Mislain Affections

I'm lost. I know I'm lost. Worst yet, I've been lost so long, I'm not sure I want to be found.

My heart cries; isolation

I clamp down hard. I tell myself it is biology; the basic animal in me that makes me feel this way. I tell myself, I've evolved beyond this. I don't need a physical relationship with anyone.

Yet, I know I'm lying to myself. It is becoming a physical pain. My heart beats hard, and I feel it echo like an empty hall; a building kept around because it has historic value, but no more does it serve it's original purpose. Gone are the glory days, when it flourished, and gloried in it's own way. All gone, now, an empty shell. Forgotten, and ignored, for all I know.

I hang by a single hope, that I've tied a knot in, and have sustained for moments too long to really remember but short enough I think I can hold on a little longer.

But I'm running out of hope.

I see ways out, but I know, those ways, will probably lead to a hangman's rope. So for now, I cling a little longer, sway in the directionless breeze, and pray someone finds me, who doesn't have a price tag over their shoulder. 

The Girl With The Blood Red Lips

I see her in my dreams. Her subtle seductive smile, from those hypnotic haunting lips.

She stands across the crowded room, in a cafe I recognize,
unable to recall its name, or where it is, or its reality.
She catches me looking, and all thoughts crash to a halt.

I want to run. Away? To Her? Around Her?
She takes a step towards me, her purpose clear,
The face I used to call my own, betrays a smile.

Moments pass, and she is right next to me.
I can smell the sweet perfume, stirred with the subtle tang of her.
Intoxicating; but pales in comparison, to her Blood Red Lips.

I, have not moved at all. I have yet to say a thing.
She breaks the silence, with a whisper, in my ear,

"All the times you've come in here, I always watched you."
"When you left last time, you had an artist girl on your arm,"
"Since then, you, or at least she, has moved on."

A deep breath, another obsessed moment in my mind.

"Tell me your name, and we'll repair to someplace more private."
"Tell me your dreams, and we will share deeper affinity."

Just as I am about to speak, it starts to fade.
 Her soft disappointed sigh,
"Perhaps we will meet in the waking world."
"Until then, remember what you feel in your heart."

A kiss, then her vivid lips, and her subtle smile,
When all else is faint, and dim, I vow to never forget,
The Girl With The Blood Red Lips.

The Doomed and The Damned

You tried to burn the photograph I saw.

I will never forget what I saw, as the flames, consume, that picture.

Got the perfect alibi, and you've got the evidence to back it up.

I know where to dig, and I know if I did, I'd be no happier for it.

Stop. Step Back. Click.

I see another side of your story.

And this side brings to focus more truth than anyone is comfortable admitting.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Slip into another deception, I know you can't hide.

I like to think I used to know you. But that feels like another life now.

Skree.

I see myself in your own conflict. I am you, and you are him. Not enough love to fix what needs fixing.

Indeed, who now is the bigger fool?

Tock. Talk. Tock.

I will never be the same. And I think I am doomed.

But you will never be the same. And I think you are damned.

Why do I think these things? Because I do not trust easily.

Because I'm waiting for the other bomb to drop.

I hate to expect you to loose out to your ill-logic, and sick-mess.

But I can support you for only so long.

Loss of support?

The faster I fall.

Slow-Break II

I'm losing hope. Just when I think I come to terms with my loneliness and isolation, it finds a new spin on old feelings to make them bite harder.

I'm so, tired. I say that too much. In my own head if no where else. I don't want to feel this pain anymore. I'm sick to death of this pain.

Can't admit suicidal thoughts though, that would be losing. And I hate losing. As long as I hate losing more than I hate this pain, I should be safe enough.

It's the slow death that is driving me mad. No one knows when, no one knows where, no one knows why, but it's certainty can be a comfort. Other times, madness. Nothing to say, no one to talk to. Everyone's all gone off to bed. And tomorrow, I'll probably feel better, and if anyone mentions it, chances are, I'll say, "oh that. I was venting."

