ground zero (grey man)

I crawl through windows like doors, I'm a creature, odd-kid, freak at my core. I eat misery, drinking tears like water, thirsty, my own or someone else's. I will fucking feast on your corpse. Only sleep when daylight is knocking, burn like fire, I'm getting tired. Take showers drenched in red, tearing through the curtain to see poor pale Luna, curled up crescent. Glass jar ajar, sweet sauce pouring out; I can feel my face changing shape, I guess hunger looks different. Dinner's served, etiquette's shredded, guests all dead. A stranger appears! Sorry, Detective, I couldn't help myself. If you tried to resist the heart of a lamb, you'd get the view of the wolf, get a view of the death grip hold it has on me. I can tell by your eyes you're more like me, crawling on ceilings and 3 am spring cleaning. Flowers haven't bloomed yet, so sorry but wait a few (More for me and none for you). Until I'm converted to ashes scattering blood spatterings, I can't stop. If you want, I'll go quietly into the maw, jaws closing, last thing I saw. Invite me to be tattered, skin and gums ripped open to show my white wolf teeth. Sorry to deceive, but I think you're worse than me, a grey ghost, ghoul of the unassuming. Stalker incapable of remorse, at least I could regret. How will you ever ask if your mouth is locked shut, a weapon with no restrictions if ever used? If I saw your teeth I think I'd lose count, sharp like razorblades with no space for your tongue. I may feed on misery but it's misery given freely. You take and steal, no requiem. You corrupt and dismantle, the integrity of my dreams. What recess were you born from, depths of a brain or different dimensional plane forming? Grey Man blends in with horrors both real and lies. How long in a dream does it take to realize. He's there. Check your ceilings.

wasting time in limbo

 I'm the one time can't catch. I'm in the past and the future, but I'm not present for either. My body is soft and numb, not like static but more like blurred vision and smudged ink. I was born a different breed.

We could be the messengers of a message that'll never be delivered. Postcards that never get sent, full of hope and dreams dipped in all the things wrong with the world. My bones will only know each other when I'm dead, but they know you like you're home. Wasting time in limbo where I only see in shades of grey. Never crossed out so many words that just didn't work. Sometimes I make myself sad on purpose, because sometimes feeling bad is better than feeling numb.

there's space on the floor

Digging graves for possible me's, it's an epidemic and my epipen won't fix this. Breathe in, breathe out, no shout, keep your voice low, and channel your rage with the sadness in tow. Always in second place, frustration wins every time it's-- frustrating. Then you cry because it's what you do well.

I want to find someone who will be both my complete opposite and perfect match. Different but yet the same. Inverse melodies in complimenting keys and hearts that rock to the same beat. I want to be made of the same stuff as you, just in a different package. I want someone who understands me so completely because I am them and they are me, even if we look nothing alike.

Don't fit on the couch, but there's space on the floor. I could lay with the dust bunnies while the edges of the rug cradle my skull. Maybe if I'm lucky I could lean my head against someone's knees, or brush up against a hand or arm. Always held by the dirt and the ground, like my bones know where they belong and their destiny. I am meant to breathe, live, and die, over and over. Waking up every day like being born again. One day when I gently lay my head down to rest for the final time, I hope something other than the floor holds me.

tag is killin' all the kids

I could never be what you really wanted from me, nice try kid. It's the sound of the empty, full of all that you have been. Sound the alarm in the hallway (all afraid of a new day). Under the covers I'll hide from monsters, a monster, of my own making, you can't stop me, I'm always taking and stealing, you know I can't be bought. Now I'm wrought with the rot, wish God would take the shot. Seasons never change like I do, some want hell freezing over, some like it hot. Big man with a shotgun, fire a blank at the sun. I am animal, now tell me how to just dance. Now do a two-step, I'm two steps from the ledge. Strike me like a sparkler near a matchbox, twenty years later I'm still seeing red. Show us incredible, you mystery we'll know. Misremembering man is miserable, bleed the memory dry so it can finally die, a dying breed of memory, don't like change don't like temporary. Stars are forever, make us all miracles, but nothing lasts for ever-y one to be last one out, tag is killin' all the kids from runnin', sprintin', straight into the forest or the lake. Can't see the trees for all the blood, dripping from his knees, flood warning, pray for us please. Success is secondary, don't give the KILLER what he wants. All he wants is to feast. On my flesh, over my grave, I'm dying again. Now I'm haunting hallways, falling down wells, falling forever, 'till ground makes impact with my head. Collecting change in a wishing well, I wish you well. No dollars in my pocket for fishing, you know damn well I'm some poster boy for who not to be. No one asks "poster boy, are you free" instead of "poster boy, are you diseased". Branches made of danger, little kid you better run, but be sure to watch your back, there's a million animals with bullets and they all wanna fight back. Don't you wanna make it to see the sun? I can't speak for the ones who made me but I wish I had never been made. Test tube guinea pig sacrifice under blade to see how he bleeds all the same. 

