ok so here is what we are going to do
i'm going to get a bout de souffle
what was i gonna do..
one thing getting to nether still need you
are you all here
one thing getting getting to noter
288 guitars 
i've been hoping  don't get much dumber 
and getting to noter
this movie is not yet rated
i'm kind of trying to decide
i will send an email to your parents
so… just off the bat 
your parents are not ok with that 
kind of thing
she was out there interviewing her?
right there… have you seen that? ok good
movie theater to hide
c'est rare
reste avec moi
ciao petite fiiiille
elle est la bas je crois
vous parlez français? yes
attention ma petite fille on ne plaisante pas avec la police parisienne
you think i'm lying? you are
i didn't see you
you don't believe me
bonjour mignonne
qu'es ce qu'il dise
les flics me recherche
parle le moi quoi? ca alors
tu es marie
c'est trop **** maintenant d'avoir peur
bonsoir madame
il faut absolument que je trouve antonio
accelere minouche
il est alle a monpellier
why don't you smile
it would certainly surprise me
sourrrit sourrrit
je pense a quelque chose?
je ne sais pas
je voulais être seule
c'est finis
tu m'emmene au champs elysee
au revoir 
tentez votre chance
un cafe alors
moi je peux pas partir
et puisque je suis méchante avec toi c'est la preuve que je suis pas amoureuse de toi
ahh c'est trop complique
j'ai envie de dormir
c'est vraiment dégueulasse
how would you relate
destroy the rules
young actors
....sommes seuls, cette certitude de nous-mêmes dans la sérénité de la solitude ne sont rien en comparaison du laisser-aller, du laisser-venir et laisser-parler qui se vit avec l'autre...
audition for the leading character
interesting combination
the criminal
just the edge of his frame
she seems innocent at the beginning
looking at his notes
just fyi i throw out someone
loving and desirable
playing off of that very consciously
you just not be working
archival stuff is on Facebook
c'est l'heure du gouter
de la glace au chocolat
working on your transcripts/ paper edits
that's probably not a smart thing to do
t'y va
Not this sense
that I don't know what the hell
a human girl is...
where’s the coast guard? 
just a spotlight gimme something
ca commence a 6h 
t'es cool
quickly
i smells like **** did you ****?
you are the love de ma vie
he talks like that he is french
she is like ze morning sun in ze...morning 
beautiful
ze temps is in ze essence
muaaah
is our classroom
i can sense the connection
the connection? 
the connection entre nous
so madame alezraa give me this much
i heard boss
he is not doing anything
to give me a kiss 
it's in the 1st tab
it's still there
you don't have to click
i can't save it, just stay with me
there is no word on this ****
i need the inspiration
you are my muse
c'est pour ca qu'ils sont si petit
small
je vais m'occuper de
the whole point of life is to rearrange it in a coherent running story
people don't talk in stories
cut each section
some sort of a story
nice
tu veux que je mette
ouai ok attends
elle est l'autre feuille
permien tu veux que je colle recolle decolle coupe recoupe decoupe
how do you feel about solving…I mean it's an interesting way to solve it…
〜flowed〜 nicely
it was sort of an ingenious solution
she's in the airplane, she's in the sofa
try to transition between the two subjects….where does your friend come from?
what it was like landing in New York, looking out the window...
the process of arriving
not really fair to say that
in the future, if you're going to try to tell a story…in their minds….what's the story she's going to be telling me?…..coming home
fill in the blanks
don't go shoot blind, that's the biggest mistake
does that make sense?
great!
wubwubwububwubbbbbwubwb
gloving is......flowing lights in sync with the♩music ♫
flowing in gloving is broken…
liquid
finger rolls
tutting
figure eight ∞
wubwubwubBAMwubwubwoosh
wave-like movement…basic thing….wrist in a motion
tutting is like the angles…. not um 〜flowing〜….like tetris
you want to more, rather than following
solid ⸪lights, ⸫single⸭ solid lights⸬
pink to green to orange to yellow to blue
advanced strobe, solid line of color [...] streak of purple
electronic, dustup, elector, house, trance…
you’ll probably never see anyone gloving to like, classical music ♬♪
my name is Henri Geneste and I'm a glover WUBwubwubwubbbWUBWUBAHHHwubwubWUBWUBWUB[ONE][TWO]WUBwubwub[THREE­]
putain c’est magnifique
je me demande si il fait ca la nuit, quand il arrive pas a dormir...
window thing, kind of dumped
either the ours magna or the I equals me squared²
like language, like art, there are rules
go out and break them, just mucking around
fix it, wanna make one, totally your creative decision
how awkward
a bout de souflle
totally revolutionary
ainrr
radical, argue truer, but it's jarring, that's one way to do it!
aware that they're there but not ⑈jarring⑇
close to wide…..there's a cut there but the eye can follow it
um i have to go...
bye henri!!!
bye!
bye man.
see ya monday!
the hair!! im gonna shave it this weekend
I've been to raves
is he, like, a straight-edge?
there's drugs…do you guys ALL go to raves?
how the audio?
looked cool, the rain in the background
DUHDUHDUH that's hard to do
