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An odd thing to be free. You are the only person that can set yourself
free. No one can take it or give it. It can be the best gift or the
worst punishment. The trick is to find what makes you feel freedom.
For me it's the feel of wind on my face. The rush of serenity. How it
can open all of your senses at the same time. America seems to think
they can capture the feeling if being free in a document. I think it's
written in the stars. Woven into the earth. And it's the same feeling
you get when you know you are doing something big right. The forward
motion life rakes on when freedom is in it. The progressive march
towards something huge. Something bigger than us. All of us. And we
will all feel it. If only it could be all at the same time. What a
difference that one moment would make.
AddictionYou never think it's going to happen to you. Its an extension of your body. That tugging nag you feel when you can't have it. The numbness that takes over when you can. A release. It's as if it has a smirk on it's evil constant face because it knows you will be back for more. No matter how many times you "quit" it is always in the back of your mind begging you to come. To steal a taste. It holds you without touch. Keeps you without chains. You breathe it. You need it. Something bad will happen if you can't have it. Something scary that we don't want to deal with. We just keep on doing it because it helps the pain of being truly alone. You know you shouldn't but you want to. Neither friend nor foe. All it does is beat you further and further down. Into a place that is cold but familiar. Soon you never want to leave. And it gets worse. And better. And then you just wish you never got anywhere near it. And then you want to die. They say it will get better but it doesn't. And it won't. The
darkness...In my darkness there is comfort. There is a sense of consistency.
Something my life lacks. And in this dark there are huge ravenous
things that want to take you away from what you call happiness. They
want to twist your mind into tricks and gruesome urges. And we are
taught to fight them. And you will every time. You will fight the
monsters because you value something worthless. The difference between
you and me is that I let them come for me snarling and gnashing. I
let them take me to do things I will soon regret. The little nightmare
imps tug and pull at my toes and fingers. They trick me into going
too deep. And loosing connection to a world I once knew. Now I don't
hesitate when they come for me in the middle of the night, in the
still almost silent darkness. I go willingly because I know a secret
that you don't. I know that I am better off not fighting my demons. I
know that they will set me free one day. Free from a loveless world.
Free from the tired streets that sme
the world is quiet...The world is quiet and there is a light cool breeze. I get the notion
that there is no one else on this earth feeling the way I do. I know
that the nightmare will take my mind prisoner soon. The horizon
surrounding me is gray and blue with orange highlights. The orange
fades into a sinking dull brown.
I look off to the distance and long to be where the angels are.
Where they watch over everyone but me. For some reason they cannot see
me. I never did anything wrong. They preside over all the people on
this earth dancing and singing but somehow they forgot the girl crying
into the sleeve of her sweatshirt. If I could talk to one of them I
would ask why they would continue to let me live in such misery when
they could just dispatch me with a flick of their finger. And does it
not make them cruel to point and laugh at my pain? And is it enough
that I have to deal with the loneliness but must I also wish to die
and never have it granted?
untitledI see myself in you
But that doesn't mean that you do too.
Does it matter if I breathe you
Or if I couldn't stand to loose you?
The pieces that once were me
Are now scattered freely.
I'm twisted in your hair
The free floating loops of despair.
I don't want to be a stranger
But I will survive it if I can't be your wonder.
If we should speak
I would weep
So let the tears fall.
And if you should call
I will keep it in my heart
And do my part
To remember your sound.
Maybe someday I will be found.
leave you beAnd will I hate you
For all the awful things you do
Will I die
If swear to try
To leave you be
Resist the urge to touch you
I know I'll never be able to
I'm tired of being in this place
Where I feel I can't show my face
I am so ashamed
Of what I once claimed
To be mine
You say give it time
Pieces of our shattered bliss
Leave me asking why?
Fake a smile and walk away
Maybe we will meet another day
When the tragic remains
Have lost their gain
And will you see
That I can never
This part of me...My heart feels like a festering wound which will never heal no matter
what false hope of love it receives. I cannot breath. And for his sake
I cannot scream. My lungs inflate with the air that once smelled like
home but is now hot from the invisible daemons surrounding me. They
pull on tiny threads attached to my ribcage and vertebrae and laugh
with smug grins spread wide across their twisted faces. This agony is
a plague on my body which will always stay and push and pull me into
the darkness. And the tempting thought of freedom from it will only
bring more pain and blood and pestilence. My stomach twists and
revolts against the ever present feeling of loss of control of
everything I once had. I no longer am the director but now the weak
puppet that has a crack in it's heart and a drooping head and
conscious. The tick tock of the clock beats the rhythm of my heart
trying to break free from my chest. And I wish it would. I want
nothing more than for this agonizing heap of pain to be ex
homemy home is a place where i can go to rest my weary mind of it's troubling thoughts.
it's where a hug can never last long enough and kisses are both warm and tingly at the same time.
my home is where i can dance to the rhythm of my heartbeat. an escape where the line between music and life blur and melody becomes reality.
my home is the smell of crayons and peppermint. the aroma of sweet comfort that can melt my most stressful and agonizing days into something peaceful and quiet.
my home is not a place. it's not a location to which i belong but more of reassurance that i am going to be alright.
my home is with him. there is something burrowed deep within the folds of my soul that only he can understand. i keep him there with me at all times.
my home is always where my heart is.
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