Living in discomfort. My life is like the agonizing toil you try to defeat while tossing and turning in a bed that just doesn't seem to provide the right amount of comfort. Just minutes earlier I encountered the same dilemma, adjusting my body to match my thoughts that never seem to cease without some uneasy feeling, derailed from initial impulse. "To become an idea" I thought to myself, realizing the constant pull of thought from one direction to another. The urge to write is like the relief of a purge, one that rids all unnoticeable and unspeakable doubt, softening your surface and clearing your palette. To write is to rid yourself of baggage that only longs to be claimed. I am a body, torn by tendons that don't seem to be a bother when your hands are gliding over seamlessly. Whether it be the ties that secretly bound us together being forever strung or shall it only beb an act of instinctual desire or perhaps a promise we've both come to understand by the scribbles of our words fallen down each others ears with the faint whispers that only hush our tired eyes before we rest them, a reassuring silenced shadow that covers us each night with comfort.

I Am...

I am a skitz; a schizophrenic lover with such a delicate touch and untold, untied lies that span as long as my lifeline. Tied together until knotted, always pursuing the pull, until the tension has cracked, leaving scars. Porcelain cracked smiles. I am left behind to rot, a corpse, a body with no limits, besides the one we claim to understand ourselves. "I can't wait to die" an expression, however I do not fear death, therefore, I wait, I live. Seizing in and out of this consciousness that should not be scientifically studied by each individual that possesses expression. If everyone really knew how much they really mean. Mean to me. Dan says to do something you love for a minute a day and see where it takes you. what was the best minute your day consumed. What do you drive for, what is that racing factor that keeps you and your mind coming back for me, screaming wake me up inside! I am a recovering paraplegic. Lost awareness, lost all feeling. My limbs linger carelessly over obstacles that challenge only my state of mind. Blood flow. Blood flood. Blood pump. Blood pulse. I can feel again on occasion where the air clicks on and goosebumps rise, stubborn shake, or stubborn step I can only take in your direction. I become so much more aware. Paranoia Strikes! Two words that I find as fitting as yours in my hand. Love is all you can offer though. I've now become a cancerous risk inducer, activating my worse fears, with no other option than to enjoy it. I can become what you want me to be. Meet me at the park. I react accordingly despite what you say. I am over-obsessive, self diagnosed with OCD, keeping everything inside. Governed thoughts possess all aching authority. In the end it didn't even matter. I tried so hard while unfiltered thoughts unravel into irrationality. You can't help what you feel. You can't halt or hate what you feel. You'll loose y o u r s e l f. Drowning in Depression. Depression Doses. Doused Depression Daily. I am living backwards. sdawrof yllaer si hcihw. But people are just living in a state of confusion, illusion minds created from the rash rage that is empowering. An empire brewing your originality into a beverage, easily swallowed, questionably digestible but most commonly just investable. Sucks you in then spits you right back out. I believe everything I hear but for other reasons than yours. I see clearer when your merely drawn down. I am a photographic mind. Remembering that slight flicker in your eyes. Every aspect of you is now mind. (end)

long lost lovers