Thursday, July 22, 2010

everything you write is either shit or a hit

and its never up to you to decide.

this is crap i've written in the past that i liked or i thought bites, either way i want it saved for whatever reason. read and take away from it what you want.

for my personal blog with new stuff posted here and there go to:

ps- someone please make my story ideas happen since i cant. here is one: a couple has to be married to get into this club/cult type environment for rich people, if you divorce the wife is kicked out and the husband is left in as he goes out into the public to find a new wife to bring in. everything is going fine in the marriage until one day when he randomly asks for a divorce. she begs him to stay, not because she loves him, but because she loves the cult. every guy she'd had an affair with turns on her, won't leave their wife to let her stay in, but she still wants to stay, she becomes obsessed with it. she kills her husband to avoid being a divorcee and ends up a widow. there were no rules about this so she is allowed to stay. aka someone link this page to stephen king.

old old old

like trying to make an impact in cement.

you made a mistake when you let me go
time will show you that
standing on the sidewalk with my empty hands she let go
he'll let go too
standing on the sidewalk with your empty hands
waiting and waiting like a stoplight loves the headlights
nobody left who cares
the city goes by and you stand still
like cement but never lasting
a demoliton team to take down your esteem
like a stoplight loves the headlights

feels like sometimes you meet people in your life
only to push them out of it
and keep the lesson that you learned
from the heartbreak that you earned
never anything more
you wear your heart on your sleeve and you never have your shirt on
its always on a floor
i know we're only human and you make mistakes
but nobody makes them better

i got an attatchment problem
i promise sometimes i still think of you
but not in the way you want
i wake up and it's still me, still my hands
reaching for the alarm clock
reaching for a reason to not hit snooze
you gotta get under someone's skin before you can get inside their mind
i wanna be in someone elses body so that you'll let me touch you the way i want to
not just under your skin

and one day i was good. i had a heart of gold.

then that heart of gold turned to rust. one too many times it did bust.

i can tell a good thing when i see(m to lose) one

i don't know where else to put this normally i'd shove it ic and write it better but i can't do that soo sorry just pass by it i am tired and will probably be embarrassed i posted this later goodnight

i meant everything i ever said that (should have) made you smile
even though i said "i never meant it"
we're both just idiots if you believed that
because i meant every phrase from "i care" to "i love you" to "i'll always be there"
seven months trashed but i wouldn't call them garbage or wasted
just hold my hand cause there has to be better days
after losing you i know there can't be worse
don't think about all the kisses we'll never share,
or the memories we just have to shake.
my priorities weren't right; you should have been first.
how to handle this right was what i didn't know,
like throwing a pity party where you didn't show.
the worst thing is we didn't get a chance, all i got was a failed romance.
so this is how i cope - i don't,
and this is how you mope - you won't.
i don't know what hurts worse;
the chorus or the verse.
faking matters of the heart is where i would fall apart if i tried.
this falls short of what i want it to be
(but what else do you expect of me)
the worst thing is this probably doesn't even hurt you
and then i get mad at myself for wanting it to
three words can end it all, three words can end make us fall
you said "i hate you too"
and that probably is true
the worst thing is i never hated you
if i did you wouldn't be reading this right now
i guess it's pretty easy to let go of something you never wanted to hold onto
if i could let go i would but seven months later and i still don't know how

sleep is my favorite pasttime - i should work on my book but i am working on my heart instead

the doctor won't have enough remedies to make me forget you -- and even if he did i'd tell him to shove it. my hands are sore from hanging onto false hopes and my stomach hurts from swallowing back words i wish i said. i'm counting on wishes cause i can't count on anything else. it isn't stress keeping me up late nights its regret and my eyes are sore from trying to look up all the time. this is one of those times i just can't. i can't see a brighter side to anything when life without you is dark. keeping your chin up just gives you neck cramps and new lies. tylenol and i have one in common, neither of us is strong enough. if they haven't yet they never will -- no one else will ever bring out this side of me. thanks for being my good luck charm at beating the blues while you were, for a while i was winning - i'll never regret/forget you. i meant it when i said i never wanted to hurt you. i meant it when i said i love you. funny thing is, i still mean it.


