An expanse of characters unknown to me is all I can percieve.
There is no prompt dictating my choices, and therefore none shall be made.
The day and night have become one, and heaven and hells interests coincide.
Tangled forests, icy tundras, calm plains, and inexplicably dark areas exist sporadically everywhere.
Indifference fueled by emotion makes for a strange perception.
There is no certainty that I can discern from the tangled mess I see.
The characters shift and change color into an amalgamation that almost appears solid.
You can see figures shamble in the distance who constantly dissemble their motives with a facade of good intent.
As choices shall not be made I let them pass me by, but without my unease being assuaged by their lack of presence.
As they pass I look again to the characters that make up the empty space on the ground.
The nearly solidified characters become words: creativity, speech, calculating, organizing, and creating.
The words fluctuate in location, and start to become paths to the different places I can see.
They appear fractured by incomprehensible darkness, but the path can still be tread carefully.
Is sitting in silence what I should continue to do, or must I choose to abandon the indifference where I took shelter?
Must I tread a path that is broken in my own mind simply to achieve more uncertainty?
I will end up on a path someday, but what word the path is given is the last question.
Will my unease at these figures be ameliorated when I take the path they refuse to tread, or must I follow them through the straight line they walk?
The word is stretched too far for me to understand, but I question it's competence due to it never breaking.
I'll move any day now from this perch of indifference to where I can read more words.
Though some words may cause me to feel pain and others regret, I understand the consequence.
I can't stay as I am though because there is no reason to sit when there are choices to be made.
This world must be explored, and I must know what the characters mean.
I want to know what will make the world that I can see change into a world I can understand.
Even if it means repairing the words that I covered in darkness.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Perhaps in moving forward I outran time, and left years dying in my mentality.
Years of living in a dependent way, and not making choices.
The years that made words easier to say, and friends easier to make.
They were lost upon me in solitude.
I was left in books and knowledge for too long a time.
Words in a book will state what people want, but words on a page speak volumes.
The poems we all wrote in those ages of contempt.
They milked the venom in our veins to make it so we couldn't ****
Though I never wrote then, and I didn't show the venom I felt it.
What most call hate was apparent in me at a much younger age.
Though I know it wasn't hate, but I didn't then.
Contempt or disdain is how I'd refer to it now.
She was the only person who I could feel it towards, and I am no better for that.
She gave me life, and I still can't stand the relation.
I bit my tongue as she tried to buy me, work me, and what she'd call care for me.
This not nor will be a person I can in my right mind, call anything positive.
I couldn't stay in a place where the voice of authority was more a child than me.
I have trouble with acknowledging her as who she is to me.
I was given a fire that nearly burned her away, and though I am not proud of it.
I would have just watched the fire with the same eyes I have now.
People cool me down though, those people called friends.
They spoke of understanding rather than disgust, though confusion was there.
How could one burn someone so close, and how can they just talk about it?
It concerns some and scares most, but some know why I burned.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
Time is venerable and impartial.
It has no need for desire or emotion, yet what it encompasses does.
Time seems unfair and uncaring, but it has purpose.
To see what you really care about.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
When music isn't enough to fill the pit in your stomach, because they aren't there to fill it for you.
You want to speak out, but they aren't yours.
You want to request some time, but the more they doesn't reply the more empty you feel.
So you sit contemplating how many messages you can send before they won't feel the same way.
You contemplate what words you can say, but the only words that come to mind are words you could never speak.
Words that you want to say to their face because they don't deserve to get a text asking for their love.
Do they still need time to get over that break, and do you still need time to recover from yours?
I for one am not one to cry love, only fear.
I can speak on what I am worried about for hours, but when one speaks on love I am silent.
It takes knowing someone's definition of love to be with them, but how do you ask that of someone simply?
"What do you think love is", or "Do you love me"?
The dynamic of both answers depends on how long it feels like they've lived.
When the first of those questions is asked, where do you want them to be?
Far away where their face can't give a second answer, or close to you so they can't cower from it.
Love is a harsh word many definitions exist, and to many people of a younger age it is synonymous with pain.
For those who have experienced their love without regret know otherwise.
Even if they hold that love as a secret to their chest they know its warmth, and its burn.
I can't speak for everyone's love, and I can hardly speak for my own.
Though it may be a painful thing to endure while one is away, and it may be a time consuming thing while they are there.
Your hearts are worth the time, and the closer your hearts can tie themselves the warmer the love will be.
As for me, I will be one of the ones to ask of love in person.
