Is this living or is this just running?
Running from one task to the next, trying to distract me from, well me...
Focusing on one thing, another, another, another-
I tell myself I'm just interested in many things,
That I like to apply myself and see results-
But the truth is...
Deep down, I'm lonely and afraid and scared
And scarred
And I need a distraction
Or maybe a thousand
But that's okay, I'm not the only crazy one, right?
Who am I kidding, I'm so messed up-
And I know it.
Why do you think I can't stand to be alone with myself?
Sure, sure, I'm "talented"
"Talent" means nothing to me,
Maybe once I had innocent interests,
Now I just have unhealthy coping mechanisms,
Always trying to change what I see, create something...
Just to feel okay
Like I did something that matters
But it doesn't work like that
Sure, maybe I'll temporarily feel release-
Then what?
Right back to square one
Time to hold myself to even higher standards,
Like a perfectionist,
Oh, sure, I have a goal to-
No.
Forget that.
Forget goals.
No.
I don't really want to improve myself.
I just want to be happy.
Honestly.
Deep down that's all I ever wanted,
Then so much went wrong.
So much.
Now look.
Here I am,
Broken on the ground,
Surrounded by a thousand fragments of who I thought I was and who I tried to be
Running at an insane pace
I'll do this and this and this and maybe I don't have to worry
Or maybe I will even more
What does it matter now?
I'm not truly alive-
But surely this is better than death-
Surely...
Oh, why do I hesitate?
No, don't go there, please...
I know myself, and I know my feelings
Even as I try to run they'll catch me again
So I'll try to drown them out but it does no good-
There.
Alone in the dark,
A speck of light falling to earth,
Snuffed out at last...
There, in the night.
There, there are the desperate pleas for help.
Can you hear them?
No.
You aren't listening.
You don't see what I see.
You don't see that desperation but I do.
I know.
I'm a pale ghost, a bad imitation of someone who once had dreams, who once had motivation
At least I think I did,
Please tell me it was all rosy and innocent at least once
That I must believe
But I don't
I know it all too well
I know how this story ends,
Not happiness and singing,
But despair and regret and paronoia and fear
So what, who cares that I devoted hours on end to creating worlds out of nothing, breathing life into characters?
Simply a writer's overly dramatic way of stating I sat at a computer staring at a blank, empty screen for hours and hours, trying to find purpose out of a life that would give none to me
Guilty and distracting and unable to join the routine that was already created,
Pacing and worrying and worrying and worrying myself dry
And hurting and hurting
And then what?
Uprooted yet again,
Time to form new habits, lasting ones-
But wait.
Time to pretend things are fine-
Tell me, when was the last time you saw me talk to another human being?
Oh wait.
No, keep holding to that notion I'm trying to do some good, getting things done-
Please do...
That story stings because it's still partially true,
A bitter, angry story hidden behind that-
What?
I never said I was perfect,
I tried to be,
For flawed was weak and pathetic and vulernable-
And human-
But no, I couldn't be that...
I couldn't be falling trap to the same demons as before,
No...
So maybe there was rage and desperation but also grave sadness and regret
A child's attempt to run away from the monsters-
The ones that lived inside and made it hard to breathe,
One obsession to another, hiding the pain, disgusing it-
Because, you see, I've always been this way
And maybe, despite my best efforts, I always will be.
Temporarily gliding on empty happiness
Until the true emotions manifest themself in all their terrible, terrible glory
Is there light tonight?
Is there innocence?
I don't think so.
But was there ever, just beyond these eyes?
In the world beyond?
So what am I losing?
Am I?
Am I losing pieces, so vaulable-
No.
I-
Caught in between.
Again.
Hiding.
Again.
That's all I know,
I don't-
I don't even know these words that are pulled from somewhere,
Somewhere...
A vulnerable place?
Somewhere full of emotion,
I don't know but it drives me,
It drives me forward to create even more,
Whether I'll share it is another matter,
How many pages on end have I written just for me to see?
How many days I stayed up so late just to feel?
Midnight hours, midnight hours, they call my name
But I fill them
I try, I really do,
To bring the light forward,
Surely those obsessions were good for something?
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.