wasted time on needless worries passes with each acknowledged second. the clock ticking in the distance reminds me how alone i am in this home and it keeps me -six feet under-grounded, never letting me lose sight of the fact that i'm here and i'm alive so i might as well breathe in and try to sleep. these black and white dreams building the only bridge to passway that brings me closer to when i'll speak to you again. each night without you abandons my sense of self as i wonder how much longer it'll be until i'm a part of you again. my heart doesn't sound the same beating alone out of place without yours echoing one pace behind or ahead. always ahead. my heart now is just the sound of something missing. gone and away. i can think of how beautiful you are and how jealous the rest of nature must be as you pass by. i lie in between cold sheets with memories of you and happy times we've shared getting to where we are now keep me warm. sleepless but content, finding sudden comfort pulled from the moonlight shining through the window to my heavy eyes and restless mind is you're alive and you're mine. you're alive and breathing and each heartbeat brings the selfish feeling it's only for me. the thought of you being what i've been missing is soothing. your scent still lingers on the pillow below my head and every time i inhale i fear the let down of exhaling. outside the window the city lights go low as the sky turns dark and each seldom and select passing car gone by gives enough life to the night to last until sunrise. like a missed opportunity each car goes by the streets where we met and my life was never the same again. i wouldn't change a single second for chance this might have never happened. if we never met i'd still know what i was missing. a world that surrounds each body and each soul with promises, full of lost memories and second chances. outside people giving up with each red light on the street it makes me thankful for all i have. i can sleep at nights with the thought of you at peace. when i wake up i'll be another moment closer to holding you again, the gouging sense of the canyons between us and our lifestyles narrowing each day until both sides can cross and live in harmony. patience. i can sleep tonight. i love you. it's all that i have.

the things we never finish and how they can finish us

these are all old bits and pieces i had started but lost interest in. i never did believe in myself.


staring out my window i realized how cold it was, past the frost lining the sill. i didn't need to be outside to feel my toes freeze. guess everything is a lot colder when you are alone too, maybe they should make that a scientific fact- like being alone leaves you always at least 5 degrees colder.

the snow adding up outside made me wonder why anyone ever worked during the winter, why they didn't just save up all spring, summer and fall and spend the cold inside under blankets and weather. worse, it didn't seem to make much sense to me why there were people that would take $5 to spend an hour outside shoveling a driveway. it didn't seem worth the runny nose and frostbite that came afterwards. there was a knock on the door that interrupted my stare across the parking lot outside of my window. isn't it funny how the last person you ever want to see again is always the first you'll run into?

i was always drawing things in school. dead birds. dead things.

when i opened the door she came in from the cold without any mittens and told me i was all she had left, or whatever she knew i wanted to hear, just to have a place to stay. everything i wanted to hear aimed at my ears but meant for someone elses. backup plans a and b had failed in the time span of maybe a week. i guess i was the drawing board she was back to with a few marks still visible from the last few visits.

history is just the past without the feeling.

sometimes you can't tell what time it is, or how long you've been awake, but one thing you can always tell is when you're unwanted. but still i let her in, knowing i'd be called heartless a week later when she was calling from the safety of her new boyfriend's house, for whatever reason she could think up. sometimes i think she just liked to fight, because it was at least a way to be heard. me i just liked when we fought because she stopped paying attention to me when we weren't.

i must have been staring or something because the next thing i knew her froze, red hand was waving in front of my face. i offered a smile and she could have wiped it off my face. "sorry," i manage to say, almost without thinking about it because around girls like her it becomes automatic. it loses meaning. i could think of a few words i'd never say again, like "safe".

there's a knock at the door. i never said i wasn't expecting anyone, just that i wasn't expecting her. i look from her to the door, as if i have to choose one or the other, and little do i know- that's what i end up having to do. what if she ever felt the way i did, like i was always one foot in the door and the rest of the way out. would it even matter?


subject: overheard, rough draft.
motto: even if it's shit, it's still lit.
body: write and improve.
date: r.i.p.

title: desperstation.

i hate being out this late.
i hate it. i absolutely hate it.
i want to be home now.

too long of a wait, too many people disconcerned with my own selfish concerns, too busy with their own.

rush hour.

i can hear her voice even though the phone still rings. i know she's staring at the phone. hating it, more and more each ring. she's alone at home, and i am alone too, but surrounded by strangers that don't notice me at all. it works, i don't notice them either.

