I once again feel as though I am imploding,
because all of this destruction is on the inside.
A black hole devouring light.
Sit in the front seat of a chaos theory lecture and attempt to pointlessly assign order in vain,
for there is no rhyme or reason,
only confusion and grieving.
But you will still look for the butterfly who dare flap its wings.
I've tried and failed.
It's a frustrating thing.
After all, you can't lasso gravity;
You can't force these atoms to come back together into a solid state,
just as I can't force my mind to stop thinking, stop feeling, stop breathing.

I'm in my villian era;
That is to say
I'm in my intolerant era
My "I don't give a ****" era
My "I don't have patience for peoples emotions and stupidity" era;

Except its not an era
It's a day
A week
It is a come and go feeling that helps me to function and push forward,
It is an intensity
A fire burning, but not from anger
It is power and control
It is a wall
It's still kind, but different, tainted
Searching for the motive, the string, the catch
proceeding wearily, lacking child-like faith.

It is the only way to protect myself,
demanding respect
To declare that statement:
"Don't **** with me"
To be a sheep in wolf's clothing
Until I feel safe enough to rid myself of this hyde.

I let it all run
Thickly and quickly
I want them to see the messy horror of it all.
But it’s not all blood,
Rather it is the medium for my art:
Pictures of roses, cardinals, apples
The rouge on a woman’s lips
An  umbrella on a rainy day
A wool sweater
A pocket square against a black suit
The traffic light on the corner of the street...
Or perhaps I'll dip my quill in it and write
Because that's what writers do.

They turn all that red into something beautiful...

“Post a time when you were at your lowest but no one noticed”
But the thing is when I was at my lowest, I never hid it, at least not in the long run
I let the blood from my struggles pour from my eyes,
It runs down my arms in vein-like trails and seeps into the creases of my palms
It runs down my fingers, filling the whorls and arches of my prints
Every touch contaminates and floods
I spread it on the surfaces, smearing and painting with red: startling like a cardinal in snow and thicker than wine
At times I regret being so open, thinking I should just keep things to myself
But that would be to go against my nature
To go against my deep desire for those I love to know every single intimate part of me;
To see me at my weakest.
Maybe it’s because there aren’t any secrets then
It’s just me showing the world that when im strong, im strong,
And when I’m weak, I’m weak.
I suppose I don’t feel the need to hide how I'm feeling or what I am going through.
To hide it would be far too much work
And I don’t have the energy to hide.

My love has been left sitting too long/it has fermented into loneliness/nobody wants to be the last one standing/to be the last kid picked in gym class/it creates disappointment.

Emptiness wraps me in its cold embrace/There used to be more of us/but one by one they were picked off/Falling into the snare of an intimate relationship/I am merely a placeholder until they get the ones they will spend forever with/and that was ok...at least I thought it was.../

I had my cat/but now she is gone/The one constant thing in my life/I come home expecting to see her there/on my bed/laying in the sun/on the chaise with her favorite blanket/I said goodbye on a Thursday/and packed up all her things four days later/The reminder was too painful/And yet I have pictures of her everywhere/because I need her presence/Loneliness was never so bad because I was never alone/until now.

So yes I am growing bitter towards the idea of boyfriends./Boyfriends become priority/You become less of one/Maybe when I get one it will be different/But I have vowed never to forget who was there for me/but right now in this moment/I am sick of being abandoned/of being alone/Of grieving what I have lost and what I don't have.