a huge amount, i'm sorry but gloving without the music?
if he does drugs OR NOT, how he's enjoying it OR NOT, if it interferes with his studies OR NOT..
just FYI we were all young yesterday
two bodies
he's here cause he's not going, right?
are you interested?
oh i would be very interested
yeah i see what u mean
you could come with me….i could always take the bus
it'd be cool
moi elle sera belle
here we go!
woah
their audio visuals are not very HOT
hours per day?
1…2 hours a day
sometimes 30mins
mostly people, sometimes like little animals
mostly people
i look at their art a lot
really interesting style
environments
if i want to…how I see them in my head
stuff like that
usually kinda random
i pretty much self taught
mostly from practice
everyone draws…but i got serious about it, like very…6th grade
i don't like the idea of competitions
and mum drawing is like, something that's kinda important
a passion
not sure i would want to go into it as an industry
more than just art
for now im not really sure
alright
so our usual questions
eyeline! thank you
on the couch….at the end it was really weird
who was…sitting where?
where were you?
she didn't really even really look, she was too far away, she just kind of….looked
much…she might not have ever looked
with the eyeline…it was pretty steady, no jerky-herkys, there were several edits
forgive it cause there's enough change
you could follow it, you could see that time had shifted
the content demanded it
WOAH okay now i'm really curious
we could see it, but then it was on the something else
process the image
now we're trying to look at the art, now we need more time
arc? did u feel like there was an ◜arc◝?
umm yeah…..
how many hours a day do u draw?
try to make sensible out of that
is that they use 2 3 four…
uh...cut..i did….cut
the cutting itself is like a commentary on her
since i was little. when i was little
when i was little
but my parents, my family don't
hands and arms
collages, magazines
photography
big part of photography
San Francisco Art institute
graphic animation, we only had like 3 weeks
still lives, models we would draw them
we had like an exposition
the person my mom works with's husband
wanna do an artistic career
alright so
not the greatest projector ever
too much head    space    
a lot of nothing
it makes it a lot more interesting
i think it was okay in the video cause
what she was saying and stuff like that
fair enough but I don't agree
lost in this big sea of wall
you're totally forgiven
no questions
power of a well-placed microphone
fantastic
the beans!
alright
you guys are the wrong audience cause you all know each other's stories
good feedback
movin' on, okay
very frustrating
and now.....surfing! woohoo!!!!
30 loooooong minutes, it's a nightmare!
7 minutes
3 minutes
it's a 10th
there's something fascinating about listening to people…you can do it yourself later
bolinas, del mar, sometimes surface, livermore, ocean beach
......riding the waves…....man….....it's the best feeling
you're walking on water you know? that feeling…….i love the ocean
i love the water, after you get that perfect wave you just feel accomplished
that feeling…..is awesome
surfing, it's all about having fun..
you surf once, and….you know?
if you're a surfer, you have a love for the ocean
my, my grandpa always loved the beach, we would go there at two in the morning and just….
my grandpa died and he asked to be cremated, he wanted his ashes to go in the ocean, so we took his ashes out to the ocean
I remember walking out to the ocean with my dad, we threw his ashes into the ༇wind༅ above the ocean, and we looked down….
we want to get the pain!! and the sorrow! because we're vultures you know? we just zoom in to get his expression
little bit weird
i do, i like it
it's black and white
it's just a surfer, it's not movin', it's there…it's not always the same
sort of echoey
…the ocean, and so i remember my dad taking the….
too much archival? too much? not long enough? both.
there was sort of a disconnect at times
her story, you have to cut
when she says "CAT" i want to see a CAT, when she says "FIRETRUCK" i want to see a FIRETRUCK!!! i was like, okay, i  just went to school…
and now this?
or you see a woman that looks like a cat
it's hard, it's complicated, it's not given
so they just kind of ended
you guys im trying to help them
oh okay
hey you know what no no no you know what don't take any of this personally just be like oh okay
he's got a funny manner of speech
any thing else?
arlo says no
"it would not go well"
what IS the really great ending?
amazing feeling one can have…..
you feel like you own the ocean, like it's heaven on earth
this technique it's called killing your babies…i love that
uh what
he says "uh no no no this is a 3 minute film"
sad but true
we all get attached to things, we don't want to cut them out
just play with it, if you decide
we can schloop
can we watch
not exactly…here's..uh okay a quick heads up
oh
for this summer
advanced lab, art advanced films, screen-writing, animation and more
field trip!! i need to contact your teachers
what day? a thursday
almost all day…nine to three
we would leave here
now im gonna erase this

