Questioning myself during a crisis. (Unedited)

Writing, Writing

What if the girl noticed the boy staring from across the hall with heart filled eyes? what if the girl finally introduced herself to the introvert? What if
That girl with the Wry smile and eyes that never left a book got
The prince she always read about? Maybe the world would stop, maybe love would finally
Mean something more than just a simple text message with a few hearts and winks.

Maybe passion is appreciated.

Maybe I’ve been keeping my thoughts bottled up too often now.

Taking breaths of cold air, lying to myself with these possibilities. I don’t want to spend my whole
Life chasing something and realizing I didn’t want it. I don’t want my heart to stutter thump at every female that smiles in my direction.

Hope I can escape this feeling hopeless loneliness.

Lines dedicated to the person I Hope to become, so I’ll never turn back to these times,
These questions that rattle my brain.
Feeling burdened with the reality of my existence,
I find questions that linger. They settle gently on my mind like feathers, I can’t shake them

It feels as if feathers have fallen into the deepest parts of who I am and have begun to create havoc.

Questions about my existence, my worth, who I really am, if this is the life I’m meant to lead.

As the moon rises and illuminates the sky. The feathers fall deeper and deeper into my thought process.

I close my eyes and get lost in a never ending vortex of questions.

Questions I’ll never answer, questions that will eventually
Awaken the demons that I’ve always lived with.
Chasing trains of thought trying to keep up with my erratic thought process.
What if all of this is just a waste of time? What if I’m writing down the thoughts that I already had? What if I truly don’t exist?

Maybe I’m just another figment of someone’s imagination, another voodoo doll to squeeze and Torture.
Reconfiguring my chemical balance, drinking until I collapse, hiding the obvious cold pain deep in my heart. I’ve been holding my mind prisoner, keeping my mind shut off from a thought process, I’ve grown tired of chasing my train of thought. There aren’t any stops on the tracks.

Maybe I should fall to my knees and scream until
My lungs grew tired and my heart stopped wanting to beat, maybe I could jump into the ocean and let the water embrace me until I finally
Gave myself to it.
What’s more to life than these desperate moments.
I spend the summers trapped in my room and embed my thoughts in the walls that surround me. Assuming if I do so, I’ll answer my questions, I’ll find the passion in my life that I so desire.

Writing down words and phrases hoping to invoke a new beginning within myself.
All I’ve found is more questions, why are we all so easily programable? the grip we have upon or phones imitates the grip the phone has on us. It never leaves out pockets or
Hands.
The worst thing I ever asked of my myself, can I handle life? I’ve always had the one answer of a assured no.

I can’t handle this thing we call life, I get up everyday, and there is nothing.

I feel nothing, I don’t joy or relief that I am alive, I don’t look in the mirror. Not that I fear my reflection, I don’t look in the mirror because Illl look into my own eyes and hate who I am even more.

At night when the television has gone to rest from my constant abuse. I lay in bed away from all distractions and the voices creep from underneath the cloak of night they begin to whisper, from a whisper they become clear voices.

They all sound like me, they are me. They confidently tell me of my wrongs, assuring me that my mistakes were going to happen again, that I have ruined it all. There’s a faint whistle in the air, the small child with four locks of hair dangling around his innocent head.

That tiny voice breaks through at times and will give me hope, hope that the words that people tell me are true that they are believable. That child in me, he takes all the compliments and love I receive and keeps it safe for me. I keep all that warmth locked away for when I hit rock bottom again. Because every day is a tragedy for me, another loss, another failure along the path.

This year alone I’ve ran. I’ve ran from that hope I keep in me. I’ve been running blindly. Feeling empty aggression, rushing forward into whatever awaits hoping to destroy anything.

Sometimes I don’t care about anything or anyone.

Holding onto moments where the air feels pure and the people around me inspire poetic symphonies within me.

Reminiscing on the women I loved, I wonder if they ever feel like I do: questioning about how things are, how they could’ve been. Was I good enough? Was my heart big enough to carry their burden? Or did love just blur our vision and destroy us all?