rewrite for clarity

I hate wasting thoughts. Every bit needs to be used up, like a cloth dabbing at spilled paint water. The products of offhand notes and differing ideas that don't get used in something will live in my mind until I put them to rest. God rest ye weary artist, who thinks too much for his own good. Let him sleep, he who, when thinking, doesn't know where to draw the line, and when making, doesn't know where to stop. My greatest disadvantage is the terms and conditions of my existence. There could be a cup half full, if I could only see past the glass. Being blinded so slowly you can't see it. I wonder if anyone will think of me when my only marks made are just echoes fading out. Musical cacophony, growing soft as no one listens. My worst fear and best dream is that everybody knows my name. My body is a mystery we may never figure out. And my eyes, they stare long past my expiration date; always thinking of the future and missing the moment. I don't know how else to function. Monotony has never been so overwhelming. I barely made it out of high school. I barely made it out of second grade. I'm still waiting to miss the bus, catch a ride home on my escaping imagination. Out of the pan and into the trash. You can't win unless someone else is losing. I guess I'm making some people feel really good, then. I hate wasting thoughts more than I hate the feeling of imaginary spiders on my legs. I hate having to be the one to kill bugs in the house, but I don't get called a son for doing the son's job. "Rewrite for clarity" If I could, I'd try. Thanks for the input but I think I'd rather just let this one be unfinished.

I can't stop lying to save my soul

Live fast, die young? A review on the trajectory of my life spinning out of control. If I feel too much, put the pen to the paper, read up. What does my face look like in the mirror. Who’s staring back at me, melancholy, no emotion that’s for posers. Try to feel too much, let the sensations bleed from your fingertips like ink from a pen. Re-learn how to live again. You’re so much more than the shape they made you. I hate being seen, being more than just a form in your mind alone, touch skin telepathy. No words needed, we are our own language. I’m high on caffeine and sinking feelings, bleeding hearts. I can’t stop lying to save my soul. I gave myself two stick and poke tattoos in the shape of schemas, I can’t do anything complicated when the stakes are high. I hope my parents never find out. An eye for how I’m always being watched, how no one can trust me to be myself on my own. A heart, on my inner arm for how I wear my heart on my sleeve, and how this heart will always be covered by a sleeve. There’s comfort in being alone because you become friends with yourself. I’m still getting there, frenemies. 

contain yourself

I’m out of my depressed bitch slump, at least for the day! Maybe. Mood swings going hard rn. I am constantly screaming (mentally). Is listening to excessive Fall Out Boy good for your mental health? Made my own little world to hide in and destroy when the impulse gets too much to bear, contain yourself. CONTAIN YOURSELF. You’ll get over it. I need to go and take a long walk, hours long, out to the CVS a few miles away, but I get home around 4:30 and it gets dark around 5. I wish I could just dangle my legs out the window. Fuck the bug screen. Tried to figure out how to remove it for like 30 minutes yesterday. Didn’t work and now all my organs feel itchy, some sorta skin crawling tingling thing, it’d be nice if it could stop. I need things to work or else. Or else what? I dunno. Make it work. Wish my brain would work. Wish my body didn’t need hormones because it seems like it’s shit at handling those. I don’t know if I’m missing filters or if I have filters with massive holes in them. It feels like I’m using swiss cheese to monitor my feelings and thoughts. Not so holy, though. Nothing wrong with your ears hurting if that’s what it takes to make your brain work. Skin is patchwork. You’re working on it, though. Salutations! From the corner of the library, too much skin and not enough, too big to small for the you shaped hole in the universe. Sucking in all the extra light around me, implode inwards. I got a fidget toy shaped like a soccer ball. Pirated songs on my iPod. I feel like I need to break something, smash something, not just my mental blocks but something physical to get basic shit done. This should be easy. I should just stay away from my arms for a few days. Does God even like me? 