I will be one of the few to accept the answer.
and I may be as two or one in my heart in the end.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
This hollow house with only one heart beating in a
cozy room, but it is one of many.
What a shame that a heart is so cold...
The typing of words to keep the ice at bay
It's a shame it will never understand what it wants,
but in a way it is just within reach.
The heart isn't always alone though.
The one that gives it a beat, and the one of ice coexist there at times too.
The two are bound to one another through unnatural means.
Metal ties them together though it is not connected by anything but words and paper; spoken and signed.
The heart that gives the lone heart a beat says the heart of ice will never be happy, and this scares them.
If the cold consumes it; it can never be happy again.
The heart can leave the hollow home, but it fears rejection.
The hearts outside can be cruel, but some hearts seem so warm.
The lone heart wants love and company, but it fears what is inside those warm hearts.
Can the words the lone heart uses give light to a new love, and make a heart that will make them skip a beat?
It's fear is that the words will instead have the other freeze it solid.
A hollow house with a shy lone heart.
The one who brings it's beat, the one of ice, the one to make it skip a beat, and the one to freeze it solid.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
My writing can't always be filled with heartbreak and getting over loss.
Tonight I'll write for her, the one who helped me more than she knows.
Whether she views me as a brother, or as more than I friend I care for her.
I've said way too many things to her that I mean, than I meant to say.
If that is a good thing I will never know, but she may know if I asked.
She supports the way I think, and doesn't mind when I say my awkward thoughts.
I am writing for the one who gave me the strength to try to write a happy message.
I am writing because I don't want people to get the wrong idea about me at the same time as writing for her.
I am not the one who is always stuck in some rut that can only be escaped through helping others.
That is just the kind of person that I am.
I want to write music with the girl, and I want it to be stuck in my head to justify thinking about her.
I want to say all of the stupid things I can say before she asks me to stop.
I would like to make a friendship something more, even if that just means being a brother to her.
I don't want her to be hurt by anything anymore, and I know I can't do that but I have to try.
Even if every sweet word I say stings, it was meant well.
Even if I can't fix her broken heart, I can remind her that someone is there.
Would a song help if I wrote it, and not just any song.
A song about what the world has done, and any other inhumanities I feel hurt.
A song about what I feel to let her know that I care.
A song that is just for her whenever she wants to hear it.
I don't know what song I should make, but if I hit the right notes it could be what she needs.
Music won't fix a broken heart, and neither will making something just for someone else.
Giving someone the strength to find closure is what you need to do, but if you don't know how to give it to them they will hurt for longer.
Music is what keeps her going, so music will be the message to help her heal.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
I figure writing while laying down will be sloppy compared to my computer writing, but it will also be less edited.
I am not entirely sure why, but I want to have my hair cut.
If you know me, those words are like sin.
Yet I can't seem to shake the feeling, I am getting tired of looking so... poofy.
Maybe just getting rid of some of the thickness would make me feel better.
I think I should talk with my dad about the counseling I never got.
I think I need to stop being afraid of asking for things.
I don't want to sleep right now, I feel like something that won't happen will.
I feel like something that can't happen is feasible.
When I close my eyes, I can't stop thinking.
About how she should be here.
Instead, I do the logical thing, and hug my blanket as I think depressing teenage thoughts.
Do I need help beyond myself?
I hate advice, because often times the answers are so simple I refuse them.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
Writing because of procrastination, that is what I am telling myself.
Writing because I have no other way to convey emotions, that is what I feel.
Writing without a reason, that is what seems like the truth.
I am lost again, stuck in a loop of what feels like clarity, into the same self-inflicted confusion.
Wishing for the ability to make my words into music, I stare down at my keyboard and try to play.
I know I wouldn't put in the effort to learn, but I just want to inspire myself.
Maybe by some miracle I can learn what I am doing in time.
For now I am mindless, only commands get me moving.
Yet if they involve work I often zone out for minutes on end in thoughts that mean nothing.
If only I knew all of you reading, if only I hadn't lost touch with the outside world to this mindless cycle that is the internet.
Without the internet though, I wouldn't be able to convey my thoughts, all of my friends would be here.
Hell, what friends would I have without the only place I can show who I am from so far away?
Always introspective, trying my hardest to see what is wrong.
People tell me I am fine, but at the same time, I am not content with who I am.
I want to be older, stronger, able to do things without aide, and being there for those who need me.
I feel unnoticed among my friends, and hailed as above others by my peers.
The cycle makes me feel as though my peers think I need encouragement to live, while my friends know I just need the strength to push past it.