An eagle the bird of prey
Clawed at the ground
taking me back to the river
where the tide stroked  

An eagle the bird of prey
A ghost of lost faces
showing me the essence
where the love started

An eagle the bird of prey
A weaver of the world
spinning me on the orbit
where the whispers tickled

An eagle the bird of prey
A slur of the speech
talking to me in tongues
where time is out of hand

An eagle the bird of prey
The darkness that stones
showing me the gloom
where aloofness is an ally

An eagle the bird of prey
A companion of my soul
following me when I fall
Inside the pearl of a teardrop

An eagle the bird of prey
A draft of echoey words
writing with me as I type
the muse of fruity letters

Words are trickling
out of this fountain
pen that are not my own.
Plagiaristic. Echoey.

Your words forming
on my lips and fingers.
Your art, my life.
How I yearn to make
my voice the one
that is heard.

Instead it chokes
like Casey at the Bat.
It splinters like
the spreading chestnut tree.
Where I should have never
kissed you and you
never should have kissed me.

I struggle against myself
folding and unfolding within my
skin
fighting my knuckles
kneading frantically against my
own bones.

fleeing from the reflection, inside
out.
harsh, harsher
underneath the lights,
and in my echoey head.

skin,  invisibly splitting with concern
swollen with responsibility
quivering against attack.

wet, rounded eyes-
sharp, sad, and big.
my face exploding in
the lines.
worry, hesitance, caution.

age old forehead.
teenage ankles.
baby soul.
Infant heart

That dark December night,
negatively charged magnetic eyelids forced open by a vibrating
assiduous humming brain
machine.

An untidy bed left warm, within the
smoking, choking exhaust fumes. An early morning engine roars.
I find that towering rock in eastern jagged-grin ridgeline.
Peering up from yawning limbs hung from red toothpicks,
frail clouds skirt that dark jutting face as stiff muscle tendon battles mud rock gravity staircase.
All alone, in echoey sloping vastness.

Lunge forward from tree line, sink down, old snow,
hunched old man drinks coffee says something…
Away from that wretched voice! I scramble
upward through white flakes, black boulders.
Wool gloves hinder grip, boots shove rogue rocks to space, hand slips, smash thumb,
eight now seven rocks until summit.

