So this space in which I sit is an archive.
An archive of the dreams I have had and continue to have and those that have faded.
Material things that are the tools for my creative imagination to use.
There are a thousand beautiful images in my head that I will try and will have tried to put together in the physical world.
No one will sit here after my death and see the masterpiece in my head. They will see the disjointed half-finished remains of too much money spent and insufficient energy to make it a realization. A waste.
The paint will eventually spoil the thread will disintegrate and the beads will be scattered and lost.
Much like my mind.
My temporary archive is someone's future chore.
What a waste.
What a sorrow.
In my next life, I would like to be born free of the walls I cannot climb and water I cannot swim.
In my next life, I would like to be free of the walls I wish to leap from and the water I want to become still with.
When you look at the remains of my archive when I am gone. Keep in mind the dreams they once were to me. Then give them to someone who will make them a reality.
Stormey
There really is no place for me to run and hide
This depression has been my constant companion
Every now and then I will find sweet relief in the highs of life
The part of my brain that wants to exceed all and excel beyond imagination is never free long enough to do anyone any good.
Just long enough to torture me by allowing me to realize what I could be without this illness as a lifelong companion.
Life in all its beauty is nothing but pain for me.
Slip your hot wet tongue into the warm space that used to contain my heart
Find the dust and spiders. Even they don't stay too close.
The void will suck them in too when their webs fall apart.
You cant love what doesn't exist.
Darkness is my only gift.
She won't let you fall apart
She has the glue that only sticks to you
She uses her razor blades to keep her tape in place
No more room for error one wrong slip and it all comes apart
Just like the slippery red ropes all attached to your heart
So be careful not to love too hard you'll disembowel me
Too bad her favorite pastime is jump rope.
There is no love in this world that comes from an unselfish place.
Love fills your slut heart with all fear and hate you could ever feed on.
When you remember that every wish you ever called a prayer deceived you
You understand that the hell you have to look forward to is the one you make for yourself every day.
Did you lose everything?
I promise you will lose so much more.
Do very little it's okay
Nothing can help you now.
My whole world is made of pain
But don't worry I have a use for you
Make it go away
Her lips part to add beautiful humidity into my breathing space.
The saliva glistens on her lips.
I breathe her in like I would the sweet green leaf that brings numbness to me.
Her sent is pollen and flowers
She is my poison
And I want to die.
One day you will wake up and your youth will be wasted.
You hear this when you are young but it falls on deaf ears.
Wake up, your 44. Your hearing is crystal clear.
It's too late to listen.
If you do your body says no.
If your body says yes- your mind disagrees
Too many years of social influence and now you only feel comfortable when you hide.
Hide behind closed doors, thick filters, and a deep box of sand in which to bury your head.
So hide
then die.
You don't always have to find your purpose.. some don't.
Sometimes the surprise that ends your life is the purpose.
I wouldn't be surprised.
Romantic love does not exist
There is only a higher tolerance to put up with one person's bullshit over another.
If you are lucky you get a number of years of true love... and then you die.
Cheers
My years ended before I did. That's unfortunate.
Music can make you want to stay. Music can also hasten your retreat from the world with words and energy that feeds that beast in ways nothing else can.
I avoid that music whenever I can. I know what it does to that part of my brain. It makes it brave and carless.
I try to gravitate to the music that puts my energy in places that keep me motivated and safe.
The thing is now my body can't keep up with the energy it gives me. So my mind is free but my body is not.
I'm not a strong human. The loss of freedom of movement has given me grief I don't know how to comprehend. Still, the pain I receive from working with a broken body and mind is temporarily numbed by the music that gives me the energy I crave. For now.
The dream still remains a vivid reality for me. I don't think that will ever change.
Until it does.
I am currently listening to The Faint- Wet From Birth.