good night, good enough

Sorry you were in tears and I couldn’t do a thing. Grief sucks so much from the other side. Take a breath, hope you feel better in a minute, a day, a year. Slow the tempo so I can hear all the thoughts I wish would disappear. Breathe in the background noise. Take it apart, everyone knows noise destroys. The pulse of the waves crash over us, never come up for air. Come drown with me. Where the trail goes cold, you and I will make something indescribable. I sit in the dark, but God knows I wish there was light to read, so I could know what the F I’m always doing, running in circles without a plan, take my hand, maybe we’ll make it out together. Headlights are too dim to see much out here, so ready your flashlights. The cold keeps coming faster. Breath out the emptiness. Lie in your future grave. Learn to love, but never make mistakes. I know the way by heart if I can close my eyes to the light. Call out to me, I’ll call back. You’re no monster, you just had a rough week. Hard shell, tough exterior. I’m comfortable, dreaming about loneliness while you’re making the gravel do its best. We’re all tired, empty shell, empty nest. Wings caught in the rain, tough break, wait it out. I got nothing better to do than run away from what’s given to me. I wouldn’t last a day, if I did it my way. No sympathy for those who give what you take. I’m a monster in my own right. Dark night, under covers, save your night light. I’ll haunt my dreams, haunt my house, be the worst poltergeist because I know what I’m actually afraid of. You could stand to have some backbone, use your words, fight for yourself. Play dead, dog, you’ll never be the best at what you dream of. You could take my last words and make an anthem for giving up. One track mind, seven trains going fast, fast faster. I could out run them but I’ll never last. Plaster, band aids cover bullet holes. I guess I’ll never know, why the exit wound’s bigger than the entry hole. In a minute I’ll forget it, why I’m even here, avoid fear, it knows too much. Cross the road, but you can’t turn back, one foot in Hades and the other out my bedroom window. I never was one for much thinking. Isn’t it much better to void your thoughts to make yourself bearable. Get 'em out, get 'em down, you know it's so much easier. Fuck it up, impulse jump, adrenaline pump, I can’t stop. Calm down, downward spiral, I see noise cloud my brain, synapses empty. Rewire the framework, something’s wrong. I’m not going out there in the daytime. 3 am is the best hour for making it better or worse. So much for good luck. Good night, good enough. If I never stop, they can’t surround me. If I never stop, no walls will catch me. Hang in there, but not too hard, doesn’t matter where you put me.

this is what you get for letting your impulsive thoughts win

 Am I hitting some kinda low right now or do I just need to eat something.

Some excerpts from my Big Book of Bad Writing (HELP AAAU) that didn't show up here in some entry bcuz this account didn't exist yet. I'll probably take stuff from entries here to put in Big Book.

-I would go anywhere if you'd go there with me. The lake looks nice this time of year. Skipping stones (ripples, + ripple effect). No broken bones. One broken heart, though. You can't win 'em all.

-Put a new song on rotation. Handle your spine with care, like gently destroying a spiderweb, decay in fast-forward. Trust me, I'm losing my mind.

-Haunting my bedroom while I'm still alive. When I die no one will be any the wiser.

-I'm unhappy with being happy. Never be better but never be worse. Roulette with a see-through gun, so you know when it's gonna hit. The exit wound's bigger than the entry. Heartbreak in G Major makes me feels some kind of way, pretend like you're thirteen or even ten again but this time you know all the words to your favorite songs by heart. Time travelers must always be so sad to let go of what they have, even if they don't know it. 

-Sleeping in sounds nice, but I know I'll have to get up eventually. Crawl into the crawlspace. No one knows where you are but the walls are thin enough to hear their voices. You're in their walls, waiting to be found. It's so hard to move. Just stay frozen, soft and heavy with sleep in your veins. Close your eyes in the light and open them in the dark. I've always preferred nighttime anyway.

-The cold in my lungs wants to talk. I should've been better than this. Those guys, they know, living reckless living rage. I dig my own grave, and lower myself; I've failed the whole funeral procession.

-Yellow like the sweater you love to look at and the journal you don't own. Give up the game, the score's beyond pathetic. No one likes it when you try to be someone else, but they don't like you either. No win situations could be draws, or maybe losing squared. Chords reverberating in your skull, blasting out my eardrums so I don't have to hear myself think. Shedding your antlers is painful; cover the wounds with whatever you want, because your first line of defense is gone. Figure out how to spell before you try to string together a song. Get in a fight with machines, punch your toaster, walk into traffic. Let the dirt claim you as your bones slowly seep into the space underneath. Tires hurt a lot probably, carving their tracks into your chest. This is what you get for letting your impulsive thoughts win.

-The rage may never leave me. I may always be this way. The window will pass me by, reflections are all I have. Glimpses. Rage, all consuming. I can't feel anything but red, the rest is static. Soothing lullabies of rebellion, deep in the waves I find some sense of peace. Thunder rolls in beat, a natural un-natural progression. Chords are my wings. If I'm an angel, surely I'm the Angel of Inescapable Dread. My blood runs through stardust. Wrong output, wrong line, wrong note. Change the perspective. Use the glass of my window to carve pictures into my mind. I hope I never forget.