White washed walls of wild winter.
Silence.

In utero of a universe.

Four thousand feet above.
Fire.

Me, my despair, a stone palace, and trail mix. I brought hope.
You brought a shining red hope extinguisher then swung the emptied tank at my skull,
I am not impervious to pain like these rocks I hurl
at whirling gods they watch me
miss. Pebbles drop through glass table
swallowed by dark green limbs.

You do not know you could not know you cannot know it was right,
if you are Right, then I am Left
with aching expectations and a decomposing handful
sticky memories, remnants cannot be cast away, and
these blessed rocks are fond friends no longer call my own because
I’ll never look the same but they always will.

Step down from nowhere and retreat south, your footprints remain.
Darkened face, this line is named you and will stay there.
It is a cold winter rain
that taps my hunched shoulders
I have stopped answering.

You are in everything I see.
It is sickening because you own all and you will not let go but
you cannot own this next day.

I feel completely soulless bar a few bars of an echoey song funnelled
-

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013

my family has always had these little traditions
such as eating together around the tv
or saying i love you before bed.
but what happens when these traditions start to change,
when the house becomes too big to keep us close together,
or when bed times don't exist because nobody seems to ever sleep.
it doesn't matter how much money was spent on counseling,
or how many ativans, zolofts and sleeping pills were popped,
nothing seemed to pull back the strings on the three puppets that were becoming more and more detached by the second.
the concept of money brought us together and pushed us apart,
the lack and the abundance,
the want and the need,
the ultimate destruction of our home.
our quiet home,
once full of laughter, love and emotion,
now an echoey cavern of aching memories that give me just the slightest bit of light to help me find my way.
what is the point of having these traditions,
if all they do is make everything sore to the touch at the memory of what once was,
and what will never be again.

The head thunders in a stormy cloud
The nose was long gone and dysfunctional
The mouth fills in the mould with oxygen

The body has caught a dreaded fever
It chills and trembles at the night's cast
as the eyes flow with wavering rivers

The lymph nodes have gone for a rampage
Lumps on the tonsils with unbeatable abscess
It's been two nights since I was possessed

Now the hearing gone and echoey ears persist
I can't quite dance to the bird's chirping
Neither walk balanced on the dizzy spells

Rough as a scrambled sack awaiting reuse
Unpressured on all angles straggering on corners
Ohh sweet heavens what broth can soothe!

My mind is spacey, empty, echoey
Sound penetrates my brain,
Reopening hidden doors,
Taking my perception of time
Stealing my brittle grip of reality
Confusion, distortion, surreal
"Same," does not exist
An adventure awaits me within the depths of my insanities subconscious
A lesson is always learned
Along with a story that can never truly be explained

once you embark on the journey
of healing
you can’t really go back.
i mean you can, but if you do,
you have twice the work to do
if you want to start healing again.
and it’s terrifying.
every day i’m faced with the choice to either
wallow in all the things that make me sad,
or count my blessings and revel in being happy and present
and every day is a
fight.
some days are like jumping through puddles in rain boots,
other days are like climbing the tallest mountain in bare feet,
but i have come to learn how to
appreciate the sad days
because they always teach me something i didn’t know
before, about how to be happy again.
there is still such a long way to go
and nobody can do it for you
so be brave,
be brave,
be brave.
you know how.
i promise you, you do.
you are worth all the stars in the sky, the moon and the sun combined.
you are a million candles in an echoey cathedral.
you are the three part harmony in every one of your favourite songs.
you are every kiss, every embrace, every scar
that smiles like a warrior when people notice that it has
healed.
you are not the things that have happened to you,
you are not your sadness or your loneliness or your thoughts.
so be brave,
be brave,
be brave.
you know how.
i promise you, you do.

