Flitting, flying, sliding past

Never staying longer than a moment

or two

thoughts about me

thoughts about him

thoughts about anything and everything

that decides to stop by for a short visit

I sit in on the edge of my bed,

Sweating profusely,

And shaking like a leaf in the wind,

Hearing the screams all around me,

Screams of torment,

And of agony;

Memories for the war surface,

The blood and the guts never go,

They're always in my mind,

Like a splinter,

Slowly but effectively driving me mad.

- Michael Hall

Trying to sleep before the alarm rings at 4:30. MY mind fills. What will the next day bring. Am I going to get to work on time.? Do I have enough gas.? How are my babies that are growing up to fast and often beyond my grasp? Did I need to stop at the store? Meaningless thoughts fill my mind in the dark. Then the alarm rings. Did I sleep. I think so. Then daylight and a rerun..

Oh god.

I have homework.

Did I finish the chapter in this book....

What am I going to eat for breakfast in the morning?

Ugh, I wish it wasn't so late.

What time is it anyway?

I wish I didn't hate everyone so much.

I wish everyone didn't hate me so much.

I wonder if I'm annoying.

No one probably cares.

What if I just didn't wake up tomorrow?

Would anyone notice?

I wish I could sleep all day.

Oh well. I guess it doesn't matter.

I'm going to bed.

There’s so much beauty in the fucking world.

Why are we the exception?

Why?

Why do we build walls instead of relationships?

Why are we afraid of being rejected we decide to settle for rejecting everyone else?

Why does no one think that contradiction is fucking retarded or at least doesn’t seem to care?

Why are we afraid of pain and risks and chances and having to sacrifice shit sometimes?

Why are we afraid of fucking living?

I wish I knew.

I wish I wasn’t afraid of living or pain or risks or chances or sacrificing shit.

I wish I wasn’t afraid of being rejected or being vulnerable.

I wish I knew how to do something that actually mattered

I wish I was a beautiful human being on the inside.

Most of all, I wish more people cared about those people who are beautiful on the inside.

Even if I’m not one, those are the people I respect the most these days.

But least I hope I’m getting somewhere.

I don’t want to be an asshole to someone just because someone was a dick to me.

I don’t want to fuck people over because just my day sucks and I’m angry.

I don’t want to pretend that cynicism is just being realistic about the human condition.

That shit is fucking depressing.

It doesn’t make me feel better.

It doesn’t make anyone feel better unless you’re a fucking sociopath (or masochist maybe, but they’re cool, I have a chick friend like that and she cracks me up.)

I don’t want to hurt people as if it meant nothing.

I’ve done enough of that to fill two lifetimes.

Apathy is the emptiest thing in the world.

I’m tired.

I’m probably never going to get tired of fucking up my own life.

I’m probably still going to do it even if I do.

But I’m tired of doing it to people who aren’t me.

I don’t care about who deserves shit anymore.

I don’t care who called me a pussy or a shithead or a fucking Klingon.

I tired of all this shit.

I’ll probably still hurt people without realizing it.

I’m sure that I’ve lost anything beautiful inside me a long, long time ago.

But hey, a man can dream.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to at least make something beautiful.

Like a painting, a concerto, a bad-ass novel, or even a fucking energy drink.

If I am lucky enough to even have a kid one day, I’d honestly be terrified that I’d fuck them up somehow.

If by some crazy, fucking miracle didn’t end up screwing them up, and they actually grow up beautiful on the inside?

I’d probably die from a massive overdose of uncut-irony the universe just mainlined into my neck.

I promise you though; no one will ever die with a bigger smile on his or her face than the one you will see immortalized on my rigor-mortis stricken face that day.

Beautiful agony is still beautiful, after all.

I failed

I could've...

I should've...

I could...

I can't...

I shouldn't have...

I couldn't have...

I'll remember this moment.

I'll forget the important ones.

I'll embarrass myself

I'll embarrass my family

My friends

Acquaintances

Strangers

Everyone

I'm self-absorbed, but not confident enough...

I'm too quiet, but too loud...

I'm not trying, but I'm trying too hard...

I'm too skinny, but I eat too much...

I say depressing things, but I act superficial...

I have too much on my mind, but I'm too dismissive...

I always talk about my problems, but I can't make small talk...

I'm exaggerating

I'm telling the truth

I need to stop

I have to keep going

I forgot what day it is

I forgot what day it was

I forgot to say goodnight

I forgot to say goodbye

I'm a terrible friend.

It's late. I'm tired.

Go to sleep, brain. Please.

My upstairs neighbors are loud... like really, really loud. They walk around likes it's their business to step as heavily as they can, they play twangy country music over dinner, and they love to start the washing machine- which happens to be positioned directly above my bed- promptly at 5:10am as often as possible. I can hear them laughing, I can hear them watching crime shows on the t.v., I can hear them talking on the phone. I feel like I have two extra people living in my tiny, one-bedroom apartment, but alas, I have been alone for many years.

Then... well, there's something else, something that goes beyond just being inconsiderate and moves into, well... into the uncomfortable. I am plagued by their constant crying, sometimes for hours at a time, always in the wee hours. I can't even remember the last time I slept the whole night through without hearing this wimpering. Sustained sobbing, floating down into my open bedroom window, but nobody else seems to hear it. I've asked other people in my building if they are bothered by this noctural lamenting, and all I get is blank stares, as if I'm the crazy one. "Upstairs?" they say, as if they've never heard the word.

The worst part is I have tried to talk to the people in the apartment above me about this, thinking if they knew how they were tormenting me, perhaps I can get them to turn it down a little. I don't enjoy confrontation, and I have never actually seen them in person, but I've walked up the stairs and knocked on their door more than once; I've never received an answer. In fact, they must have heard me coming those times, because when I get up there the silence is startling, almost like there is no one living in the apartment at all. It almost feels like if I opened the door I'd find nothing but dust and empty spaces. So I'll walk back down, and yeah, it may be quiet for an hour or two, but eventually, the crying always starts back up.

Thinking of all the fights..

Never pitch black, always needing lights

Thinking of him, that frightening man.

Needing to move away.. So I ran.

Thinking of the tragic past..

The nightmares always seem to last.

Staring at the ceiling wondering why..

Why is it me who needs to cry?

Looking around my room..

Looking for where the monsters loom.

Crying for all reasons..

Never changing, no matter the season

Wondering how I became such a mess..

All I can do is sit and guess.

Tossing and turning in my bed.

Pounding and screaming in my head.

Painful memories all around.

Peace and happiness may never be found.

Monsters and killers in my mind,

Wishing the past I could leave behind,

I close my eyes and pray..

Pray that I'll make it through another day

Dreaming..Dreaming finally not of the past

But dreams turn to nightmares; dreams never do last

Fighting my body to go to sleep

But I'm thinking and I'm in too deep.

Trying to sleep but crying inside

In my head the monsters reside

Let me sleep let me be

Please I beg, let me be free..

the trim off the door

missing is a hidden knife

and a styrofoam cup

melted can take a life

you have your means

and I have mine

I stay awake at

night

the Hershey squirts

make my ass a bathroom junkie

after eating a keistered candy bar

that's the shit you deal with

behind the bars

freedom shouldn't exist

criminals are protected

while the lawful get the

short end of the stick

and then Johnny Law

is left with the last gun in the land

to shank or not to shank

doesn't get me to dreamland