I feel like singing sad songs all night.

This isn’t something written to provoke thought, evoke emotion, or tell a story. This isn’t some kind of attempt at being poetic and creative. This is something for me. This is something that I've needed to do for a long time.

Lately, I’ve felt restless. Stay up until seven a.m., sleep until 2, lather, rinse, repeat. I’ve got all of these ideas rushing through my head and no time – or motivation – to make any of them happen. I want to do more than sit at home reorganizing my room and going to parties where half of the people don’t know me and the other half don’t like me. I want to do a painting, write a novel, make a video about the disparaging conditions of the world today. I want to get out there and be noticed.

I want to feel like my writing is good again. I want to get that rush of adrenaline laced happiness that dances from my head to my toes and through my fingertips when someone calls me enigmatic or thought provoking. I want criticism, not gushy friendly reviews.

But then there’s the part of me that is too scared to do any of those things. I’m too scared of rejection and I rely too much on the opinions of other people to even attempt to change anything about myself.

I want to hang out with my friends again. I want to be the stupid annoying kid that I used to be and run around screaming profanities because it makes me feel mature. I want to have the ability to go out to clubs with one group and then stay in just talking with the other without feeling like someone is being betrayed by my every action. I want to find someone who I can be myself around without hiding whatever aspect of my personality.

Now, just to clear things up – I am not doing one of those lame things where I say I wear a mask. I’m confident enough to be myself; I just don’t let every single characteristic show through all of the time.

I want to find someone who will be around me despite the fact that I listen to shitty music and I sing (horribly) all the time. I want it to be okay that sometimes I just need to listen to sad music and play online games (horribly). I want someone who will listen to Enrique Iglesias and Juares with me without judging me when I start crying. I want it to be okay for me to say no sometimes instead of always getting bitched at over it. I want people to understand that even though I don’t always love my home life, sometimes it’s exactly what I need.

Sometimes I need to hug my mommy and whine and cry over insignificant happenings.

Sometimes, I need to step away from everything for a few minutes and just remind myself that I’m okay.

I need someone who understands that I can’t help how scared I get and how paranoid I am. I need to find someone who will accept every part of me – even the parts that I keep hidden (in plain sight). I need someone who won’t use me for what I’ve got and what I’m willing to do; someone who won’t take advantage of the fact that once I trust a person I trust them almost fully and will thusly do anything for them…someone who can buy and carry their own stuff and support their own habits. Someone who doesn’t need me to constantly be there for them to make a decision, go to the store, pick up a mess; someone who respects my needs, wants, and wishes as much as they do their own. Someone who can sympathize with my sometimes ridiculous and rather obsessive compulsive requests and needs.

Sometimes I just need to hug someone I trust and cry over nothing at all. Pathetic? Probably, but that’s who I am.

Sometimes, I just need to be reminded that people do care about me and that I’m not worthless. I want people to know that I’m not trying to impress anyone or get sympathy with my stories.

If you say you’ve never felt that way, you’re lying.

I want people to understand that just because I’m not talking a mile a minute and smiling, it doesn’t mean I’m upset.

What I need is to learn how to accept myself.

I fear this may be the hardest to attain.

c o n f e s s i o n s

ILIVEVICARIOUSLYTHROUGHOTHERPEOPLE'SWORDS.
There is nothing else left for me to do, because feeling this different is killing me s l o w l y.
You don't have to understand it, and you don't have to respect it.
ijustwishyoucouldstillwantme.

cliche

tumbling
falling deep, stuck in an unfamiliar familiar place
an alternate reality
this is your wonderland, your wormhole, your way to escape reality
everything goes as you wish it would, but this isn't a movie
you don't want it to end,
you don't want to go home,
you'd rather be blissfully unaware.

keep me safe here in my mind, it's all I can depend on.

you're fooling yourself.
you can't depend on anything or anyone.
you're alone,
alone,
alone.

This is wonderland, and yeah, shit happens.

you beg for perfection, you can't ask for affection

fear lies in the confession (the confession is laced with blood, tears, and a good few years worth of pent up frustration)
the admittance of love lies heavy on your tongue (your insides are screaming at him, don't leave me, don't hate me, please want me, love me)
he says nothing, and your tongue is suddenly dry enough that you feel like dry heaving (hold back, don't let him see you affected)
the lump in your throat tries to expand, cover your intestines (all the while your stomach is eating itself and your blood is running hothothot)
your eyes are wide and doe-like, your glances at him are furtive (and even though they're looking glassy, the tears don't fall)
your shaking hand flutters to cover your nervous heart (and as he walks away your head is screaming at him)
your mouth moves soundlessly, but your heart is thumping with words to scream at his back
(this is where I start to miss you more than I can bear)

wasting time

thrill of the chase
reason for being

stuck on empty
riding on fumes

hoping for a quick end
an exit to the labyrinth of suffering

sometimes i'd rather die than see you

Truth is I'm not over you.
I will never be over you.
But you broke me.
You broke me.