My fathers love ended up in a box, in a large cold room.
Strange you might think,
That the confectionaries in this dissapointing wooden container
Would be a relic of love to a small boy.
But there it was...
In that large cold room, in that large cold house,
In that large cold school,
Was this box.
And in this box was all sorts of sweets, crisps and so on
And that was what I had of my father.
The box was mysteriously called a "tuck box".
There were other boxes like it, lining the outside of this large room.
But this one was mine.

Each box had a small lock, some had stickers.
Mine had a sticker, neatly aligned in the rear left corner.
The room rarely had any visitors and aside from the boxes, it had a solitary ping-pong table.
There were no batts or *****, just a green table with a net sitting awkwardly in the centre of the echoey room.
If it could speak it would say "What the **** am I doing here"
and I think thats how we all felt... all us boys.
I had no wish to play table tennis.

I did wish for my fathers love though.
Before term he would take me to the shops.
I would be able to buy whatever sweets I liked, but I felt bad, like it must be costing him a lot of money... all those sweets that is...
Not the boarding school or plane journey away from home.

So armed with these sweets packed away in my bag,
I would get on a plane and go to that cold place,
Where this box of treats would remind me that my father wasn't there.
I would rarely share or trade my sweets with other boys.
It felt somehow disloyal to my father.
Like i was trading away his love for some small favour.
But really these trophies were too precious for me to give away.

So years later, I think my fathers love may somehow still be in that box.
In that cold lonely room.
The box is now in my parents attic, full of photos and other memories.
The tie my 'friends' signed on the day I left that school, almost 9 years later.
But I wonder how to reclaim the love locked in that box.
Or reclaim the heart of the lonely, sad boy who only had those sweets to reassure him.
That his father still loved him... wanted him... that even though he was a plane ride away from home...
He still had a home...
Which was...
Where did he live?
Where was his home?
Because it felt like he lived in that cold school,
Filled with the shouts of angry men and wild boys...
While his home was somewhere he no longer lived...
It was somewhere he went to for "holidays"!
In that far away country
Which was safe, and warm but somehow
No longer... home.


And all these years later the gap between me and my father remains
Questions hang in the air like icicles
Ready to fall...
Where were you,
For all those years?
Why didn't you come and get me?
How did you think i would survive without your presence as I grew up, without your love, your advice, your guidance
The safety of being at home...

Let me tell you I managed
I packed my pain away in that box.
And I survived.
I endured the passing of the years,
the bullying, fear, neglect, shame and embarrassment
I didn't so much find a way through. I found a way out.
to a place the world couldn't hurt me.
A place within where i can say **** the world. **** this place and
******* all.
And in that place i felt relatively safe
It was tolerably intolerably

But now as a man.
As i approach my fiftieth year
I can count the cost of this 'safety'
A cost in joy, a cost in love, a cost in family, a cost in life!
Because the part of me hidden in that box isn't living.
It's existing.
And life has needed more from me than I've had to give.
I have needed the colours locked away safely in that box.
I've needed the range of emotion only they could afford
I've needed the courage in there
The joy, the willingness to meet life
And I've not had these things to hand.
They have been locked away... safe
But unused.
As the years toiled on
And life has ebbed away.
I have survived
But not really lived

So here i am at this threshhold of my life
No longer satisfied with the half life of limited pallette.

and I choose life
Choose Colour
Choose expression
Choose Presence
Choose love
Choose pain
Choose tears
Choose loss
l Choose heartbreak.
And i want to let this messy path carry me forward
To a place I do not recognise
And to a life where I can find an experience which
Feel warm enough, safe enough, fun enough, alive enough, where I feel loved enough, where I love enough to dare to dance enough with life to dare to belong enough to call that place
home.

