"I've got a flask inside my pocket, we can share it on the train.
If you promise to stay conscious, I'll try and do the same
We might die from medication but we sure killed all the pain
What seems so normal in the evening by the morning seems insane."
The simple things. A connection, even if only for one night, is what we all seek. That indescribable moment when everything fits perfectly together and you have no thoughts of what will come next, only how great it is to be alive and living in this moment. I've heard somewhere that Heaven isn't a place you go when you die, it's the moment you truly encompass the feeling of living. The best buzz life can offer, and you don't even need a substance. You want it, and so do I. Let's quit dancing around the truth. Be my drug. I'm tired of trying to find a better high.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Oh, what I would give to pick you apart and see how exactly you tick. You always have been able to get the best of me. You're pretty fucked up, but that's what I like most about you. I just never could get enough of it, and I think I spread myself a little too thick from the get-go. I'd love to go back and do it all over again... you know, relive the golden years knowing then what I know now. I'd have you; I know it. I don't really care about "having" you, though. That's never been the point of this. I'm stupid for making it seem that way. I just wish you saw things the way I do. I want you to be closer than this. You don't, and that's probably my own fault. I don't know what's best for you, but I've always dedicated myself to being whatever it is you need, and I guess that's just a friend. I am here for you, however you want me.
I really am at a constant war with myself. The more I think, it seems, the less I truly know. I haven't quite decided if I'm too over analytical or if I'm too impulsive. Honestly, I'm pretty sure I'm both. I'm not quite sure how that works. I get lost inside my own head so much, you'd think I'd know me pretty well by now. But, I still learn knew things about myself in the weirdest ways. I haven't quite decided if I'm too honest about myself, or if I'm not honest enough. Sometimes, I think I'm the only one I'm lying to. I'm so fucking indecisive about everything. Especially how I feel about others. That's the real grey area here. Sometimes, I can't get enough of someone, yet sometimes, I feel like I can't get away from them quick enough. I will, at times, feel like I care too much for someone, and get stupid about it and tell them everything. I believe that life would be so much easier if I could just remain unattached from all that surrounds me, and subject myself to it at my own will. But alas, it's not. I care too much for people, usually the wrong ones, and I always find a way to make it interesting. And by make it interesting, I mean fuck it up.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Throughout all of my personal experiences, observations and encounters with closely knit human interaction, I can only draw one conclusion: inevitable demise. I have been told all my life by the books I have read, songs I have listened to and the people whom which I have confided that attitude manifests one's destiny; that belief in one's ability to succeed and/or be happy relies solely upon their positive or negative outlook on the situation as a whole. I am beginning to believe more and more all the time that it's a bunch of Disney movie bullshit. Take the typical failed human relationship for instance: girl loves boy, boy loves girl too, but not as much, and vise/versa. These details can vary. The point being, it's becoming to seem more and more impossible to find an equality in mutual compassion between two humans. The term "love" is so overdrawn and so cliche, I believe we, as a society, haven't the slightest clue of its meaning, ability and maybe even its existence. What defines love anyway? Security? Lust with some form of dependability attached to it? My encounters with this word and its different definitions have all lead me back to one place in the end, and that's right back to where I started. To be honest, I'd love for someone to prove me wrong. Your move.