That, or they don't care enough to ask, your friends are how you are in some ways I suppose.
Why am I writing so much if I don't need it to get by, is there some other incentive I am giving myself?
Some reward for not doing anything to change is letting me know about it?
I think this is just my emotions trying to give my brain a kick-start, but I am tuning out the messages.
I don't seem to care about some kind of structure in writing anymore, my care has bled out freezing me to a solid caricature of who I want to be.
Do I even want to publish this, and have it be known to people that I am struggling?
Whatever the case may be, I'll post it anyway, who really cares at this point?
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
You've decided to leave your friends for another group?
You hang out with some new friends to get over the pain that the old ones are accompanied by?
I thought you didn't feel pain, I thought you were above being hurt.
What happened, did you get reminded that you were not invincible?
Whatever happened, you fell too hard and broke your own heart.
You crushed your own world, and you had to make it someone close to your friends.
You deny yourself what you need, and it is stupid.
You hardly sleep in physical and mental pain.
What is wrong with you right now, I can't tell because me winning over your brain shut it down.
You are pathetic, but I can't help you other than by giving you feeling.
The fires of hell are in your future if they exist, and I thought you wanted the most out of life due to that.
You just can't win can you, dead-ends everywhere you look.
Every word even your own heart speaks is venom poisoning your mind.
Anger is so evident, but you haven't let yourself feel the pain in your rage.
You can't let it out, you want those sweet tears of salvation to pour, but they won't leave your eyes.
You think of the things that you like the most, and you cling to them.
You sing your madness away with every waking thought.
You avoid sleep because you will remember you broke your own heart.
You broke me into hundreds of little pieces despite the warnings.
You said you could take it, and you can, but what have you done to me?
I am shattered and torn up, and I just want to help you.
A heart can only have a voice in life when it is whole, and wholesome hearts are forged in love.
Yet you try and force things that won't fit with you.
You shove, claw, and tear the hearts so they may fit, but the blood always shows.
You can see it in your hands as the hearts fall apart, and yours shatters.
It breaks so violently because as you've aptly said before you turned it to stone.
Stone so cold the peaks of Everest shiver, and the tundra of the Arctic asks for a blanket.
Stone so hard Excalibur shatters at it's strike, and the king's arm breaks from the effort.
Stone so softened by affection that a flick makes it all fall apart.
So you broke me, she broke you, and tears still haven't fallen.
I am sorry I can't show you what life is.
I am sorry I can't be the best heart.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 4:59 AM UTC
Collectively I feel broken, but I know I am just a little bent out of shape. Feeling more, mirroring less, and yet caring so little. You are as nice as you can be, but you feel like you want to break everything around you. You fear only the pain and consequences of these actions, so you loosely think about it knowing you are stoic. I resume writing this only to make sure my feelings are clear. I love few things in this world, and fewer people. I don't hate anyone, but I hate things. I can't really be amused unless I let myself be open, and I can't really be open without being with people I consider above a certain level. I am selective, I am rude, and I am overall a bad person. I want to help people, but I am too lazy to ask if anyone needs aide. I can't even correct the fact that I am lazy. I can't correct my life without love, but I can't even admit it to myself. I can't convince myself that love is logical enough to be important. I hate the concept of my heart being right over my brain and it is crushing my concept of reality knowing what my heart has to say. I feel butterflies in my stomach, but I am not thinking about anyone. My heart is letting me feel the rush that it wants. To bring me back down it is crushing me with depression and guilt. I can't even keep things to myself, subtly I leave clues about what is going on, and I can't ever keep it to myself for long given my company. I am arrogant in the sense that I feel I can't be outwitted. My heart is cruel, my head is egotistical, and my body can't take it anymore. Love is the only equalizer, but love is unattainable when you can only sit at home. I don't know what I am doing here, listening to my heart is giving me a headache. As I feel neglected, my emotions feel like I am neglecting them. Whatever course of action I take is the wrong one, and I am convinced of that. My heart can't fit on this screen, yet my life could fit in a book. I sit around and play league as my social status decays under the fact that no one even tries to talk with me that I care about. The people I don't even have interest in seem to be the most interest in me. The people I just barely don't hate want to make my life hell, and the people who care don't seem to see past the fake smile I put on every day. I can't expect the world out of people around me, but I also can't expect results from no actions. What I want in my life outside of love isn't much. Laying in bed at night, the only solitude I have is hugging a blanket to make up for all of the contact that I don't have. I can't write anymore of this, later maybe. Good luck, me, try and get yourself out of a self-inflicted hell.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC