nothing important here

I don't know what it is, just a craving to write.  Some sort of satisfaction found in the presentation of hidden thoughts strewn in the dark corners of the internet.  But no, I want to write something more.  I've said it before and I'll say it again - a wise person once suggested that you should write the book you want to read. Which I tried... until I realized I didn't know what I wanted to read.  What I ended up was writing was laughably awful.  I just want to write a story, one with meaning.  Why does that seem to be so hard to do?

Empty

Empty.
It was empty.
I looked at the clock and it was empty.
I heard the strum and it was empty.
I looked into his eyes and they were empty.
I reached into my soul and it was empty.
Empty.
Everything is empty.

it happens

played the game

lose your face

nothing to it. 

bound to fight 

out of sight

slipping memories in the shade.

push and fall

don’t stand tall

let it wreck you.

never leave

heart on sleeve

suffer softly underneath. 

losing faith….forgetting of this place

it was so free now no surrender

walking forth

crushing force

don’t you know you’re subject to

can’t ignore

peace and war

none the former

i will leave 

can’t i see

all the touches here are there.

never know 

what they were for 

when you were still standing here. 

only fade

your face a shade

slipping memories.

your voice can’t stain

your laughing shape

only traces. 

in and out….how’d things get so cloudy now

and i’m just wasting time counting sheep instead of dreams. 

shaken hope

never know

what has happened to your soul.

keeping clue 

just to prove

you existed.

Cigarettes

Cigarettes.

A crutch for the chronically stressed.
A release from an anxious mind ludicrosity.
Inhale the poison, exhale satisfaction.

Why have they been on my mind so much lately?

breathe it in, breathe it out
let it surround you
mind in haze, peaceful place
soon control you

It's the feeling of it between your fingers.
It's the feeling of it on your lips.
A distant memory of the past.
The comfort of the familiar scent.
It's the smoke seeping out of your lungs.

My mind is craving it but I know it will not provide the satisfaction I want it to.

radiohead melodrama

if i could be

who you wanted

if i could be

who you wanted....

I haven't listened to Radiohead in awhile.  Not that they could ever be irrelevant...they just haven't be on my radar.  But tonight I listen.  

What the hell happened may be the question I ask myself forever. 

To build something off of nothing but that nothing was supposed to be something but it was really nothing.  

The worst part is that this species of humans CANNOT seem to understand what they do to make us feel utterly insignificant.  Since when did common courtesy become rocket science? 

It's unfair that I have to sit there feeling shitty and heart achen (for broken would be too strong) and they just get to turn everything off and float through life.  I don't even have as many emotions as normal girls do!! 

How many people can say they cried through an entire airport and all the way until the layover?  The poor guy sitting next to me didn't know what to do.  He handed me his extra napkin and snacks with a pitying smile, but that small gester restored some faith in the kindness of strangers.  And even without me crying on her, my second neighbor bought me a 3rd Bloody Mary.  I guess that worked out ok.  

  

I honestly don't even know how to properly write about this.  That's been an issue for me lately.  God, I just need to leave - I abhor this transition state.  

it's the best thing that you ever have, 

best thing that you ever had, 

is gone away....