And let me tell you brothers and sisters I wish you to meet me there With your colour, with your joy, your heartbreak, your life and the wisdom trawled from the depths of your despair .
(let us share what we're learned  in a place
where we can join hands and find union in each others souls.
find home in each other
find belonging in each others arms , in each others hearts.
lets rise together, lets heal together, lets **** together and lets love together, walk together, cry together, dance together, marry together , win lose and, die together
we can walk together towards the dawn of our next life  as we part this one full
full of Love of lifes experience, with laughter lines etched across our faces as we tell the stories of our ancestors to our children children.
lets us dance live love and die in glorious presence together with life.
let us be , let us learn , let us live lets live lets draw on the ******* walls and wear our pants on our heads. Let's call ******* on ******* just live our glourds bueauitful lives together in messy harmony.
lets belong together lets home together
lets world together lets joy together
lets  sit together in a puddle of our own tears
and call that place home
where we love our life enough to be broken by its despair
as our blood and tears mix together and we become the earth beneath us.
become the air around us
the fire in our hearts
the love in our bones.

I miss them,
I miss them in all sorts of ways,
we would argue,
laugh at the argument,
I could have been kinder,
Now,
now it's almost as if they died,
as if I never knew them,
Now we call,
we call to hear that echoey tune,
the hum and life we lived with once,
where everyday we were mad but happy,
we hated each other,
but we didn't need love from anywhere else,
and that hum stays with us when the phone goes out,
it sinks in deep to our soul and sleeps,
and we sleep,
knowing that we have been robbed,
robbed of 18 years or more,
robbed of something so many take for granted,
and so many others have been robbed as well,
we did not get our 18,
but instead 4, 5, 7, 10, 13,15,
and what a beautifully horrid 15 years it was for me,
still I miss them,
God I miss them

See that woman taken by the wind
blown in the skies without a lover
nor promises to uncover her darkness
her nights are covered by the moon
As it wanes she wades on her bed
caressed in a lonely love affair of own
arrested in an unbearable burn of lust
stressed by blowing ******* of unwon
she tries to chase the butterfly in the dark
as the glow promises the line of lovers
her laughter is an echoey paste aced
See that woman taken by the winds

*Hold her hand and just chase her

That room engulfed me as soon as my foot hit the worn wooden floor
All red light and zagging lines, ethereal art decorating the whispering walls.

A man stood next to me with a beer bottle in one hand and his Rolex ticking quietly on the other, a sound that seemed to clash with the echoey quietness of the voice telling us all its secrets.

You were all stars and shimmer and so much **** beauty, still
The red light creating the same shapes on your face that my dreams created for two years after that night.

My head spun with the fiction of the circumstances I found myself in;
This small room with its glowering characters on the walls and its eerie lighting with all of these people who probably had more pent up sadness than the entire continental U.S., all pooling their resources into the middle of the splintering floor, covered in dust and sweat and the hearts of every quivering poet that had poured out their guts to the crowd. To me.

It didn't make the sadness *****, though; it only amplified the sheer agony of it all.
And when the band played their songs with too much bass and too little voice, I was so enamoured with every single person who was closing their eyes and listening as if the sky itself was singing about wailing midnights and midsummer loves wrapped in that ephemeral depression.

I was so enamoured in everyone
And you

I feel as if my time is near its end.
Premonitions haunt my mind as it also drains my soul.
I’ve lived through many instances where either I should’ve died or that I did and someone or something always brought me back.
Repeated pressure on my chest,
Forcing air into my lungs.
No one ever tells you how much it hurts when you finally inhale that deep exhausting and painful breath.
How your eyes are watery and burn.
Your chest feels like it’s been crushed.
Your throat is drier than the Gobi desert.
Then everything else hurts,
Your head pounds for a while.
Everything is laggy vision wise.
Hearing is echoey.
Or another thing,
The electrical shock to your chest.
You wake up tingly.
Same painful breaths and all of the above,
Just add tingly.
Like your entire body was nerve wise asleep and it’s all tingly.
-
Every time I’ve come back I feel less.
This last time I came back she was still punching my face.
Couldn’t see out of my right eye,
My neck felt like barbed wire was wrapped around it and rubbed it raw.
The aftermath of her choking the life out of me.
And for what?
Unresolved issues that she never spoke of to any of her family,
Yet takes every aggression out on me.
The one person who would never hit her,
And just let her do it.

