Nutrition.

It felt like you dumped hot coffee on me,
pushed a brick wall ontop of me,
And never realized it.

"You love like you'll always be lonely."–Ben Howard

"Truth is, everybody is going to hurt you; you just gotta find ones worth suffering for."–Bob Marley

Eleven day's.
I've been dead.
again.
For eleven days.
Because you look at her like she's the sun and your the earth.
Why could I have just told you right then,
On the couch your feet touched mine. You looked at me like I was the stars and you were a telescope.
No one noticed except me.

I just want to know why I'm still alone.

I don't want to be alone.

Every body was angry at me when I said I wanted you.
Now everyone says you two are so cute.
I don't understand, Does everyone really want me miserable?
Congrats.

There's a cavern in place of my body.

It just emerged from that murky water
where every other thing that beats and kills me comes from.

Random is when they comes,
but this time, one, two, three right in a row the bad things find and eat me.

The bad things make me their leader
because I'm the most ugliest, bruised one
but the weird thing is; they say I'm not.
They say there's worse, the raped, starved, dead.

They say I should just un-beat, un-harm, un-sadden myself.
I don't matter, not as much as the ones with those bigger issues...
But I should still be alive and smile into cameras.

How am I to do that if my insides are degrading into gray worms
and I'm trying oh so hard to make my outside the same again,

Can I matter to a person, here on earth?
No one has since I got emotions.

What to do when there's no ice to numb your ache,

All the planets in the worlds of places I have in my head are constantly falling on top of each other because there is no gravity, there is nothing pulling anything together to revolve around anything at all inside this body of mine.

This is too much.

I see lightning when I close my head

If I could put sound into text, if I could hold on to the sky, if I could disappear, if I could make my shoulders lighter and tell you I like you I would,
in less then a heartbeat,
without a regret or second thought.

But I can't do that.
Because I think she's on your mind more.

It breaks me up more than it should.
You have to understand, destroying me is easy, making me whole is even easier.

Remember when people could feel things? I don't.

I write these blogs just so someone, even just one person knows,
that I want to die.

And then the glorious mountain avalanched and buried it's self in rubble.

I've noticed I haven't blogged in a while.
I've noticed how that's been affecting me. So I think I'm just gonna write for a while and listen to my Bob Iver album. If you don't know him look him up.
School started the day after my birthday. Great present. Anyway, the day before and the day of my birthday I hung out with the people who I thought I finally got right with. The people who I thought might never intentionally leave me.

Let's call them One and Two.
One is a girl, she's been my friend for a while but newer than the others.
Two is a boy, we weren't really good friends until this summer. We don't want to be just friends but it's too nerve-racking to share that with one another.
Two used to stay up late talking to me online and post indie music on my facebook wall.
After a few school days went by I noticed a down fall in both relationships.
One always reminded me of how much she 'loved' me but would always be with another of her friend who is my friend but not that much of a friend like One is a friend with her.  Friend.
Two was kind of a different break down. I thought it was going to happen. That I would receive a boyfriend, I real, no complications, amazing, nice boyfriend.

A close friend but has too many friends to get close with friend in my poetry class told me she'd tell Two to ask me out.
That after school he came over and smiled and talked to me for a bit. Some kind of but stand able friends from my Algebra class were there so he didn't stay too long.
Or ask me.
It's the weekend, he hasn't tried to talk to me since.
He talks to another girl and posts indie music on her wall.

I'm reading a book. It's about being alone, trying to escape, struggling, crying
when everything bad happens to you.
It's about being depressed, like The Smiths, being different, not wanting to wake up, wanting to disappear, hating, jealousy, being scared.

I couldn't relate more to the main character. Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephan Chbosky.
If you haven't heard of it you should look it up.

I should mention in here I don't want to live and I don't want to die.
I don't want to be anything.

I should also mention 'the butterfly project'
Every time you want cut you draw a butterfly where ever you usually cut.
If you cut sometime after you draw the butterfly it dies.
If you draw more than one butterfly, they all die if you cut.
If you cut you have to wash off the butterfly/butterflies otherwise let it fade.
I don't want to kill.

Nothings going to change my world.

I'm sick and tired of just listening to songs or watching movies about someone else loving and wanting you and only you.
I want someone to make me feel like the world's prize possession.
I want someone to make me feel together and full again.
I want someone to hold me.
I want someone to get to know them and let me love them back.
But it seems as if that's fantasy because your crazy illusions of love will haunt me forever.
And your memory built walls shamefully crowning my head.
No one else is trapped in there, that awful, dark, disaster of a mind except me.
I'm all alone.

Photo by me.

I wrote a story.

Monsters. By Tara Brooky.

On any given, ordinary day there’s a new child that is opening their eyes and taking their first breaths.

Innocent and blissful they grow up learning about the harsh ways of the world. 

They turn into clones of everyone else with monsters trapped inside the plastic shell.

The clones march in a perfect line thinking of lies about pretty things to block out the scratching and screaming from the monster tearing up their insides.

After time, the plastic shell is bruised, dirty, shattering.

Most mend it with more plastic, praying the monster will be held.

No soul would dare to let the plastic fall to their feet and set the monster free. Let the monster whisper outrageous ideas into your ears. Let the monster consume you. Let the monster be you. But you do.

Now you are the monster.

Now you are a hideous, vicious creature. People stare at you because the unique things you do. And judge your odd looks and taste. 

You eat others up. They eat you up. You kill. You deceive. You misguide.

Then after a while, you get tired. Really tired. So tired you’re tired of being tired.

No one is beside you to break your fall because no one cares about monsters.

You lie on the ground and start to fade away.

As your ugly body disappears, your hope that another will come pick you up goes along with it.

The music hushes and you die.