I'm too tired to put anything else in here and that's probably the best of what I have right now. Or at least all I'm up for sharing. I might write some more in the book to post tomorrow, or I'll do something else while I eat dinner. Definitely not homework because if I touch that right now I'm going to have a total breakdown.

3.5-4.5 hours to sign my death warrant

I am up to my fucking THIGHS in homework. I thought that maybe I'd wake up earlier but noooo, I just had to be the most exhausted person for no good reason. I tried to get up earlier to do it and I felt like my arms were glued to the bed. My body, heavy, but also doing that little tingling thing to signal that you should be fully charged. But it's a lie. You're either running on empty or overfull, and straddling the line is impossible. Burnout sucks and I think I'm going through it. You know who should be burnt out? Old ladies who have health issues. That's when your body and mind should be giving up on you, not fucking 18. My life is like the quickest fraying knot you've ever seen. I know my spine isn't supposed to be like this. Fuck you, strongly worded letter to follow, signed, my body. I'm so tired. I'm so tired of being tired, but to be fair? I forgot to take my meds this morning because I didn't get up. So that one's on me. The only thing at this point that could get me to be even remotely productive is the Skyrim Ambience Youtube video I have playing in the background. But I'm still not doing my homework. I have an essay due tonight! I feel like that one emoji that's smiling but it's eyes are tiny pinpricks and it makes it look terrified. Terrified, but you're also laughing because this is the emotional equivalent of hitting your funny bone. Your brain doesn't know what signals to start firing so it tries all of them and you end up looking fine instead of horrified. Who the fuck made emojis. What was that all about. Every so often humans invent hieroglyphics and it's a shame this generation's ones look so stupid because I'm not the best at words. I'm this close to typing up all my shit in the wingdings font. Anyway. Executive dysfunction has set in and I'm in the academic trenches. I've already fucked up and my parents don't trust me to go to school and move out unless I can prove myself but this week just caught up to me. I was being so good too. You should've seen the way I folded my bed just to change the scenery. I like how I'm sleeping, divided from the rest of my room. It makes the space smaller, and it makes me feel larger. Like the right size for my body. I was made too small for my soul and everyday it's trying to escape like helium, we will never have as much of it as we do now. I'm only getting older, and I'm still so young. But back to my bed, it's still the old futon with a broken support beam, so there's a sinkhole in the center that sorta sucks you in. It really shouldn't be my fault for not getting up in the morning. I don't remember how many years it's been like this. I've almost forgotten that it's broken. I always draw the short stick with sleeping, maybe that's why I try to find so much comfort in it. When my sister and I shared a room, I got the shitty trundle even though I'm older and was taller at that point. Then the shitty futon. Over Thanksgiving we were staying at a hotel and they had two beds and a pullout. The pullouts are normally fine, but the fact that I've gotten the pullout every single time it's an option has gotta rub me wrong one of these days. But even though usually they're fine, not the most comfortable, but decent enough to get the job done, this one was outright horrendous. I've never understood why people say spring mattresses are the worst kind until I slept on this pullout. There were so many springs and they were all digging into my spine. My futon is leagues better. If anything, that experience made me really fond and protective of my shitty futon. I'm keeping it as long as I can. The springs in that mattress made me feel like I was playing that one Fnaf fan game where you have to get in and out of the suit and avoid the springs in the costume that are fucked and might accidentally come loose and impale you through the lung. That mattress was so bad that I think it might've been better to actually sleep on the ground. Sometimes I sleep on the ground in my room, as long as I've vacuumed. The ground may be cold, hard, and unforgiving, but only if you let it. The couch is worse sometimes. As long as you've got a blanket you're fine. It doesn't matter where I sleep right now, because I have 3.5-4.5 hours (give or take) to sign my death warrant. Mentally kicking myself is not enough. I need to hatecrime this bitch into action. Maybe intentionally not eating dinner until I finish my work is not the best option, because I know that if I finish my shit at all, I'll be too tired to do a goddamn thing other than crawl into bed. Maybe I'll never turn the lights out. I just need some motivation. Some reward for finishing my work. My brain's a dopamine junkie and I'm going cold turkey, on accident. Or on purpose? Whatever, I'm not the one trying to starve myself of endorphins. I need new ways to get endorphins. That's kinda a good idea. Maybe if I get myself endorphins real quick, I'll have enough happy chemicals to organize and compose myself long enough to finish my stuff. Good idea, horny brain. Post-nut clarity is real I think. Idk, I'm gonna try it. Maybe I'll only be up to my shins in work afterwards.