privatized astronomy

someday when it stops spinning
i'll finally stop loving her
(i'm not talking about our planet
i'm talking about my head)
and when the planets realign
and the constellations fall apart
bringing in new zodiacs for generations to come
they will praise her shape
formed by the star dust i've cried at night
and every new civilization will worship her
but never love her more than i do
cause to them she'll be legends of old
just like to her i'll be that stupid boy

night of the living dead (halloween never ends)

losing myself in cold sweats
suspended animation - frozen fears
but there's something
about the way i hear your voice
through the winter winds.
whisper your way back to me
so i can claw through this pinebox
that i've locked myself in.
nothing feels the same anymore.
but you're fire and my bed has sheets
that i use to put you out with.
no more crocodile tears
but more chameleon skin
so when you see me outside
i'll be lurking in.
i've been fucked over more
than a bathroom stall
and the sweat on my cheekbone
was a tear hiding in plain sight
and i know i know better
but this feeling inside
comes crawling like if romero
wrote my love life
my room should be padded
it's already all white
and i only wear long sleeves
for my poker face heart
and you're the only cure to being alone
white jacket fashion for winter blues
i'm a powdered writer
"just add water"
but my heart is too.
but now as i get older
being this reckless isn't as charming as it was
back when girls used to love me
for my woefully poetic broken heart

but the good old days
aren't as good as we remember
we think we're getting smarter
we're only getting older
and this mobius strip (tease)
is just getting that much more longer
and i'll breathe only for tonight
while you hang your posters
"wanted dead or alive"

call me barry allen
cause i'm the flashpoint paradox
and i need the speed force
so i can run back in time
and stop myself from ever writing
and to spare myself the nights
i've spent countless hours longing
for a better, sane mind

dammit, boozer

i'm so tired of this calculus shit
i'm so tired of the rain
i'm so tired of being sick
i'm so tired of missing others
i'm so tired of feeling this
i'm so tired of all music
i'm so tired of the silence
i'm so tired of being tired
i'm so tired of being violent
i'm so tired of pushing over
i'm so tired of being stubborn
i'm so tired of not sleeping
i'm so tired of these pills i'm taking
i'm so tired of being tired
i'm so tired of loving one girl
i'm so tired of needing one girl
i'm so tired of being lonely
i'm so tired of all my homies
i'm so tired of this heat
it's not fucking summer why won't it quit
i'm so tired of my cat
i'm so tired of her claws
and her teeth and her kneading
i'm so tired of pleading
for another opportunity or chance
to not be so fucking childish
and ruin everything
i'm so tired of being tired
i'm so tired of all my A's
i'm so tired of failing tests
i'm so tired of being mediocre
i'm so tired of being sober
i'm so tired of drinking beer
after every shift
sulking in my fears
i'm so tired of my anxiety
i'm so tired of feeling confident
i'm so tired of these elevators
i'm not fucking outkast
i'm so tired of living blurs
i'm so tired of feeling cold
i'm so tired of changing my mind
every fucking day i realize
what i'm meant to do
or so i think
but it's not true
i'm just a sail-less ship
i'm so tired of just navigating
i'm so tired of swimming upstream
i'm so tired of failing my mother
i'm so tired of missing my father
i'm so tired of losing others
because i'm too self-loathing
they just can't stand it
i'm so tired of my writer's block
i'm so tired of ranting on
i'm so tired of living life
i'm so tired of wanting death
i'm so tired of myself
i'm so tired of being tired

"Everything Will Be Alright In the End"

There's that twisting irony once again. Lingering behind the curtains and drapes of the theater I've set you on, carefully listening for its cue, waiting for its moment to stop being just an understudy to the brilliant (horrifying) lead in the script I've written with our fingertips. It's only fitting to recall my everlasting Parker Luck - I knew that there was something written in the stars, but upon tracing those constellations I find them giving their backs to me. I am a mess. I am succumbing to the DDoS attacks my anxiety and depression and self-loathing are frying my brain with. I never had enough traffic to host all these terabytes of emotion you bring to me, and now the connectivity problems are being made more apparent in each passing minute. I have no way to communicate myself to you; I have no excuses, no reasons, nothing but fear, regret, and apologies for my faulty wiring. I want to code the selflessness you deserve, the mirrored affection and brilliancy that you present to me. I wish I was more deserving - I wish I was better than I am.

But it always seems to bring me down to this. I never seem to learn nor put two and two together and realize that the common variable in all the coding errors my life seems to have is me. I let myself get carried away with the way things are going when they're great that I make no effort to improve myself. I am a victim of my own poorly built attitude and personality. God fucking dammit. I'm drowning under the waves of all these space invaders I so "cleverly" thought of installing instead of a more useful application - but who cares right? It's all about fun and enjoying yourself.