While I was sitting in silence,
You were out laughing and falling in love.
While I was alone in pain,
You filled the empty place that was once mine.
While I was dying,
You were living.
And the entire time I loved you regardless,
Even when you replaced me,
When you said you hated me,
I laid on that gurney, red & blue flashing.
The beeping, the police, emts firefighters all yelling but it sounded echoey.
It hurt to breathe, every breath was like hot coals down my throat and chest.
My eyes burned & felt scratchy.
My nose bled like crazy from the dryness.
Beeping
Endless ******* beeping.
The cold air in the ambulance wasn’t cold enough for me,
I still felt like I was burning in hell.
Scorching searing heat.
All I could do was lay there and repeat the story of exactly what happened.
And also to call you.
To call the one person who probably couldn’t care less about what was happening.
The doctors rushing to check me out completely and threw 3 blankets on me even after I said I still felt hot.
They were right to do so because not even a minute later,
Full panic attack, all adrenaline that kept us alive gone.
Endless shaking and the soot making my eyes water more and my nose burn.
All I could smell was gasoline, burning rubber plastic, cigarettes, liquor, smoke, burning grass.
I could hear the flames roaring like a lion announcing its attack.
Yet I also kept saying to call you.
Of course no one called you,
When we were released from the hospital I fell into the PTSD depression slump, I drank a whole bottle of Jaeger because at that point I didn’t care what alcohol it was or what it tasted like.
I needed someone,
I needed you.
Actually I didn’t need anyone.
I just wanted comfort and safety.
Yet in the end I'll never get that.
And that’s okay, I survived

These thoughts in my head;
Well,
Shouldn’t I say these demons?

These demons in my head,
They keep shouting,
Loud.
In my ear,
Cursing your name.

I wish i could take a gun and aim it at each
And every
Single
One
And shoot them dead.
But what would I do with the silence?

Would i be able to live with the echoey quiet,
Be alone with those memories that I've tried so hard to run away from?

As much as i want to finally be alone
With the quiet nothingness that silence brings;

I can’t.
I just
Can’t.

I don't love myself, nor the memories scorched and scarred into my skin that make me who I am. How can I when every single one is burned with a mean tongue slapped across my face, or a forgotten tear nobody ever cared enough to pay attention to?

But I love you.

I love you.

I keep repeating those three words.
Sometimes you hear them,
Sometimes you don't.
But it's a constant echo in my brain;

Just like you’re a movie in my head,

On repeat.

Day in
And
Day out.

Most nights I see you for who you are.
Most nights you are the same boy i fell so quickly,
And so hard for.

Most days i look at you and,
All I can see is the image created in my head.
No,
Burned in head.
Scorched into my brain so hot and fiery i can feel the burn long after the demon has retreated into his dark, cold cave;

Until he crawls back out,
Slowly,
Over time,
His screams getting louder and louder,
Echoing against the walls of my skull.
Like an endless cycle.

I love you.

But it's not fair that I'm bringing you along on this merry-go-ride.
I know you want off.
You’re begging the ride instructor to turn off the switch,
Unbuckle the seatbelt that’s tying you to me,
Let you live your life without worrying about the chaos running through my head.
Without worrying if you did something wrong.
Without worrying if i still love you,
Without worrying about your own demon on your shoulder.


I
Love
You.

But some days…
Some days i get this one demon,
Whose voice is so much louder than the rest;
He’s the one who loves to tell me all the terrible things you are doing and thinking
Instead of all the terrible things I am doing, like the rest of them.

And some days all i can hear
Is the screeching sound of that demon
Screaming in my ear
Telling me everything

I
Don’t
Want
To
Hear.

Because I don't want to hear it,
I don't want to hear any of it.

No matter what I say,
No matter what I think,
No matter what I do,
Some days I don’t see the real you.
Some days I only see the version of you that this demon wants me to see.

But maybe I’m just crazy.

Cos only crazy people talk back to the devil on their shoulder. It’s only the sane that ignore him.

Right..?