Why do I feel as if it will never be mine time? Not my turn or my chance.

It hurts when you realize others don’t see what they say is true about you.

Am I going to ever be good enough?

Will I ever make sense of the melting mess inside my head?

Will I ever be able to say, this is me and this is what I am good at.

What if I am just not good at anything.

To aspire to be good was never enough.

I have these expectations and I used to juggle them very well. As I have aged, I have lost my coordination and now days, I am barley able to throw my feet off the side of the bed.

To drown would be a sweeter pain that existence.

To sound bleak leaves, us wondering if the next step is worth is.

I am unable to give you the answer you are looking for as I am even unable to give one to myself.

How is it this can still hit so hard and cut almost as deep as if it had been done by my own hand.

I find myself lost in a strange place. I seem to be losing me.

It could just be the cycle, finally returning and coming back full force.

Must the good come with a trail of destruction in its happy wake.

May I finally claw to the top and be left alone. I have never wanted more than to have a life that is all my own. It is exceptionally difficult to have, when you know nothing that awaits, is better than the everything that currently surrounds.

Why can't she see what they do?

Why is it no one can be honest enough to say that she is broken and there is no fix? You can't fill the cracks with gold and call her art. They try to, if that doesn't work, you know what does? They say nothing. She can't be hurt if you say nothing. She can't fight back if you give her nothing to feed off. Her heart is still breaking and the bleak outside is pushing its way in.

She looks so hard. She is determined and ready to move forward. With support of those around her she moves faster and faster into oblivion.

Mirrors lie and so do the tongues of those we all love. Serpents with good intentions. Hoping that she will slip and slide right off the edge.

What she wants more than anything is to disappear. Feel what the wildflowers feel in their fields of plenty and you can't tell one from another. To be alone and the only burned then is to herself. The most amazing feel she had ever had the pleasure to chase in her dreams was the feeling of being alone and free. To be crazy, angry and irrational, to be so happy the sun is envious of how brightly she shines. What she wants more than anything is go home to her father and wait with him at his feet until he calls us all home.

For now she rocks in the dark parts of her head and prays for release. Hopes for a second chance and begs to be set free.

{Sometimes you are never sure of your place. Sometimes things are not what they seem. Often, you are left wondering about who really is, running your life.

A younger me, was hopeful; sad with a dash of unrealistic self-confidence. I believed in all the good that no longer exists in the world and I used to think, dream even of how I would be in the future. The world was not quite filled with brightly lit rainbows, but you could see through the grey sky. The sun still fought its way through. I want to say that an oxymoron would explain what I have spent ages trying to get across.

That would not be the best definition.

What is the defining moment here?

It is understanding that you were never more than a fraud. That time when dreams were still fathomable, that time was a lie that should have been forced upon me so much sooner than it was.}

Thinking was never easy, that can be especially stated about this afternoon. Any other person on any given day would be bored to tears and I can’t seem to stop the flood of tears that wants to over take my eyes. Pouring out the facts of my existence only to be lost upon cloth with no more meaning than the tears themselves. If I could give them meaning I would do my best, though they would feel about what I choose for them, the same as I do about the giving. Hopeless.

For no matter how hard I have tried, or how many times the result is still the same. Insanity, I do believe is defined by such a state. Continuing over and over again, going down the same path yet always expecting a different result. When do you accept the result in question. Or when do you learn that there is no coming back from this rat wheel cycle that turns faster and faster more until, the wheel keeps spinning though you have long since fallen out. I feel as if this time getting back up, stopping the spinning trap of life and trying again, would be the end of me. This time feels like all the other times, except this time coming back isn’t all it is cracked up to be. This time coming back means losing it all. The dilemma we get to face here ladies in gents is this. Do we let life take us away or take on the responsibility, be the defenders of our own fate and take ourselves away. Which can we say is less painful.

A younger me would fight, all younger ones would, or at least they would try, battle suits on and swords held high. Me now wants nothing more than to lay down and die.

Waking up was never the same after she turned 18. Not every begining comes with an exciting tall tale. She never conunted on such fairy tales. Women in her family kept secrets and lived their lives thirving on this type of mystery. She never cared for any of it. Never once did she look down the path marked with their footsteps.

