Save Me

I tell myself daily- today will be the day of my death.
The old me has died, cheers to my burial, celebration of my decomposing meat.
Old habits die hard, or don’t die at all.
If you’re fortunate to have them assassinated by a third party,
they haunt you like Halloween masks.
Same time, different place; expected but unavoidable.

I’m tired of this farce.
Myabe I never had ‘it’, or I never will.
I will always be a lucky 7, never 9 or 10.

Fuck, why am I so concerned?
My life is sad and truly pathetic.
I’m on te edge of suicide but cowardice pulls me in.

A walking paradox, dressed in irony. I hate everyone around me because all I do is want their love,
I know the answers to my own questions but i’d rather wonder around looking for them.
I don’t know what I want, I find the easy way out, because I’m afraid of death but I’m afraid of living even more.

No, I will not stop at the pun.
I want to embrace my loneliness and be able to talk to myself like I used to.
I love my lonely little blog, I wish it had a human form- dark, quiet, understanding, personal- MINE.

I never finish what I’ve started, counting in suicide attempts.
I’m too bored and too lazy and even my blog creaks from my repetitive burdens.
You gave me life, now show me how to live!
But it’s not that easy; God is but a made up answer to a questionin that dawns all humans: why the fuck am I here and what for?

Why am I so drawn to Christian Music?
It’s serene.
It’s fanatic.
It’s insane.
It’s laughable.
It’s me and evrything I hate about me.

I can ramble on and you can’t stop me.
I wish I could put my words into good use.
The pursuit for recognition is painful, seeing people who have what I want is painful. Knowing but feeling inhibited, incapacitated is TORTURE.

I live in my own version of the world, where it revolvs around me.
I can’t face the actual version of this world, nor the people in it.
The people in it will never reach the perfection I am after.
I prefer MY Matrix.

I smother the one I love who
(God knows why) loves me back……… I want to keep him safe in a little box, away from prying hands, I want to take him away where it’s just the two of us. Where he can take care of me and harvest the happiness I’ve failed to grow in myself. I will smother him until he is crazy, until he hates me and the only joy would be to break free of my grasp.
I’m like those old, creepy mothers locked in basements signifying everlasting, wielding treachery; you can’t escape Me, You’re something You need to overcome.

Who is talking to me? And why aren’t I dead anymore? I mean yet!
Who is talking to me? Through me?
It could have happened in a flash! A milk truck passing by, speeding to our imminent collision. I am so careless…….
I’d rather die painlessly, in oblivion -the way I live.
Sleeping.
Sleep-walking.
Sleep-living.
Why am I here for?
I speak of torture but I have not seen what torture is.
I am lucky to have what I have and yet I complain about how shallowness and ignorance that surounds me…
I I I I I I I AM
I AM is but an illusion of what I am.
I am is what I’m not.
I is meaningless, it could never in depth describe me.
But I is omniscient it’s everything and everywhere it’s all of us, it’s all of me- I.

I am a question to be answered.

Somebody Save Me.

R.J

‘right above the entry, stretched out a capitalized sentence that signified all misery and theological humour: WHY IS YOUR STOMACH FAT?’

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