Friday, January 30, 2015

Toy trains

Let’s talk like we’re old.
Like we always did in school.
Where we were expected to be clay in the hands of our teachers.
Learning how to spell “because” because it would help us later in life.
Now our bodies grow.
And life is just a train track.
And there are two trains with the same destination.
On the same track.
And the collision is inevitable.
Tragic.
All we want to do is put on the brakes.
There is a lot of screeching, from the passengers and metal.
And every thought is a passenger.
And the metal is the pain.
The joy.
And when they collide.
The fire is beautiful.
Deadly.
And we realize ourselves.
The clay is soft from all the molding.
We don’t just talk about being old.
We are old.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Please help the ungodly.

This domain. Where I'll write my brains out.

My mind is an incoherent mess. If you have the patience to read this, I really hope you can help me out. There's something wrong with me. No matter how hard I try, my thoughts will not transfer to semantics.

 I am brilliant.

 It's really tragic if you think about it. I think and bleed and move like everyone else, but I'm only one of two by four by eight by a million.

I am a lunatic. Holding onto objects that never have meaning. But give them meaning. Hold onto something for too long and you'll only hurt yourself. The scars will run deep into your hands, left only as a painful memory.

 I have the cure for every ailment ever drowned across the whole world. I have the answer to anything you ask me, tucked away deep inside. I know past, present, and future.

But I am no God.

When I write on a page, my eyes go cross, my vision blurs, and I'm possessed with an obsession to reveal the true identity of my mind. The right words never come.

I want nothing more than acceptance. Not from you, your mom, your grandpa. Hell, even your pet. I want to bridge the gap I have created spanning from my hand to my brain. They've been separated for far too long. It's time they loved each other again.

As we continue to work on this blog. Please. Help me make sense of myself. I know everything I say has meaning, but I don't understand it. Help me discover why I have to force myself to cry to write. 

Help me understand why I have to fake my feelings to feel.