"answer, answer," i plead and i don't know if it's out loud or to myself anymore at this point. i know she wants nothing to do with me. i want everything to do with her.

walking along the sidewalk, the phone still rings. when she finally answers she might as well have not at all. bad news, but is it better than no news?

this is almost absolutely the truth.

i need something to calm my nerves, a cigarette. taking out the pack, i light one up. she's still not answering on attempt three.

there is no reason to live, but plenty of reasons to die.

attempt four. i start to wish lung cancer could rapidly happen overnight. over right now.

"please." but still no one answers, nothing. i start to wonder if she's even alone.

logic tries to make sense, asks me why i let her do this to me, but i ignore it. no one else matters. no one else ever will. i am too busy trying to get HER to answer me that i won't answer anyone else. maybe one day she'll pick up the phone, maybe one day i will be the last person on earth and she won't be able to ignore me.

logic stops trying. my heart is the most dangerous weapon anyone could hold against me.

things can't get worse and then they do. i see the bus i was supposed to catch passing by. temporarily (or was it gone before the incident) i lose my mind. i run out into the middle of traffic with my cigarette dangling between my fingers while it's at a red light and i knock on the door, but the driver shakes his head and refuses to open the door. i try again- it's a long red light- but no such luck.

have i lost my mind or finally gotten one of my own?

i move to stand in front of the bus, and i stay there, blocking it from being able to turn once the light is green. at this point i'm not thinking at all. people are honking, shouting. people are yelling things at me, all the names they call me online. they have places to go, i'm in the way. what i don't understand is the sides in traffic that i'm not blocking, why are they yelling?

people can't mind their own business. they are too busy in everyone else's.

the bus driver starts to go, slowly, but i stay, hand on the wiper. there is no reason to live, but plenty of reasons to die. i pull out my phone and try her again. still no answer.

i feel weightless. i feel like the cars going by on either side of me are staring right through me even though they notice me. i move aside and feel alone again, even with all the eyes on me. none of them are the ones i want to see me. i don't even want them to look.

is this more or less of a deal than it feels like?

i walk back to the side of the road and feel embarrassed. tossing down my cigarette, i just walk. there's a bench but i don't feel like sitting. i was hungry but now i can't stand to eat. i'm disgusted with myself. i have no appetite.

i don't want pity but i want comfort. i finally get ahold of her, and tell her what happened. predictable: she doesn't care, she ignores me. as if this is an attempt for attention when i honestly temporarily lost my mind, i'm even scared of myself. but i get the feeling if the bus had kept going and ran me over, she would feel like she had one less problem to deal with. and that's my life: someone else's problem.

i light another cigarette and sit down on the next bench, staring at my knees. a car pulls up, "hey, i saw what you did out there. are you okay, what was going on?" at first i don't look up, and if i do i want to shield my face. "forget it, forget me." i say either out loud or in my head, again i can't tell. is it a news reporter? new news to everyone else, old news to me.

"hey, did you need a ride?" they are persistent.

"no i just wanted to go home." i am useless. not sure why i was even put on this earth at this point. i can't please everyone, or anyone. and no one cares to save me at this point. not even myself.

oh how i hate everyone, even her. i hate myself because of her. ignoring my calls. ignoring me. i realize that maybe all my problems are with someone that doesn't have to be a part of my life. but i let her be. i made her be. sure, i wrote her into my life story but she's deciding what her impact is. what role she's going to play.

like maybe, just maybe, i made my bed and let her sleep with someone else on it.

"i can take you home. really. the bus driver should have let you on." but i still don't want charity, i don't want pity. i just want a place to belong and that isn't even my home anymore.

but i look up, i stop struggling. if they're going to kill me they're putting me out of my misery- they are finishing the story for me. my pen is about out of ink as it is. there is no reason to live, but plenty of reasons to die.

my emotions are dramatic, up and down. there is no happy medium. this is more a curse than it ever could be considered a blessing. especially when all your lows nearly drive you six feet under.