She awoke to a frightful amount loud noise and throbbing aching pain. He head was about to split and it was almost like the whole city was shoving their way in. The screams and pleas, the gushing love that spewed forth, then came pain. Indescriable and deep, no face to place. Her entire world was empty. Nothing surrounded her, nor were her nightstands close enough to touch, her fingtips brushed the air and she could not understand where this world was coming from. She couldn’t hear her own thoughts, let alone make sense of what was happening.

The deafening chatter grew and grew until, everything finally went black and she fell back in the same spot that held her the night before.

Waking again was a bit more tolerable, her mind clear and the noise faded to a finely tuned buzz.

The thoughts that enveloped her were ready for the next step, pushing and shoving their way froward. Hoping and fighting for attention. What was worse even, is the exhaustion in which they let her with. She pleaded and begged for a break, or to even be forgotten, that was not in her cards. Her life was unraveling before her and with only herself to catch her own fall and gather the pieces left that she could see. It was inevitable that she would no longer live for herself. She would take her next breath not for what she desired but for what thoughts wanted. Why the thoughts can not live is she doesn't.

He life was forever changed because she lost the chance to give away what would never again be her own.

The moral would be to end it before the second chance.

Have you once stopped to wonder who you really are?

We think we do this daily; others, are so confident, why they would even consider second guessing what they already know is beyond my scope of knowledge.

Yet what we are here to explore is the possibility of never really being a true single person. Possibly a singular entity, not quite a single mind. This could be more confusing than alluring. To being we can start with the drive into the office. There is an old orchard that was demolished for the upcoming housing development. Too many people and not enough of homes. (We are back at the higher ends of our consumeristic mentality.) I have watched daily as this site expands and they bring in new material, the employee vehicles growing as the work continues forward. The point behind this set up is the idea that has rooted deep into the pits of my brain matter. I want to blow the site up. I want to figure out the best explosives to tear through solid concrete and I want to cause enough destruction to shut down construction until all repairs have been made, rubble and debris completely cleared. I don’t want to hurt anyone and really I am not quite sure I want to find a nice viewing spot. I just want to leave it in my wake. I can’t say that I want to make a statement as much as this would be a crime of sheer opportunity. The perfect location, no surveillance, very little, to no traffic, during the times in which this would occur, of course. Not to mention, the hiding around this area makes this more into a screeching desire that almost forces me to a rather sudden halt each time.

Or even the notion to feed into the thoughts of finally watching a city burn. The thing is, I am not quite picky regarding location or even opportunity and the lives that may end up being taken are of no real concern to me. There is no connection. So why is it that I can plot the down fall of these concrete giants with little remorse. Some would say that we all think this way. The difference is the action.

Action, something that has been putting the world at ends since the beginning of time.

On my tense walk into the office, I was thinking of the ways to best bring down a city. Do we utilize the sewer systems? Or do I find a way into the lower levels of our tallest buildings. Place bombs inside the lobbies of all business, under cars parked on the first floor of parking garages. Then you wonder, “Well, what type?” or “How do you want to set up the fuse. Maybe you want to watch this one.” Or then again maybe you don’t. Maybe this can be an isolated incident and only one suffers so the many can be worry free.

Why punish the masses for the misdoing of one.

When asked that question I will answer several different ways. What though do attribute these varying answers? Are my personality traits trying to disassociate themselves?

I will have many say I am using and morphing that definition into something that well suits me. That could be true. It could also be true that I am not who I say I am. Nor, are you.

I dress to hide the side, which wishes nothing more than to see, burning bodies running through the street, to hear the lullabies of speeding bullets and grown men shrieking in fear. I dress to keep inside me. Don’t you? Isn’t that what the new haircut is or the new sports coat, which helps you better blend.

I dressed up a few nights ago and wondered at this creature in the mirror. Who was she and what was she willing to do, where even was she willing to go. Would she run away and give up everything. I thought she would. I am surprised she didn’t. The car was turned around and she drove home. Which she, took us there? Which me brings me home every night. Which me seeks out help and guidance, which me screams for something more dark. Some may say that is who you are. That is everything that is you. Yet, don’t you wonder who you would be if you made a different decision. Understood you may not be where you are but what about who you are?

