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.

I can bear the burden of honesty, I can bear the burden of equality, and yet the burden of solitude crushes me like the world upon Atlas. If I can take the burdens of another, would they be willing to help save me too? We can all exist in this world with personal burdens, but those shared burdens are often held by the people who are at peace. The broken burdens that people have dropped along the way are picked up by another. The burdens of the dead can be found in the hearts of the pallbearers. The burdens of the poor can’t be seen through the eyes of the wealthy. The burdens of those who are hurt are hidden deep in their hearts. Yet I often see through their heart and yearn to help them, but they have walled off their heart from even themselves. The scars of their past burden them the worst making their lives heavy and tight, as though they will become like the stone of their walled hearts. I hope to remove Medusa’s curse from all those afflicted by pain, and I hope I can see through a fake smile.

The thought that you can perceive perfection is one of a fool.
You cannot become perfect, nor can you see perfection manifested.
Yet it is a fools errand to not try to be better than what you see as best.
You can't expect to be seen as perfect to anyone but yourself.
Simply because if you can accept yourself, then you will often be denied by others as well.
If you can't accept yourself, then try to become more.
If you can't achieve what you want, get help.
Not enough people understand the means to achieve their aspirations, but others know how to achieve someone else's goal.
If someone hails you as perfect, then you simply share the same views.
If someone degrades you for irrelevant flaws, then they hold a different standard.
Perfection is only a concept created by fools, and people who don't understand the cruelty in the actions of others.
Whoever thinks of themselves as perfect hasn't met one greater than them.
In this world, the closest thing that I can fathom to be synonymous with perfection, is knowing that you are imperfect, but being content with who you are.

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?

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.

What is there left to write?
There is nothing left for me to say, so why do I now need to write more than ever?
In a poetic sense I am blank, so do I just want to give the world a message?
Losing the numbness all around me has caused me some pain, but I am really happy too.
I can't help but just want to take in the world, looking out over the hill I live on to change my perspective.
I can't imagine a brighter sight than those lights of the city from this point.
I can't imagine a better place to be, other than with people who I could share it with.
My chest swells with anticipation just wanting to see everyone again, to claim the world over again as a happy person.
I can't wish pain on another person, yet I can threaten it with my friends, playful or serious, because I know that I don't have it in me to hurt them again.
I hope I can have the courage to step outside my bubble, and to help others do the same.
I want to be an inspiration to someone, whether it be by writing what I feel, just being a good person, or advancing my field of work whatever it may be.
I just want to make the world realize that pain is a part of life, and that people shouldn't hide from it.
Sure it may bleed you dry, but if you let it take your personality away the only thing you will have left is your interests.
Whatever the case may be in your life, needing pain as a reminder that you are alive, wanting someone to share your pain, wanting the world to know you are there.
It doesn't matter, you just need to live to get it done, you need to chase after everything you want with an ambition that you feel can't be matched.
You can slow down your life to help others along the way, whether it hurts anyone in the process is just their willingness to move on with life.
I want to help everyone, I want to care for the people with no one, because I have been there too.
I want to make the world an easier place to live in by helping people with the pain life brings.
There may be some who don't want help along the way, their pride hasn't been shattered by pain.
That is the time in your life where you build up the walls around your heart, keeping your ego and your pride up on the top shelf so no one can knock you off your high horse except yourself.
The only real way to stop yourself from becoming that horseman is to let people in, remember how the world feels.
Let yourself remember all the times you enjoyed your life, no matter how far back you may have to search there is something in there for everyone.
A life with no happiness found in any crevice hasn't tried to experience anything new.
They haven't explored what they may or may not enjoy, they can't fathom being happy for any reason except the end of their suffering.
Whoever has reached that state, where they can't even remember being happy in their lives just needs to start over.
No one should try and exist without experiencing some form of joy every once in a while.
Give someone a hug, ask someone for a hug, apologize for whatever, make yourself aware of your problem, whether you can identify the cause, or if you are just a mystery to yourself.
I can't stop these words from leaving me, I just want my message to the world to be seen by everyone who can understand that locking yourself away isn't worth the price of hurting everyone.
Locking yourself away can't be the answer, because if you lose the key, you can't ever make it back to the ones you love.
You can't ever love anyone else in your life, and you can just become lost in the pain that you made for yourself.
Eventually I see those people start to only be able to feel again when they abuse substances, or when they hurt themselves.
Which I know they don't want it, but they forgot what anything but pain has felt like, and they want a reminder that they aren't just in hell, they are living it.
People who are alone, whether they fear that loneliness or if they relish in it can't really learn to express how they feel.
I learned through watching other people, I became a mirror until I lost that numb feeling that consumed me.
I know how people think again, I can see who is sad by their eyes, and it pains me to see people hurt when I feel like I have the power to help them.
Most refuse me, whether it be fear of pain, lack of trust, or excessive pride.
I want to make the world a happy place with the acceptance of pain.
I want to make life easier for people, whether I love them, hate them, or don't even know them.
Can I write the whole world a song so I can help people move on, or will the lyrics fall short and leave the people in pain with more questions about why they are suffering?
I want the people in the world who are hurt to remember that there is someone there.
You just have to look up and see that outstretched hand.
You can't often see them because they are far away, so you have to take the first few steps to them on your own.
Yet now that you can see them, you recall they were always there, you want to apologize to them, but they just welcome you back to the world.
I want this for the world.
I want acceptance of pain, and relishing in joy to be things that everyone is capable of.
Even if you feel like you have been shoved into the dirt to live alone, you will always have someone there.
Whether you know it or not depends on if you want to see the person who is there to help you, or if you just want to keep a firm grip on your pride.
My message to the world isn't as long as it could be there is no way it will be seen by the eyes of everyone, but if you like my message, just pass it around.
Maybe we can help people out of their pain, and back into the lights of the world.
Maybe, just maybe, we can help the ones we love the most.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I have the uncanny ability to look positively ahead… but only when it comes to helping others. I can only seem to help others, despite being unsure of how to handle what is going on in my own life. Out of this confusion, I can’t find ways to make what I need known. I want out of solitude, but how can one ask for the company of those who are so far away? I want comfort, someone to share my burdens with, while I hold the ability to take their burdens too. I want to take some of another’s pain away, taking it with the hope that I can make their life better. I can’t take it all, because if one doesn't have pain how can they feel anything positive? I am unsure of who would want my support, but on the day they arrive I can only hope they want to stay.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.