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?

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.

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.

I am going to be writing something important to me soon.
It won't follow my regular patterns, it will be as I wrote at the start.
I just realized that I need to vent out a little more than my thoughts on a page will let me.
I need to open my heart in words.
I have been letting my head do all of the talking, and I just can't do that anymore.
Pent up frustration in my chest is threatening to break.
I need to let it out physically too, my dad is getting me a pull-up bar, and I am being more active.
I want to stop thinking about this, but I suppose it is just a burden in my head.
I sleep hugging a blanket so I feel a little less alone.
I never really get physical contact with anyone, so it is warm, and I feel like it helps me sleep.
I sing songs to myself when I lay down so I don't feel sad.
I think about her, and how nothing will come of it at this point.
My heart is heavier than it should be, and I need to make words to lift that weight.
I need to tell you all how I feel to get by, and telling you my thoughts daily isn't enough anymore.
I need to break my shell, I need to ask for some company every once in a while, but it is hard.
I feel outgoing and energetic at home until I think about what I still need to accomplish.
Life is never easy for anyone lest they are born to it, and even then it gets difficult.
I don't know, I am just cold, angry, scared, and tired.
I know I am also alone, but that fact has been drilled into your heads at this point.
I just need some time to write out what my heart says, no more words from my head.

Today has been a good day, and tonight is not the exception this time.
I changed perspectives to see why I was sad.
I realized that I was only sad due to being lonely.
Beyond that, I realized that my solitude is mostly my fault.
I never ask anyone to hang out, or even if they want to meet me somewhere.
I never really make an effort, yet I complain when no one offers.
I have only talked about myself tonight, and not why I chose to write.
I wanted to write because I have been writing selfishly.
I wanted to let you all know how I feel about this tonight.
You all reading this make me happy.
You all remind me that I am not alone.
Every comment helps me think, and grow in confidence.
Every view on something I write let's me know that someone understands my situation.
Every like on something I write let's me know that my actions are normal.
I am a happy teddy bear even though I am alone.
I know that some people prize their possessions without interacting with them.
Maybe I am just kept on a pedestal, so that people will only notice once I am gone.
Maybe I can just be there for everyone instead of loving one person.
I want to make an impact, so why don't I make a little bit of an effort?
Friends around me are hurt, people around me more so, and I am inconsequential in comparison.
If I spend so much time seeing what is wrong with me, why can't I just aim it at someone else to help?
My thoughts are spread tonight, but I am not sad.
I just want someone to talk with until I am tired, or at least someone to say goodnight to.

Tonight my past is creeping on my thoughts.
Countless days in a house by myself.
Memories of the schizophrenia I had when I was younger.
I call what I had schizophrenia, because I am not sure my imagination was twisted enough to have it insult me to the point of giving me nightmares.
I remember all of the times that I left people behind when I moved.
I recall all of the people I have ignored.
I take all of this into my head, and I just wish that I was a better person.
I do what I can for people, but I rarely let anyone get close to me in life.
I don't compliment people without seeing actions worthy of recognition.
I don't have any remorse for people when I think they deserve something.
I just lay down now, and I wish I could be someone's teddy bear.
I just wish that I could be valued with secrets, held often, and come to for comfort.
It sounds like a life I could live well.
Sure after they grew up they would probably move on, but at least I would have helped them.
Some people even keep their teddy bears for as long as they can.
So maybe I could have someone to be around.

There are times when I sing to myself.
A deep bass voice ringing throughout my house is calming to me.
I don't know if it is my voice, or the action that relieves me, but whether I am happy, or sad something about just being able to sing makes it better.
I just know that some nights when I am alone as I usually am, I think of how great a life using my voice would be.
Lying awake in teenage insomnia, I can't help but feel like my voice could send a message.
I could let the message ring out, or I could simply whisper it to those who would listen.
I could be the voice of our generation, or the creator of the message the voice delivers.
I can't decide if I want to be known for my actions, or if my actions should be the invisible cause of peace.
Furthermore, people could spite my actions, and even if their reasoning for disliking me is bad I just want to make everyone happy.
I request an impossibility out of my voice, but if it is possible I can't see the right course of action to achieve it.
If I went mute one day, is there ever proof I had a voice?
In what way could I immortalize what makes me happy, and even if I can could it effect someone?
I want to live happily every day able to sing for people, and help people who need it.
I want my voice to be heard, but should I speak loudly or quietly?
I need to know before I run out of time to choose, and I lose the ability to feel again.