Recite and Repeat

I have to grab the flab on my body to remind myself it's hibernation season,
To remind myself to sleep for as long as possible,
To avoid contact until warmer seasons.
These hands are cold from bearing the burden of desire;
This scar is a result of such.

I learn nothing.

I keep making the same mistake again and continue to grab the same skin,
Hoping it will get better in warmer seasons.

The Fire Inside

There's a fire inside I can't keep burning no more.

My breath has grown heavy, my lungs have grown sore.

Behind a closed wall it burns brightly, yet still

My soul cannot share it; within it must fill.

The Song Does Not Exist

The song does not exist.
I've looked for it everywhere, searched every lyric,
every note,
every message it delivered.
It was a sign that you were once existant in flesh, and now all you could give was this song, a sign of symbolic comfort.
And as suddenly as it came, it also disappeared.
Because I have searched and cried and have grown flustered and lost,
For this song does not exist.
And I wish it did.
I wish I could have it forever, hold it close to my heart, etch it into the center of every beat.
Maybe it is no longer relevant,
Or maybe it's more than that.  Maybe I pushed it away,
Grew out of my naive nature and became a person who you never knew, and never want to meet.
Maybe I have self deprived myself of the one thing that kept me grounded.

The song does not exist,
Because the girl you knew doesn't exist either.

That song belongs to her.

My Blogger In Crime

"Maybe... you'll fall in love with me all over again."
"Hell," I said, "I love you enough right now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?"
"Yes. I want to ruin you."
"Good," I said. "That's what I want too."

~Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

Sporting last night's make-up and faded stare, I'm here to inspire, but not to care.

The Window 4 Stories Up

Inhale.

They all pass through the parking lot never thinking to look up,
For they don't know I'm watching, calling out their bluff.

Exhale.

Internet Friends

It's that process we all avoid; clearing out your "friends" list on facebook.

Choosing who you delete off facebook is a lot more complicated to do than in theory.
It's not that you have a problem with any of them whatsoever, you just don't talk to all 600 of them on a day-to-day basis, let alone know who half of them are.
So I started with deleting those who's name I didn't even recognize (because we all have those friends for some silly reason), then those who I know but never really talked to in person (we also have those for another silly reason), then on to those who I never liked (even sillier reason), and then finally, those who I haven't talked to in a year.

Whelp, I have deleted almost up to 300 people. Yet somehow I still manage to have 600 friends.
(massive sigh)
You know what would make things easier? Deleting my facebook altogether.

But it really wouldn't.

A Room Half Empty (Not Half Full)

There was a room half empty (not half full).
It was dark.
I was standing in the middle of it hugging myself,

skin on skin comforting myself,

trying to fill up the space where my arms could no longer reach for.

And there lay a bed in the back corner.

A small corner filled with big secrets, 

secret's that were of other's further from my heart than you,

secret's I no longer want to keep tucked in.

But I guess that's better than hiding them under my pillow.

And on the other side of the bed was a window.

One that escapes out to a world where there are cars and people and problems bigger than mine.

But those problems compared to the storm that I was creating around myself seemed like a tiny raindrop; my tears were the downpour.

This is the room I created.
There is no escape route, no comfort, no you.
It is a void where you do not belong.
Just me, my thoughts, and this room half empty