"okay." i stand up and go over to the car, pulling open the passenger side door. sitting down, i feel like second chances are given for a reason. i feel like life is yours to live as long as YOU live it. i feel like we all make mistakes but no one is born one.

somewhere someone is starving. somewhere someone is unable to provide for their family. somewhere someone is unable to walk without crutches. somewhere someone has to use a wheelchair to get around. somewhere someone is worried about how to make ends meet. somewhere someone can't pay the bills. somewhere someone would kill for a roof over their head. somewhere someone is. this makes my problems in paradise look like a scratch on a ferrari. while that makes it easier to deal, it still sucks to deal with.

as human beings i guess we can never ever stop being selfish. stop being ungrateful. stop being in the moment instead of getting out of it.

'push' comes on the radio, and i bite my lips in realizing how much i feel like i've been pushed around. the girl that asked me if i needed a ride in the driver seat next to me probably just feels like she's doing charity work, like giving a homeless cat you find in the backyard some food from the indoor one. maybe that is all i am, a wild cat in need of housebreaking. in need of a home. i'm a good deed without anything about me being good at all. funny how that works.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

writing is writing. this is from the middle of last year yet i didn't want to delete it

Half everything. Putting your all in leaves you empty.

Ever since I can remember Ive stared at the same smile on so many different faces, but seen through it to the same let down. How you look at yourself reflects how you look at other people, if youll be jealous, if they will envoke empathy or pity. Every vessel in my body feels like its on a mission itll never complete, the sun will never set. There will never be a moment to rest or forgive myself. We leave traces of white as we shed our old skin. This is love, this is loss. This is trying to understand where you fit in in the world and with those around you. Everything we love we can eventually kill if we arent careful. And I dont mean murder.. sometimes you dont have to die to still be killed.

"I can remember when I mattered, just not to you."

He started out an evil man with the most evil heart one could imagine. At least thats how it always seemed. He wasnt born this was, no one evil really is. Something happens to make them that way. Burned in the past, he kept everyone at an arms length distance away- no one was going to ever hurt him again, no one would ever mean anything to him, more than they had to to stick around until he was done or bored. Hearts wasnt more than just a game to play, as far as he was concerned. Deep down in that heart dwelled pure motives, but letting them show would be a play on the words always played on him. A travesty on romance. He never felt he did it right, anyway.. but the stimulants to get it right were never sold on the corner drugstore market. Girl after girl would either make or break him- gone as quick as they came. And they came and went with as much impact as wind has on a brick wall. He was somewhere between unnoticed and noticing. Life just wasnt worth living, and he wasnt living at all.

Until her, of course.

As all stories go, he was sure she was 'the one'. Suddenly world domination didnt matter so much, suddenly the impact on him that other girls left didnt feel like craters, more like ripples or scratches. They barely left a dent. Did any even exist before her? He would surely forget. Write? Work? Make calls? All wastes of time as far as he was concerned, unless she was the one he was writing or calling. She was the ocean and he was the shore, she would retract, leave him dry, then come back for more. On the same hand, he would leave her drained but stay there until she came back to be replenished, to stretch out and show off how beautiful she really was under the bright orange sunlight. Either way, there was no way he was going to keep her from flooding in past the barriers he had been building for years. The dams were unstable already, rotting away and waiting for the right change in temperature. She was an incandescent light in the darkness that kept him hidden. This was both a positive and a negative- he would see why eventually. Drawn to her like a moth, she kept him away from the world. He lived like this and was happy since what more does a moth need than light? She was his everything and he took advantage of it.. he pushed it, and kept pushing.

Then she took away that light...

Maybe the light had made him blind- but losing it made him see. Many excuses could be made. Moving through the shadows she would leave none of her own. They moved aside for her. She was extraordinary, and she was wasting her time with the likes of him. Why hadnt he seen it sooner?

