I’m staring a fantastic publishing deal with penguin publishing in the face. I’m finally in a place where I can take it yet I don’t think I want it. I’m fighting myself every inch of the way I just keep coming to this conclusion that I’m done writing. First it was the drawing and painting, then it was the music, now the writing. It all seems so jaded and cliché like there’s no reason to keep going to keep breathing and yet even still I’m just throwing another temper tantrum. It’s just that it’s a big one this time for obvious reasons… I’m becoming no one. What happens when everything you are starts slipping away what’s left!?
People keep telling me to pray to my respective God like I don’t, like I’m not that desperate. I pray to be woken back up to myself, I pray to have reason again I realize it’s a lack of faith in myself and over all so I pray for that too. It’s an odd feeling to feel so forsaken while not intoxicated. It seems so close some times that I could touch it no family, I only keep wanna be friends around because it hurts to much to have real ones. I don’t hate myself just who I was, am, and am becoming. Nothing real and substantial remains in my hands other than turning points I can’t figure out how to deal with. I experience some sense of relief with my regained sobriety and financial security but as usual it comes with an unwelcomed apathy.
I have single handedly built this hell, I have dug this hole and can’t find a way out, I am blind to the light at the end of the tunnel, and the hole is too deep. Somewhere along the way all faith I had was dying and I didn’t attempt to resuscitate it point is it was all my fault. So I stand alone and rightfully so I must save myself but cant with this I’m left to complain, bitch, and moan it’s wearing me so utterly fucking thin. Nowhere to turn at this point other than prayers and a program I can’t make work. Of course I could always go back to drowning it in the booze, dope, and never ending hunt for “love”. At least the chemicals where taking care of the problem faster at least they gave a place to run and hide from myself for a little while. When you land yourself in this numerous months long period where you are not actively and efficiently loved, and you have shit tons of people barking in your ear about how they care but when you speak you always get the response that’s too intense for them a functional life just becomes a fleeting idea.
Still somehow it’s all okay love is a luxury the world is better off with me not having. I’m like a drowning victim pulling down the life guard in a panic. I hurt those I come to love because I’m a frightened little boy who can’t be comforted. So if I accept that then maybe it’s time to let the rest go all of it. Isolation is just a band-aid for the apathy it doesn’t take away the calamity I have come to be so gruelingly bored with. Somewhere there is a step past the isolation I haven’t put my finger on yet but I will jump when such a thing is found.
It sucks not looking for attention anymore, not looking for human affection, not looking for help. I would rather not be remembered for the real me I would rather be remembered for the fake me there was more to the constant performance that is the life I can’t live anymore. So for now I step blindly in to nothing as no one with nothing to offer and looking for nothing in return.
I appreciate those three that dance around in my head like masochistic nightmares (those life guards I tried to pull under)
I appreciate my teachers even though I’m a poor student
I appreciate those who bit there tongue rather than tell me to shut the fuck up (I know you put up with a lot)
So now I step in to the great abyss the great unknown worst comes to worst let me go
Hear it echo real slow
Bouncing off of me to a land that I know
Waited some time for a sigh of relief
It’s nice to have hope
Even when you can’t believe
The world that I know never had a care for me
(Source: Spotify)(0 plays)
I’ll fall away this last time
Don’t try to beg me
I have been stricken deaf, dumb, and blind
But why would you try
I have given nothing
Most everything was a lie
Oh but the three honesty they had given me
I didn’t like what I had seen
Everything wrapped in a pretty bow
It floated away in the wind
In the words of Poe it will be seen nevermore
So now I’m left with a void
God has forsaken me or did I him
There is nothing left for me
Other than a sickly smug contentment
No more dead wishes
It’s the end
I’ll fall away one last time
So when the clouds fill the sky
Only recall this humdrum lie
That was ones someone known as I
That’s more or less it tumblr I doubt you will have a post from me again … you where a worthwhile outlet
Anonymous asked: hey broooooooooo
what up who is this!?
Sanity seems to be ever fleeting in the past few months. Everything becomes so surreal when you spend this much time without any perception of it. Night time becomes a sanctuary, points in time were everyone goes away and you’re no longer expected to know what you’re doing or why you’re doing it. Nothing hurts my eyes and stomach more than a sunrise these days it used to be a welcomed sign of a fresh start now only an exclamation point that my mind is giving out a little bit more. I always expected this level of instability to come at some point in my life it’s just at this point it was unexpected. What a shame it seems that at a point in time when I need to be most dependent on myself I can’t figure out how. Maybe it’s just some silent cry for attention?
Peculiar things become clearer with time like how my mother would make an attempt at her own life every night but never succeeded at until the very end. As welcoming as the idea seems at times you’re always faced with this overbearing conflict of what a waste of time it would be. It’s like you get your ass kicked every day by yourself or someone else and then half way through you just call it quits and leave it all to be in vain. Yet on the same side of the coin you get to bail out of this never ending blame game of whose fault it is that you are the way you are. It’s like a volcano waiting and waiting to erupt and then the day you die everyone starts screaming and pointing fingers portraying something in a way they never did before like a sleeping giant. Of course I must look at how flimsy and fragile people are things they never thought would drive them in to the ground.
People are stupid to easily enraged by their own fear forever competing for the best mask to cover it up with. My mother wasn’t like that even at her sanest of times she had some mellowed fear of judgment like it had been mercilessly beat out of her. I have stumbled upon three others in my time and only three. My three loves the only people I could regularly tolerate who had this same bear raw lack of fear of themselves. So few are such people that I have come to find some sickly sweet contentment with my isolation. What is the worth in dealing with a world as broken as I?