But am I really just venting? Partly. Do these things bother me a lot? Are they bothering me right now? Fuck yes. Will they bother me tomorrow? Probably. Will I want to talk about it tomorrow? Who knows...

Usually I'm so good at hiding my feelings, at hiding things that bother me. Too good, perhaps. No one knows the danger signs, or if they do, they don't know what to say. Or maybe they are too close, or far away.

I know I push people away, and I don't mean to. "My problems are my problems," I think to myself. No one knows what I know so obviously everyone else can't decide like I can.

But of course, that doesn't help either. Nothing I seem to do helps much. I rant to one friend or another, but two days later, I'm feeling like garbage again.

And when I push people away, maybe they ignore me...

I hate being ignored. And I hate the thought of people thinking I'm ignoring them. It breaks my fucking heart....

Fuck, I'm almost in tears over this. They are in my eyes, but they aren't collecting enough to drop out.

I'm so tired, but sleep won't help...I want things to work out in my favor, just once. I want something that can never be taken away from me.

Maybe I already have it...but so often there is little comfort to be found in ones self...

I should sleep. I should relax. I should let it all float away, and I should know that tomorrow will be better...

But those are just idea's, that don't help with right now. I just want the pain to stop...Best I can do right now, is distract myself long enough until something important comes a long and requires my attention for a while.Until I feel "okay" enough to mean "I'm okay" when I say it.

Yeah, I kind of am a wreck.

Slow-Break

My heart has been slowly breaking for the past week or so. And none of the people involved know anything about it.

My heart breaking again over memories long past.

My heart breaking over crossed signals.

My heart breaking, twice, in slow motion.

Superficial Repairs

I hope you realize how damaged I really am.

I might keep up the facade of being strong, but underneath, I'm cracked and bleeding slowly. I'm screwed up. I'm battered, and I'm not really all that okay.

Sometimes it shines through. An action will give me away, a lingering look, or maybe the look of concentration I focus on.

I'm sorry I have trust issues. I'm sorry I'm suspicious and paranoid.

I hate the patterns I'm painting. They aren't making me happy. They aren't making anyone happy. I need to set down the brush. Maybe just stop it all for a moment and appreciate the good things more than worry about possible bad. Stop worrying about my possible mistakes and misinterpretations. Soothe the fear, calm the sadness, and give myself a chance to be happy with simple observations.

I'm damaged. I know it looks like I have the ability to stand strong, defiant, full of strength when all else is failing, when all else is going to hell. But that is action. And action is easy. Action is the only thing I know how to do right. Thinking about the future just isn't my strong suite at all. I can think of things I want easily enough, but thinking of how to get them accomplished? That's something I'm honestly too afraid to think about most of the time.

I can be strong sometimes, and probably I've tried to be strong far too long. I just hope you realize, I'm just human.

I'll probably be okay some day, but first I'm going to need to be honest before I can honestly say "I'm okay."

Robot Reboot

I know I shouldn't want to be a robot. But I can't help it sometimes.
Not feeling anything sometimes feels like a better option...

When you can do nothing about the situation, and the next step is in someone's hands, when they fight tooth and nail to avoid any resolution, or decision, and decide to wait it out till it sorts itself out. Sometimes the madness of the void feels better than the dizzying dance of the tilt-o-whirl.

But even though I can't see the spinning, I still feel the spinning sickness, creeping from my heart, even though I choose not to feel the thrills and twists, I can't honestly say I feel better. I can't say I'm happy now, but I feel "bet-ter."
Bet-ter, because I no longer have the clutter of emotions distracting me.
But when I have no distraction, bad to mad. Back to Bad.

So really I'm no better off either way. But the ability to fake it through a day, sometimes has to take precedence over the easy breakdown.

But I don't want to devalue or dismiss everything. But, it is one day at time at this point. One day at a time; it's all I have energy fore. One day at a time; it's all I've got money for. One day at a time; it's all I can manage right now.

Art is my forward motion. As uninspired as I feel, I've got to try, otherwise I will completely stagnate.