up from my place in the grass.
I feel you with me.
Your voice in the crickets' chirp.
I am alright.
Now Playing: Parrot Flies - Algernon Cadwallader.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Sleep, for me
is like the most elusive creature, something spoken of but never captured. A man possesses a grainy 35mm film strip of sleep and experts study it day and night questioning its validity.
I don't think it's real, but I want to believe in it.
There are four walls. There are two doors, two windows, two mirrors. One mattress resides in the room, on the floor in the corner. There are no curtains, there are no shelves, there is no comfort. You can't see the floor, there are too many clothes without homes. If you could, you would see years of stains, burns, and rips. The walls look weary, there are holes left from fists and feet, the door frame is a death trap from a time when I was young, I locked myself in and my father broke through. The electrical socket is pulled from the wall, a reminder that loud music was not accepted.
I never did get around to fixing things.
Maybe I leave them though, as a reminder of the past. I can look at them and remember the days before I gave up, before I lost hope, when I wanted to be different and prove something. I could tire myself out fighting for a purpose, exhaust myself with tears and swinging fists, weaken my voice with screams of defiance, and eventually, I would sleep.
The more I've grown, the more of myself I've lost. I understand that I don't sleep because I'm already asleep. I'm in a perpetual state of unconsciousness and apathy that lives like a giant fog surrounding me. From inside it seems unbreakable, almost inescapable, but it will lift someday. I will find my way out.
Now playing: Elliott Smith - Roman Candle
Sunday, March 13, 2011
It has been
far too long since I've written anything.
But this week has been nothing but awful, and I can't feel anything anymore.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
I would wake up
in the pouring rain every day for the rest of my life if just to bring you back.
I wasn't ready for this.
To everyone who said God took you and that was okay, then fuck them. I needed you more than he ever will.
I owe you for more things than anyone could count.
I wanted to repay you, I swore I'd be something and come back to take care of you.
For the last three days I've been screaming "fuck you" at the sky, sobbing into the grass, throwing fits and tantrums like the baby I feel that I am without you.
I hate every single person at that funeral home who wasn't on the floor in a heap with me.
Preacher man says, "This is just a test from God, Samantha." Yeah? Well fuck you, I'd repeat the second grade as long as I live if it meant I got to have her with me.
People talk about the day they found God, I'll talk about the day I lost faith in everything.
Now Playing; Hospice - The Antlers
This place
is godless, ghost infested. It's a fucking devil town if I've ever seen one. The people here walk around as if sunlight means nothing to them, like they don't believe in it, like they don't understand that without it they wouldn't exist. It's the most basic form being taken for granted, and if they cannot appreciate this, then they cannot appreciate anything. Yet they can treat some other being as their sun. A revolution of their emotion around something so unstable as another's emotion. But we do not see the sun. "Your heart is what makes mine beat," what a sick and terrifying proposition that we have put forth here. That does not exist, love does not exist for every reason that humanity does not exist. Ask people why they are alive and you will find a multitude of pseudo-meaningful excuses, every one of which at their core are based in water all of three inches deep. We are all so fucking shallow. We are shells of what was intended and then lost when the sun was forgotten.
Now Playing: Makers - Rocky Votolato
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