scars

cuts so deep it's like they're never going to heal. 

pain so real, it remains unexplainable. 

i've become this.. this cut, this wound. 

all i know is pain; sharp breath, empty eyes, shaky hands.

if the cut was so painful, why continue to return?

it's all you know. 

to risk infection to every bit of debris wafting through the air.

to risk the scar that will remain for a lifetime. 

to risk continuous pain... for what? 

nothing. 

nothing but the cut, the infection, the scar, the pain, the familiarity.

so deep.. so terrifying... so alluring. 

the cuts seem so light at first, they sting, they burn, but eventually they begin to heal.

the scab, the fragile, new-forming skin; the hardest part to resist. 

as much as you know you should let it be, walk away, let it heal. say goodbye forever and let the tiny scar be a lesson; you can't. 

you pick and scratch and dig deeper, trying to find the source. what makes it tick, what made it happen, how can you keep it going, how can you savor the feeling, since it's the only one you've ever seemed to know.

eventually that sting, that feeling, that pain that is so familiar, is gone. 

all that remains is the mangled and misshaped scar, screaming to tell it's tale, but forever encased in silence. 

broken

I'm broken. not that I ever was whole. not that I can remember; being whole, a time without you. so many, so faded, so distant. for a moment I had hope; call it faith, even. I believed you were real. or at least the you I wanted to be real. the you, that is, before I knew the truth. I almost wish it were still lies. it was easier than this. less painful. easier than the hole, the heartache, insomnia. I miss you.

fast

i didn't realize what an oxymoronic life i lead. i want things instantly. when i want to watch a movie, i hope it's on instant queue so i don't have to wait for it to get mailed to me. when i have to pay a bill, i do it online. when i need to ask someone a question and they don't answer a text or phone call, i see if they're on facebook. All instant communication; which i hate. i guess it's because the generation i've grown up in grew on technology. i don't know a world without internet, a place without cell service, a time without email (which is becoming outdated in itself). the world is becoming entirely too fast pace to even stop and enjoy anything in it. in high school we had to read Fahrenheit 451 (a book about the disuse of books and an electronic future.. bad description.. it was a while ago that i read it), and as much as i dreaded summer reading, this is one i actually took a liking to. there is a part in the book that i briefly remember where one of the characters stopped being so stuck in a fast paced, electronic world, and was merely staring at a tree and enjoying outside, and everyone questioned them. the book itself was written in the 50s i believe giving an ominous look at how we would become. it was a little farfetched and extreme, but in the back of my mind i can't help but think that's exactly where we're headed. anytime we go 4 seconds without cell reception we vow that our provider is "the absolute worst" and we must switch over to someone else asap. when was the last time we just stopped.... 


sometimes i just want to get a handwritten letter, or write one, whichever. knowing that i had the time, or someone else had the time, to get up from the table and stick it in the mailbox. even with electronic billing i rarely use the mail anymore. working in a fast food chain priding itself on fast, friendly service, where we must serve a customer in 2 minutes and 30 seconds or less and meeting these deadlines for school while paying bill after bill that never seem to catch up, really makes you want to stop, or wish you could stop, and sit; grab some coffee, read a book, and breathe. 


however, the coffee is most likely an instant brew while you read the latest books on your kindle while checking facebook in the other hand; but its close enough.


i say this as i write it on my blog which quickly posts to my facebook for me to monitor and edit on my phone... whatever. 


SLOW DOWN. BREATHE. DON'T WORRY. 


you'll still live... maybe. 

the potter's madness

madness. i've reached it; i've felt it; i feel it. i became an addict clinging to my narcotic, my gateway, my iron clad chains i didn't want unlocked, my religion. A potter can only attempt to sculpt his clay in a way so similar to the twisted and coiled disarrayed vessel i've become. the cracks have formed over time, linking themselves to one another and forcing their way through what used to be resilient. He can, however, glaze over the cracks, gently masking them for a time. your supplied vapor; a poisonous venom that often wafts and dances through the air, lifting me to a higher state of intoxication than i've ever felt before. Unable to defy gravity, i must come down. The crash; the crash, the potter cannot prevent. No matter the labor, the pain, the infinite amounts of time, the potter cannot repair the broken and distorted that now remain lifeless on the pavement. the glaze will never mask, and the hands will never heal the sharp edges that will slowly wither and fade to dust; back to it's origin, only to be reshaped, for another day.  

1.8.11

I don't know references. I don't have a favorite band, song, or cd. my movie knowledge is highly limited. no favorite author, artist, actor, quote, lyric, line. and I will nine times out of ten not know what you're referring to. I will forever be lost every single time you ask a popular culture question, look to me for a music choice decision, or wonder what movies I've seen in the past year. no. I don't live under a rock. and yes. I watch movies, listen to music, and read a good book every now and then. I merely receive them differently than most. you see, when I hear a song, I can't tell you what else they've recorded, the name of their lead singer, or even the title of the song. but I can tell you how it makes me think, feel and react. I like each song I choose based on the emotion it allows me to feel, which I can't feel without it. in turn, I'll write about it, letting a reader feel this way as well.

I can laugh at a movie but only get so much enjoyment from repetitive notions. my books have marks and tear stained pages, but they only inspire ideas and emotion rather than burn a quote into my memory.

I'm a different soul. one that is rarely understood. but if you took the time, unlike the rest, I think you'd grow to enjoy picking my brain, as I do yours. time will only tell if you'll stay long enough to try.