What a fucking joke.

I want to pour bleach where I poured the drinks that brought me to this excruciating moral hangover. I've lost everything that made complete sense to me through my own lack of accessibility and understanding. Jesus fucking Christ. Is there anything worse than myself? Worse than my attitude, my fear, my lack of drunken honesty that so badly intends to make things better. My inhibitions remain broken when sober or drunk, but my lack of ethical decisions leaves a glaring hole in my thought process. I am not a good person. I am not a good person. You always wanted a song written about you until I broke your heart.

And now I want to take it all back.

Yet as I read the braille down your back, I've merged my broken bones to yours - now I no longer know where the actor and the poet diverge. And this mockingbird heart with rattle gun wings rats out all the dream eaters on top of every bedpost that this sad boy has given himself to - more than before. Bend another door open to the time when my sternum was the one your ribbons blessed. Hide another hen in this den of foxes, corrupted water pouring into their digestive tracts of steel. Broken metal bends into their wills. These are my former selves - a neon sea of people clouding my "righteous" brain. If I ever had the thought of losing, I wouldn't have tried to place my bets on you. Now the council of remorse and regret stands in my head staring at me, judging and concerning, fully aware of the path I've dug myself into, some kind of underground inferno of self-loathing and self-pity. Meanwhile the only thought that my head can revolve itself around is that I was born to love her.

I was born to love you.

"va te faire foutre"

there's something tragically beautiful in dying from what we need to live. as my veins rust from the oxygen lifting my tumbling body out of bed, i've began to question my every routine, my every failure, my own sense of self. i didn't know who i was before, but i've merged and diluted myself in so much hatred and medication that i no longer know where the actor and the poet diverge.

i don't know how to write anymore.

every fucking pill i take in the morning makes me feel so inferior and useless, but when my temper and numbness both arise in the absence of my ssri's i realize how much more shitty it is. i'm hanging onto a thread or a moment where my improvisation can pull off some sleight of hand and change my status quo for real again. every metaphor and allusion and simile and reference i conjure up falls short to my unsympathetic imagination - carefully lined onto my internal NSA, my continuous epiphanies, and my ever-occurring sonder - i fall short to my previous existence.

how the hell have i peaked before my twenties.

and every word i type is misspelled and autocorrect is miserable and i guess every time i press delete i realize little by little how much more washed up i am. even my words, the perfect hidden internet oasis where i could bask in self-indulgence my pouring my guts onto an audience of people who have cared more for my inner monologue than the friends that i've spent my entire life with are completely dry and empty shells of a throne where i used to sit. i gained twenty pounds, maybe more. i don't get on that scale because i can't gamble on another loss. "former track star becomes recluse writer - see here the 20 things mr. no volume diligently describes how to screw up your life in two years".

and every waking moment of passion and interest murders me even more because every celebration is a spotlight on an empty drawer in my chest. i can't feel, i can't react, i am so out of touch with everything that i used to be and it only makes me drown in more self-loathing and desire. the irony is not lost in me; the broken machine who hates feeling like it doesn't feel anything. but i want more. i have a heart i want to give my life to, i want to tear down these rusted and calloused walls inside my heart and let the love i know is growing under there course through my veins and into hers, i want to breathe my soul into her body and i want to build a heart large enough to hold her and love her and curate the beauty that is her.

my heart is a pulsing bomb in a glass room under a waterfall. it's an art exhibit's best works melting behind their transparent cages. if i can see this - if anyone can see this, then why won't things change? why can't i break through these goddamn mental blocks that always come back and back again. why can't i seem to learn to stop myself from letting these thorns grow and line every entrance to my being time and time again.

i got hate mail from a ouija board lettered "from a former self" condemning my colossal streak of major fuck ups. i once thought i was special, a destined to be greater than myself type of guy that would somehow project and give everyone something that we all needed. i hated myself and i never wanted to live to see another broken human, and in worst case scenario, provide with the therapeutics and medications and shoulders to help everyone and everything. but i got lost along the way.

and i say that every fucking time and i never learn and i'm so goddamn tired of doing this that i just want to give it up and stop. where these eyes glistened at true love now lies a broken litebrite dimming out. and i write words on laptop screens that just serve as a virtual remedy and a virtual temple of thought and they don't mean anything. and i know tomorrow when i wake up, i'll be numb again and reading this will give me shame and cringe and trigger another goddamn round of existential doubt and crisis. i need something more.

i need something more.
i needsomethingmore
ineedsomethingmore
ineedsomethingmorei