"No, I need her." This was ridiclous, this was absurd. This had to stop. How could he go on without her, living the way he was now to the way he wasnt before. Go back to doubting what every girl said, go back to purposely losing their numbers so they never got closer when the morning came. So he was never there by them when they woke up in the morning. Life before her was foggy, she was the only real thing. There is not a part of her that is distinguishable as inadvertent. As he made plans she laid her own out without flaw. Maybe if he was better to her, she would be herself again, she would love him with the light she had glowed with before.

A few days had passed. It seemed as if he would never get through to her, never on his own.. So he made a deal with what some would call the devil, others would call a lawyer. This was weird and a first- someone giving up everything for good.. not for evil. But a deal is a deal. There was no hope left, after all, since he had lost Hope. "Anything to keep her." He plead, "Anything to not lose her." The deal was made but the fine print was anything but.

Oh, and he got her back alright. That was the deal, it was fulfilled. But not all of her. Just her body. Not her soul.

"I'll show her I've changed." But little did he know- she didn't want to see him anymore. Unperceptively he alive with new blood, feeling like he was seeing out of new eyes. The world looked brighter. Finally he had the wakeup call, and not the ones hotels promise but are always late on or forget. She was sick of him walking by her, not with her. Walking on her, not to her. White changed to black the night the door shut behind them, the night after the deal was made, the flowers that were scattered on the beach were now long gone and buried in the sand. It was like a silent memorial for the moment he wished they had just never left. It was really that night on the beach that he started to appreciate her, but it had already been too late. The moth now has nowhere to go. All he can think about is what he gave up and lost, not what little he has left.

Friends all laughed and patted his back, 'all marriages have problems,' theyd say, as if they really understood or related- all of them still single. All of them still happy. "You still have your health." But he lost that in the deal he had made, he lost that losing her. "You could be crippled, at least you have your legs, you still have your arms." But what good were his legs, his arms, if they werent taking him to her.. holding her. These futile attempts at cheering him up had started to become more insulting than they ever were helpful, and he curled back up into the corner of darkness, waiting for his light.

She stays in dark corners with her back turned, afraid someone will try to rip off her mask and see she still loves him. She wears only black when she used to be full of color- it's more like an inside joke, a masquerade.. to appear as if she wants to be left alone. Look like your going to a funeral and no one will ask you how you feel. She wants to belong by not belonging. They made it this far in those shoes but their souls are wearing thin. Neither wants to give up but neither wants to give in. Their motivates have been changed, sides have been switched for battle of good and evil. He had seen the error of his ways the same way she had, only he had moved on from them to become the man that she deserved. It was never the same after that night. They would bicker, have sex now and again, and she will leave her bag or her sock.. it seemed to him it was the only reason she would come back. But at least she came back at all.

Ever since that day, she would always hear him but never acknowledge that she did. She would love him but never show that she did. There would be some sort of weakness in the jurisdiction if she did such a silly thing as that. Makes you think of the fucked virgin pretending after seven years she never lost it. She was the reason he had it. He sat in longing for the girl that had changed him, that had made him see life was more than existing. Life was feeling alive.

"Leave her? But I love her." Leave and love were more than two letters away, and in order for him to get it all out he'd need a whole notebook. He grew up installed with enough word programs to know never to leave your family. Never to walk out. But how would he ever get her to see what a difference she had made to him? To see if it made a difference to her?

His life had become that of a dog, sitting by the door waiting for his master to come home. Waiting to be owned, needed, not simply pet on the head and passed by. Waiting for a responce to every move he made, wanting her and her alone to be his audience. There was a scratch on the wall in the darkness, but no light to see it. Through all of his plans hes forgotten, through all of the paperwork and plots he puts aside he would be lucky to get a nod from her. Not in the sarcastic way, but he really considered himself lucky when she acknowledged that he was still around. That he was still loving her. The only difference was now he was the one being walked by, not with. She was the one walking on him, not to him. The tables had turned and the corner of it had hit him pretty much square in the balls. He deserved it all, he knew. So he suffered alone, waiting for the moment she would look at him with the eyes of a lover not the eyes of a stranger. "Im sorry" never meant enough, but then again until he had almost lost her, "I love you" didnt either. He never really saw that he had lost her, just sort of lived with what was left. What he hadnt killed of her starting from the day he met her.