If laughter is good for the soul, why do we only laugh for a brief moment? When it all ends does our soul go back to crying?

Momentary joy that only lingers for seconds and soon after we are immediately pulled back into reality. No one can laugh forever, no one can love forever.

So why make promises of happy forevers when, the beautiful flowers die after they bloom? So what makes anyone think love is eternal?

I’ve just been asking these questions to myself, to whatever holy figure watches down over me.

I’ve given up on my childish endeavors, I’ve given up on the goal of happiness.

Chasing happiness or even love has always felt like I was running a marathon and the more I tried the further I fell behind. My legs grew tired easily, my heart have out too quick, everyone looked ahead of me and all I could see was the ground right beneath me.
I’ve been asking these questions,because as of late I’ve lost a few things and life is anything but decent.

My heart aches and my mind is demented every evening. My imagination runs past my train of thoughts and leaves behind dark jewels that I know I’ll pick up and be absorbed into the abyss.

I thanked all my friends for being my friend recently, at least all the ones that ever were there for me. I don’t think they understood what happened. They didn’t see the fear in my words. The agony of giving up that I tried to brandish in those words.

I guess I’ve reached the highest cliff and I’ve been thinking is, should I jump?

Spent a decade playing superman for the ones around and yet no one dawned a cape
For
Me.

What about me, what about the lost boy that resides deep in my heart?

Sometimes it gets lonely trapped inside this place all alone, so I created replicas of myself to wander the earth and attain the knowledge of the finest foods, experiences, and the most decadent lovers and all they can offer.

I send them across the world so they can come back and tell me their tales.

The first story I heard, it was about how people always avert their eyes. The truths that they always seem to ignore. What if the truth was always right across from us? But we’re too scared to ever face it?

Why are we taught to run from the truth?
Some days I stare up into the clouds and I want to chase the sunset until I find where it rests in the ocean, I’d drag it out of the sea and throw it back into the sky so everyone could see how beautiful these clouds could be. We can’t mold them but they become these whimsical shapes that we admire.

In this sublunar world of ours, all I have felt and all I have done, has felt empty.

I’ve strived to create moments of irreplaceable bliss for the people around me.

 

 

 

I’ve been thinking about time travel a lot once the clocks strikes the lonely hours.

I’d fly back and relive the moments of embarrassment and shame that linger heavily on my heart.

I don’t question whether or not these things will change my present or my future.
I’ll always be the same self-loathing, thirsty for self-destruction being.

That won’t change. Even if I wanted it to, I wouldn’t travel that far back into they trauma I experienced.

Id fly back into my mothers arms for a brief moment, I would need her warmth to help me make it through the journeys I was gonna repurpose and give myself the outcomes I think I deserve.

The first stop after my mother, it would be this fight my brother had with my grandmother when I was 11.

He had been coming home at 2 am or so from his girlfriend’s house. Our grandmother refused to tolerate it. She kicked him out, after that. My brother never returned here to live. He started what would be his own grand and eventful
Life.

I’d save my brother that trouble, and tell him to just call Grandma. I don’t want to feel the pain of feeling like an only child anymore. But we aren’t children anymore, all these words. Are meaningless. I have such a tight grip on the past, an even tighter one on my mistakes.
I should’ve said it to them all before that I’m sorry, that I’m sorry that the walls close in and all I can do is panic and run to the closest corner and turn tail to my fears.

That I’m sorry that I have no idea what I want or what I should do. I only wanted to see them smile and to make the proud but all I’ve seen are eyes filled with disappointment. I’ve heard the sighs of distaste and the cold silence of regret for believing in me.

In the midst of a tornado all I can do is think about the quicksand below me: no matter how much I struggle to escape. I will never escape.

I am the quicksand. I am my own destruction and problem. There is no running from myself.

There is no running when the only one following me. Is my shadow.

I can scream and yell and swing at it. But I’m
Never going away.

I am who I am. That will never change. There is no special destination that will change who I am.

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