I’m sorry I’m writing to you again. I knew I promised I’d grow out of it and i promised I’d talk to people but I somehow can’t get myself to. My heart is beating so fast. Something’s gone very wrong with me this time, and it’s all my fault. Like always, I feel alone again. But it’s different this time. Someone could cut me open and enter my skin and I’d feel distant. They could pour themselves into my heart and I’d still feel unloved. They could paint my brain with happiness and I’d still find a way to be gloomy. Is this normal? Sometimes I feel like I live my life in third person. Everything I do is so strange and unfamiliar to me. It’s like I’m watching myself from someone else’s eyes, and their vision is monochrome filtered. How do I stop this? I recite my deepest most vulnerable thoughts to myself in the shower and forget them by the time I’m in my clothes. It breaks my heart to know that there are sentences I’ve said I’ll only ever hear once in my life. I’m starting to feel like the background character in my own story, I’m not too sure I like that. How do I stop this? Some days I can feel my heart sinking to my stomach, it’s happening right now too. My lungs feel rusted. My head feels worn out and my skin feels foreign. I don’t know how long it is till my third person story of a life starts to feel mine. I just hope that when it does, it’s nicer than it looks like from the outside.
I do not
like cross roads
on paper thin
I have bruised
I wear with pride
as if I drew them on
they don’t recognise
I’m a warrior
a knight put in
an armour of skin
etched with history
look at me
She, like everyone else in the world, is a person of need. The fact that her needs coincide with a few just makes her more of a mystery than she herself cares to be. She is simple minded, driven by emotions, just like everyone else. She feels that it would be easier this ways, less complicated than having to say the words.
You can lie with her, make love to her, hold her for a while, but the moment she feels she is done, she would get up and leave without a word. Why should she console? Why should she comfort? Why should she care when no one else cares?
She feels the need too, for the warmth of care along with the heat of passion, for the tender hand on hers along with the firm hand that would toss and turn her world, for the hand that lets go and the one that grabs her hand pulls her back for a kiss before she leaves.
She has enticed many and has been seduced by a few, what makes you think she would let you in her world and be sure that you would not wreak havoc and leave like those men she knew? Persistence, desperation, need, greed, lust, desire, she has seen it all in men when they want her. She has seen the evils of men and faced it all the more. No, even if she feels that the words you say to her are true, that your actions are real, she would not just walk back to you.
Such is an enchantress.
19 YEARS OF LIVING BEYOND.
I’m writing this to you
Telling you were through
I can’t take you anymore
Don’t know what I liked you for
All you did was wear me out
Now I know what your all about
You came to me with promise and joy
Now look at all the things you destroy
Families, lives, bank accounts you see
You ruined it all with one little tease
Look at the way you make me feel
Then you take it all and want me to steal
Why can’t you just go and hide
Somewhere far away where I’ll never find
Everyone at home don’t understand
How you rip me apart , then lend me a hand
I keep coming back thinking inside
Maybe this time I’ll make you my bride
Then I sit and wonder why
Why do you really want me to die
Thousands and thousands come to you
Hoping and praying you’ll help them thru
Then they fall for your lending hand
Only to realize your nothing but a scam
You promised me heaven and sent me to hell
You ruined my life and then wished me well
Watch me now as I go on my way
I’m washing myself of all of your pain
So you and your power can just leave me be
I’m taking my life and setting it free.
I’ve never been lonely. I’ve been in a room — I’ve felt suicidal. I’ve been depressed. I’ve felt awful — awful beyond all — but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me…or that any number of people could enter that room. In other words, loneliness is something I’ve never been bothered with because I’ve always had this terrible itch for solitude. I believe i’ve become a pro at faking things that whatever/whenever i fake, it feels so real. It’s being at a party, or at a stadium full of people cheering for something, that I might feel loneliness. I’ll quote Ibsen, “The strongest men are the most alone.” I’ve never thought, “Well, some handsome guy chick blond will come in here and give me a pussy-job, rub my clit, and I’ll feel good.” No, that won’t help. You know the typical crowd, “Wow, it’s Friday night, what are you going to do? Just sit there?” Well, yeah. Because there’s nothing out there. It’s stupidity. Stupid people mingling with stupid people. Let them stupidify themselves. I’ve never been bothered with the need to rush out into the night. I hid in bars, because I didn’t want to hide in factories. That’s all. Sorry for all the millions, but I’ve never been lonely. I like myself with myself . I’m the best form of entertainment I have. Let’s drink more coke.
I am awfully greedy; I want everything from life. I want to be a woman and to be a man, to have many friends and to have loneliness, to work much and write good books, to travel and enjoy myself, to be selfish and to be unselfish… You see, it is difficult to get all which I want. And then when I do not succeed I get mad with anger.