Probably on his grave would be the words hed be saying all the way to it, "Im sorry."

Friday, August 17, 2007

if you have someone else in your life then they can replace me

the logic behind my reasoning is if i push away everyone i dont matter to- maybe they wont matter to me.

from a seat in a lobby i arrived at too soon, options are looking thinner and thinner. they are fewer and fewer. so are the days. it's throwing down your hand before you've lost, just to save a little dignity. like, hey i could have won, had i stayed in another round. but now no one will ever know.

sitting with my hands in my lap, i feel like a number in a line and my number has been called. the only thing ive left my mark on is a tombstone ready to be put in some cemetary above my untouched body, a slab of stone somewhere. i wasted my whole life trying to be loved, trying to look in tinted windows. trying to feel things never meant for me to feel. walked down different streets and sidewalks day after day only to end up in the same bed alone. every day would start and end the same, and thinking back, everything between never really was different either.

everyone standing ahead of me is old news, barely remembered. the elders. their numbers have been called and they are slowly being forgotten as you read this. they'll be remembered on birthdays, maybe. anniversaries.. if they had any. me? i don't. it makes it easier that way. all they are is bones and soul behind grayed bodies. a few are still bright, i notice. they are the ones that are still being remembered.

everyone seated behind me is ready to be forgotten, just faces youll maybe (mis)place someday. the newborn souls. they're so full of optimism because they haven't seen what the world is really like yet. how love is something found in divorce court and shady hotel rooms. you can find "love" in the nightstand by the bed, forgotten about even in the morning. the new souls are waiting to be born, waiting to have a chance at life i willingly gave up.

"your writing has gotten much better." was one of the last things said to me, which i just rolled my eyes at. "oh, but my words have gotten much worse." i'd said. worse, much worse in emotion. i don't want to relive what i wrote. couldn't stand to read the line i wrote before the next. thinking about my last days, about her.. it feels like someone is gripping onto my lungs and i can't breathe. if i wasn't already dead, the heartache would kill me again.

it's my turn. i pull myself out of my corrupted thoughts and out of my seat and i head up to the front, to the counter. funny how there is a glass window seperating me and the decider of my fate. behind me the line moves up and my seat is quickly filled. this also reminds me of my life, when i still had it. before i stopped wanting it.

as if there is a possiblity, a chance, to back and live and love again, i am asked, "are you really ready to give up?"

i think about it. no, i'm not really. but i've tried and tried. trying was killing me, more than it was keeping me alive. basically- if you fuck up love, you fuck up life. there is no going back. they coexist and not with you.

"yeah." i shrug, saying it much more casually than it should be said, ever. "never fell in love, no one ever loved me. i don't think if i stay a few more years this will suddenly change. i think it'll just make me worse off. it's better to.. give up now, you know?"

i don't notice it but there are tears. not in my eyes but those behind me. those ahead of me already relate and only shake their heads.

"well, such a sad thing. to die unloved." the newborn souls nod and agree and all this does is make me want to scream at them, warn them. laugh at them, at how stupid they must be to think dying alone and unloved is uncommon. but they will learn on their own. everyone does eventually.

looking over each face i think of a new fate for each one. 'your husband will cheat. and your wife will leave you. you'll get dumped on your birthday. you'll lose your true love to someone else. you will all be as unneeded as me.' i tell them in my head.

"no, it's not bad to die unloved, nor is it all that unfortunate." i'm rather rational now, "i'd rather have never experienced love, and quite frankly? it made death easier. it's unfortunate to die loved and to have people you miss, and to leave others missing you. dying unloved is only bad on you. dying loved hurts others that still have to live."

funnily enough but not that surprisingly, he has no comment to that. neither do any of the newborn souls listening in. dying is a part of living, love isn't.

by now it's clear i do not want another chance at life, and in some hospital my heart machine flatlines.

see all i've learned from life is if anyone you care about has someone else in their life, they can replace you. they will forget you. it may take minutes, it may take years. but they will get over it. they will get over you. i didn't have to die to tell you that, though.