Shot Through the Heart and You're too Late

Sometimes I hate myself just for imposing myself on you. Honestly. Like you don't have enough shit to do and to deal with that you need me on top of it? And worse, when I throw MY shit at you? And worse when I create shit for you to deal with?


Who does that?


Oh yes I care so much for you. Allow me to make your life totally suck.
I'm sorry for the guilt trips. I'm sorry for whatever I thought I was going to get out of any of it.
I'm my mother.


Please when I make you feel this way, just tell me to fuck off. I'd rather I feel lonely and unrequetted than to ever cause negativity to infiltrate your emotional perameter. And I'm meaning this in all honesty. You know I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. I'm saying it because I feel it.

Not to make you feel like shit.
Not to make myself feel better.
Not to piss you off.
Not to validate my existence.
Not to make you feel however I wanted you to feel or to reap whatever I had wanted to reap out of this kind of talk in the past.

I mean it in cold hard plan-spoken English.




Please don't let me do these things to you.
You're worth so much more to me than that.



It isn't your fault I have the emotional stability of elemental francium.
I just keep stealing your electrons without asking. Imposing my charges.
Fucking with equilibrium.
I've never hated myself more than I do at this very moment.

-v^----v^---v^-----------------------

God, I feel so empty.




Please don't let this be over.
It can't be over. It just can't be.


Please.

Revive me.

Fool me twice...

Sometimes I get sort of nervous. Worried. (Indefinitely jealous but that's another story.) Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right things. Sometimes I have to ask myself how safe it is to do this again, to offer myself up to walk that tightened heart-string over a familiar lake of caustic lava, and for what? The chance that I'll fall again? The chance that I'll burn?

The chance that you'll push me?

And then I stop being ridiculous and I take a few moments to truly think about it. If this isn't one of those things in life worth risking for my dear, then what the fuck is?

Because, what do I get if I stay on that rope? You.
What do I get if I fall? Nothing.
What do I get if I never try? Nothing.

To never try seems eerily similar, doesn't it?

It was absurd to think so much, anyway. I have that problem-- I think too much without being rational. I know myself well enough to know that I love that warm comfortable heat that comes from standing so may stories above heartbreak. I love the feel of that string cutting into my skin.

I couldn't stand to give up a chance to feel it again. I'd jump in a heartbeat onto that rope, even assured it would break, just to feel that feeling for one final second before I crash and burn. Just to entertain that glimmer of hope that it might hold.



Because that is a risk I'd just have to take.

Ketchup Seed

Sometimes I just look at her and I don't understand how someone could live like that. How could you stand to be so naive? How could you walk outside everyday and not think about things? Not wonder how things work, why they are the way they are, or why we're here? How could you live without knowing how to spell the words you use everyday? In what comfortableness could you breathe having no idea what intelligent conversation truly is? How could you wake up every morning having never felt that urgency to convince others of how you truly, deeply feel? Without having satisfied that hunger to absorb information?

How could you do all of these things and not realize the incredible world you'll live within and never know? How could you be so...

simple minded?






And then, I realized. I, am a hypocrite. She may be narrow-minded, but I am narrow-hearted. I live my life with one goal, one sight, one outstanding reason to let my heart beat. I walk a straight line everyday never needing to follow my heart away from the beaten path. I live, I breathe, I exist. I am one-hundred percent, perfectly content.

I don't want my heart to know another. I don't want to grasp manically at every available possibility to love like I do every instance with which I can learn. I don't need to feel the desperation to intimately know as many people as possible and to open a gushing heart to each and every one of them the way I need to let the workings of my brain beat down upon everyone I meet.




She is simple-minded. She lives in a blissful kind of naivety, without any need to expand herself.

She breathes.




I am simple-hearted. I love hard, direct and unwaveringly.

I breathe.



We are different, most definitely. But alas, we are so very much the same.

Irony.

Sometimes I get philosophical. Other times I think rationally.

Oh, How Many Years May Pass in a Fraction of a Second

Sometimes I just get so scared.

And I know so well the irrationality. And I know I'm wrong.

I pray I'm wrong.

And I know that things can't possibly have gone as I think they have.

But I am so scared.

And I wake up alone and I stutter to breathe and the flesh on my neck crawls to attention and my eyes travel manically in the dark.

But, then they focus. They focus on the tangled mop of hair and sprawled limbs of your perfectly untouched existence. My ears perk to hear the sounds of your sleepy breathing and hearty snores of an undisturbed rest. I am assured of your safety. I am assured you exist unharmed. And finally I breathe.

But not one second sooner.