I don’t want to be alone, I just don’t want ti be surrounded by people that make me feel alone.
Watching game of thrones for the first time.
And how quickly that smile would turn to a snarl; bared teeth and venomous roar.
To protect her.
And if ever I was to not eat, to cease so cold, by whatever means or cause, it should be a resoute surrender of my will to live, to exist, and perhaps, through no fault of my own, but rather from battered mind, or lacerated heart, a sure sign that I have missed the entire sum of this expirence, or perhaps, that I have reached a point whereso I find this expirence no longer suits my satisfaction, and though with unsteady certainity do I gleam at what may lie ahead, and beyond this, and repetitionsly meander between possibilites, back and fro, let it be that my refuse, and my conviction concerning this, may it be understood, and not despaired upon for any longer than the firm hand of grief mandates, for, to believe in something beyond these earthly trails, is to believe in every possibility, and all at once, reject this which some may say I have taken for granted, however not true, for in this life I have gained expirence, and perspective, which from beyond this place I remain sure cannot be duplicated, nor retold to those others that have choosen my path, without un-imitatable detail, which I poses, and now gratfully take with me.
I used to write in competition,
But now I write in the calm.
In the swells and the heaves which,
Had it been only yesterday,
I may have disregarded,
As nothing more than a byproduct of my dull sense.
And imagined that I, and I alone, lived this way,
This halfway living.
But now I see it,
And I breath the air too,
and nothing about it has changed.
And so I inspect the mirror,
And question its sublities,
And inquior about its molded detail,
As if to say,
“How did you get that?”
and,
“Who are you?”
Its expression is as confounded as my own must be,
And I am mocked by its humor,
and antagonized by my own understanding.
And the world is red, and the walls of my self imposed chamber are stormy, and they swirl.
And I breath in a storm,
Yet with breaths so light,
And swoon,
and rock,
and fade.
And fade…
Speaking to these deamons.
Convincing myself that I deserve her.
Crime, mayhem, chaos,
These are the flames I combat,
Its hells are where I operate,
And where my skin is ashed,
too tarnished to show her my face;
To show at all.
And so, to leave her untouched by my world,
I leave her.
-Youth