suffocation

A kiss pressed too your lips is all it takes to get you off of your barstool and into his car. It's been one of your many long, hard nights, and this is just the type of medication you prescribed yourself. He has a firm, almost painful grip on your wrist, and you're sensing that this is going to be exactly how you want it to be. You're pulled through a frantic mob of people as he drags you through the door, and from somewhere to your left you hear someone calling to you to wait, stop, think about what you're doing...You merely smile at whoever you'll be sleeping with tonight's backside and continue to lope on after him.

You're outside and the cool breeze is hell on your smoke-infested lungs. It's too clean, too pure. You hold your breath until he has pulled you into the passenger seat and lunged for his steering wheel. You don't breathe when his lips touch your neck as he pulls out of the crowded parking lot. You don't breathe when his hand dances up your leg and his fingers dip underneath the waistband of your jeans. You don't breathe until you can feel your brain starting to give up its fight for life, and even then you take only a small inhale. The feeling of suffocation rekindles the flame of satisfaction that had begun to snuff out when you left the bar, and you keep repeating your cycle of withholding respiration just to fill the gaping hole that you can feel everywhere in your body.

The minutes of travel have felt like hours to you, and when you see his blinker on and he pulls into the driveway of a quaint house, the satisfaction returns and you can breathe correctly again. Wordless, you follow him into the darkness that is his home and let him lead you to a small bedroom that is taken up mostly by a large bed. Without a syllable or gesture's warning, you go to him and press your cold, chapped lips against his. Any kind of pre-activity is out of the question. You need to get your fix, and you need to get it now. You pull off his clothes and then your own follow his onto the dank, dirty carpet. You push him onto the bed that takes up most of his room and you mold your body to his, smiling at no one in the darkness as he fumbles to roll you underneath him and take charge. Then, he is there. You're being pushed and pulled into six different directions as he thrusts in and out, in and out. He's squeezing and groaning with pleasure, and you're laying underneath him, wordless and silent, letting his fists and teeth leave marks on every inch of your skin. He screams at you as he pushes himself deeper inside, angry at your silence. He delivers a painful blow to your face that makes you moan, and makes the smile in his angry eyes gain a more malicious appearance.

Here it comes, what you've been waiting for.

He slaps you again, and your moan grows louder. He pulls out all of the stakes, pulling himself fully out of you and then slamming himself back in. Your moans grow to screams, and your insides feel as though they are bursting as each movement he makes becomes more and more painful. When he spasms inside of you, the crescendo you were about to reach falls flat, and you are left feeling empty again. You move to grab your clothes and leave.

He, however, has other plans.

You have just barely reached the edge of the bed when he grabs your waist with bruising force and pulls you onto your feet beside him. You don't have a chance to even look at him curiously before he has you up against the wall with your wrists locked above your head in a vice grip. His mouth is hot on your neck and collar bone as he bites into your flesh painfully. His mouth moves to your breast, and his free hand is touching every part of you, squeezing, pinching, pulling. The crescendo begins to build again, and you are in so much bliss that you can't make a sound. He's pulling your hair now, forcing your head back and biting your neck so forcefully that you think he's broken skin.

Heaven.

Then he's there inside you again. His thrusts are coming more forcefully and hitting you in better places. Your head is drawn back and your back is arched, and the second your hands are free they go to his back and are scratching down his back. The crescendo builds, and you can feel your body rolling in triumph as it gets closer and closer, until finally you reach it and can barely breathe again.

The feeling lasts for barely a moment. There is nothing for you to bask in anymore, and his thrusts are doing nothing to ease your inner pain. You let him finish, let his groans in your ear lull you into a sense of quiet being, and you are doing it again. You take a deep breath and don't exhale until you see the faint outlines of stars at the edges of your vision. He thrusts deeply one last time and he fills you with a groan. He removes himself from you, and you are once again keeping your breath. You step away, and then it hits you.

A sharp blow to the temple, one that brings you to your knees. The hole that fills so much of your being is gone again as the pain brings the only feeling that you can handle anymore. His blows continue to come, and you lay back on the floor and just let him hit you.

You're free now. Free from the pain of his fists, free from the pain of the past, free from the pain of the hole that is rapidly eating away at your heart.

Bliss.