Who are you

I am tired of unsatisfying thoughts of unsuspecting words.
I want it all to stop.
Crashed. Blew up.
Come with me.
Dearest come with me.
I am done with it.
Do you like it?

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Kenneth is Immortal

Black white.
Flying a kite.
I can’t hear her.
The neurons are pretty tough.
Visuals of hatred for the talented past.
Imagining noises of carousels and various rumblings.
I need more time.
It’s not insane.
But bend over and succumb to temptation.
Or pretend your mind isn’t on the misunderstood, the unimportant, the marvelous.
Don’t touch me.
Feel me.
Pity you’ll never understand the difference.
I want you.
You liar.
You’ve only let go of your reality.
Why have I done this?
Why can’t I be satisfied?
Why am I always going to be irrelevant?
I don’t trust myself.
I don’t trust you.
Stop.
Please don’t stop.
I love you.

Pretty Things

My mind is trapped in this box.

But, it’s a really colorful box.

So, everyone thinks it’s pretty.

Pretty things interest people.

They make people want them.

So.. people come looking to explore the box.

And they do.

But, sure enough, they soon run away.

Because the box isn’t so pretty on the inside.

It’s actually pretty crappy in there..

The colors are crappy.

There’s crappy elevator music playing in the background.

It’s hard to figure out what’s even in there.

You know, cause it’s so crappy.

I’m inside the box.

In this little cave underneath the contorted mess of solemn crappiness.

My cave is pretty.

I hate the box.


To be continued..

Thoughts of a Worn-out Watcher

I speak when I want someone to hear me.

But, without fail, my thoughts are misconstrued.

And, without fail, I cringe as faces respond in misinformed delight to my words.

The horrible irritation that comes from these simple attempts to connect to others fills my being with fervor,

For blissful ignorance such as this has always been on my naughty list.

And, in moment like this, I lose myself in more ways that one.

My mind hides from me.

My heart loses touch with reality, and beats devoid of passion,

Soon after, my soul crawls inside that pulsing mechanical furnace inside my chest and revels in its synthetic heat.

The heat is pitiful.. but something alive with no life like my shriveled soul can’t really tell the difference between existing or living.

So my innocent soul likes it there.

I haven’t been able to find her for a while – the hooligan.

She’s been gone for longer than usual.

I’m not sure why she is so much more scared of me than my mind seems to be.

I mean, my mind and I have a pretty consistent relationship.

He comes back to me enough so that existing in society is obtainable –

Enough so that no one can tell that my soul is missing.

I can’t tell if I am thankful that no one notices.

I can’t tell if I will ever find my soul again.

I can’t tell if anyone will ever understand me.

I can’t tell anyone that I am..

But my thought is interrupted,

And suddenly my eyes focus enough that I can see the edge of a grin –

A grin that tricks me and makes me want to tell it my secrets.

So I do.

OOoooohhhh weee.

Can’t stop, addicted to this shindig.

Can’t stop, addicted to this shindig.

Can’t stop.

Can’t.

I didn’t know something, and you made sure I knew that.

So I tried learning something, and you didn’t like that.

So I pretended to hate it too, and now your gone.

You say you hate yourself, but you really just hate everyone else that isn’t you.

And that hate emanates from you body through your jokes and bombastic gesticulations.

Your ability to attract is your most dangerous quality.

Your despair captured me, a fly buzzing around your delicious light.

And, I ached for you. But, even though I knew you were dangerous, I willing leaped into your glow. The pain was nice, and so I vigorously embodied a masochist while your energy consumed me.

Now I am on the floor, with a twitch that I am not sure will ever leave.

You are an incessant self-deprecating monster, if, of course self references everything but that.

And I see that. Everyone sees that.

But, strangely enough, now I see you.

As I struggle to hold on to life, I can still peer above me and observe your being.

I see the power behind the glow. The power that stems from something deeper.

The power that does not come from within your exterior, but from the grounded body of electricity that remains in the past. It is immovable, and it is necessary for your life. But, it can be used for something else.. openness, and ability to accept love, and ability to receive ideas and judge them as valid for another, even if they may not be for someone else.

Unplug your hate, and use it for something other than destroying those who see the power, the wonderful power.

The potential. I can’t stop thinking about the wondrous potential.

You, in all your chaotic glory.

Then again, I am just a fly.