The changes I am hinting at are far more embedded in us than that which can still be seen. The inherited mental traits and genetics. The building blocks of who you are that can easily be buried or turned to other sights. Just as those that were born and destined for true greatness are only victims of circumstance. I have heard many stories of late, how others overcome an obstacle or hindrance and do the almost unthinkable. What if that is not really them? That person that was hundreds of meters down caught under rocks with no way out other than to cut away that which held them there. Who do you think came out of that situation? Do you know the person you became, down in those depths. When the darkness is all encumbering, who is it you let out? Is it a survivor, someone that lays down and dies or possibly a monster that fought its way out and left you behind in the dark depths that have no end, no bottom to finally hit; an endless falling.

Can you ever be one person? Just someone that grows and changes. Is that what we consider the norm? Yet those that have broken away and become that which they are, only solely this time. No way to be held down or back. A letting go and coming truly into one’s own. What a unique perspective on disassociation. How is we can be so quick to dismiss an unusual due to what we now consider to be the norm.

It is like thinking along the line of: when you pass there are about seven minutes of brain activity that happens. It has been thought that maybe during this time, when your life is played out before your eyes, which seems to slow down. Almost so that you could be reliving that moment again, in what possibly feels like real time. So, with that in mind who is not to say that we have all ceased to exist many a moon ago and yet we are only each living out our seven minutes. Due to forever repeat as we continue to die in that seven minutes only to see it all play out once more.

Along such lines would you not think that you could possibly split off somewhere, become someone else. May that time line forgot about you, but you did not it.

Maybe this all got out of hand somewhere and we are now letting our mind float far beyond the stars.

Then again maybe this is a notice to wonder more and never accept what you don’t know for truth. Maybe my readers this is just another rambling of young soul with too many words to wade through.

I wish explaining this feeling of longing made a difference.

I know that it won’t, I know I will see you in my dreams and that is where I rush to. That moment in time where we meet and it as if I never left you.

The nervous excitement when you swim by, the jitters that shake me from head to toe. You know how beautiful you are don’t you. Cutting across a calm glassy sea, gently and with more power than can be naturally harnessed.

I hold my breath in anticipation. Breach the surface and let us gaze together at the sheer expanse of your home. I wish more than anything I could leave with you. Our visits almost too brief.

You slick skin that always feels a tad cool to my touch, my fingertips dancing across your skin almost like the water droplets that slide down your back when you come up to face me. Bitter sweet salty kisses that leave me breathless.

I will wait for on that beach cliffs edge, I will always run to that spot and await your return, no matter how brief. I will let my feet hang in the crashing wake and patiently stare out toward and unending horizon, if only to catch a glimpse of you swimming by. One day I will find you, you will find me and we will live together under the sea.

Hello,

I have seen you get jealous and it can be pretty becoming of you. It is so rare that Mr. Rak gets jealous. It was over the knife. Even when I told Julia about it, first thing said was “do I hint a bit of jealousy from Mr. Corey Rak?”

It was mildly humorous. I know you love me. I can see it in the little things you do. I can see it when you look over at me while you’re playing games. Sneaking glances and such, so you can’t be noticed. You will always be my number one. Always. That will never change. I know we have a long road left to travel, but I adore saying that we have that. I can’t imagine what goes on in your head. I know I say that often, but I really wish I knew, so I could make your thoughts happy, true and everything they should be. Easy, low stress and full of dreams. I wish I could make everything in your life more than easy and smooth. The thing is, I am not very easy and smooth. I know you work hard for me, for Kyra and yourself. I see it. I also see a man that will fight for me and grow for me. I see a man willing to work on himself as much I me. I can’t take all the credit for that, but I do think me getting better does help you.

I can never take back the moments I have had or the things I may have accused you with (The whole you not even caring moment-i.e: the broken remote night). What I do know is I have plenty of time to make it up you. We have plenty of time to make everything what it should be and what it can be. Since we will be doing it together, life will be just that much easier. I do know that I want you to be in love with me and I want you to want a future with me, not jsut because you can tolerate and be content with me. I want us to have a relationship that is bigger and stronger than I either of us could have ever had apart.

What I can promise you, is that tomorrow will be better. So will the day after. I won’t regress so much, when or if I do. (I have to be prepared, because sometimes no matter what you do, you still fall here and there.) The main thing is changing my thinking and working on myself. Changing the way I see the world and the way I see myself. Trusting you and really trusting you. Accepting what you say, without needing to find out myself. Being confident in the fact that the man I picked, the man that I can’t live without feels the same. I will not say I can just cut off my feelings for you like you never existed. I know I can live without you and you myself. The beauty here is that neither of us want to. You are like a first love or a first kiss, the exception here is I get to have you. I get to hold you and dream about you, only to wake and smell you lingering in the covers. The pillow that I roll my face into is always warm. Having you is something I can thank God for, because having you is like having a real life miracle. You are a real life miracle. When we come to an end, I only hope we go together so that way I never have to worry about finding you; we will already be together. I want my end to be with you, and if destiny has me search for you all over again, I will never stop, no piece of land will go unturned until I am rightfully so back in your arms.

Goodbye Love

Where did all the chances run off to?

Will they ever return?

Sitting along the lakeside and talking to the reflection is rather soothing. If only for a moment, the feel of nothing steadily rocking strands of hair to and fro. A nothing that will be only ever be as good as the peace that can be accepted therein.

I sit there longer and longer each day, I wonder more and more and yet here I am still screaming at the same reflection with same result.

Wouldn’t the masses state that is the sole definition of insanity? Could I possibly finally be such? Is that what the screams really are? My sanity compromised, my peace torn to shreds and the stability I thought, had a foundation stronger than the man of steel, still crumbling like sand castles in a monsoon. Yes, it is a monsoon out there and reflection won’t stop screaming back at me. I keep talking and I am no longer met with rationalization or sound reason. I am met with screams, screams of fear and contempt that leave me weaker than if I was the reflection.

I know where the chances all ran to, I know why they stay away and continue to hide. I understand the animosity they must harbor. Why would they give themselves to me when I give them nothing in return?

Asking for something to give nothing, maybe reflection you are screaming at me because I take without thinking about what and from whom I do this taking. How can a chance wish to be used when it is so easily wasted?

The chances have just as many questions, the only difference is that the chances, do not get a say, they have no voice.

Head in hands and feeling fingers slips through strands of hair. Pulling and tugging on an empty mind. A spinning head fresh and filled with wild ideas, daring dreams and a life so seemingly unattainable that the stars even sparkle brighter.

Looking up without glasses to a world not quite in full focus. Unable to make the picture clear. Almost as the eyes gave up on seeing what the world had to offer. Far too tired to engage, too weak to strain themselves. The world sounds muffled this time and as if time had slowed down. Not quite a complete stop but a pace that gives a chance to breathe. Yet, the air is thinner than it once was, lungs can’t quite seem to fill to capacity. The organs taking a break, and the mind losing desire to move forward. If the mind shuts down, what then will happen to the rest? Shall this be analyzed and broken down? The breakdown of a breakdown.

All of this starts happening and the fear sets in, not quite sure what any of this means. The questions and worry seem to almost bombard with uncertainty. What next, is there a treatment plan or will this pass. To find only that this does not pass, there is a continuation that will cease to follow set rules or regulation. Breaking down never had a leader, nor a set path to take. Never once was anyone made aware or given a heads up. The breakdown happens in the dead of a calm, hitting you right between the eyes with head in hands.

Slipping further and further away from anything to grasp, just the depths of a pit where the bottom does not exist.

I asked not to long ago a man, if he thought that every question had an answer.

I still wonder if I am able to agree. Dominating the mind, a driving force to seek out an answer. Any answer.

I have asked many questions over my time. The years pass and some answers, I trip and fall over like a covered root; others I search to no avail. If a “what if” can be considered a question then what would be its answer? I would presume until the situation, problem or question comes to pass then an answer cannot formulate.

I wanted to start a book, one of housing only questions, not for the sake of returning and answering them; but to keep the mind, my mind continually curious. Not in a manner that is detrimental but as a way to keep humble. A chance to understand, that there is far more to seek in the world and the life that has been provided.

If I disagree that not every question has an answer, what then does that then say about me?