5-18-16
I stay hidden,
Behind shelves of realities that aren't mine-
I do need a reality that isn't mine.

I wanna tear out the even pages,
But I'd rip out the odds, too.
Ironic, I destroy everything,
Even what i love.

I'm obsessive over everything (have i mentioned that yet? ;))
In all reality,
Change might be good,
but nothing changes the things I've seen-
The visions that come when it's too dark out for eyes to be recognized,
An hour when nobody hears you scream,
Because the silence takes you away.

I'm stuck in this stupid fantasy that something can save me,
And suddenly, that idea is all too real.
Suddenly, dependency is something my body is made up of.
I'm still self sustaining,
Maybe less than what I give myself credit for,
I'm not sure.

I'm surrounded by lies,
I make friends with liars,
I live with liars,
I am a liar,
Yet my own medicine tastes a bit bitter.
I've gotta get used to this.

Fast fast fast,
I'm at the end of some rope and I can feel it slipping,
I can feel it all fading.

The lights are passing by,
My eyelids are feeling heavy and the summer air says something about being there forever.

Who lied and said this life was something exhilarating?
Because I'm feeling anxious.
Oh but im so alive, somehow,
I've got electricity surging through my bone marrow.
I've carved out little places for it to flow,
and when it's not there,
Those spaces feel like voids and I'm empty.
But I do believe it's worth it- on the high, at least.

Music has always saved me,
Music and writing-
My lifeline.
So turning the volume all the way up fixes me somehow,
Brings me back down,
Takes me somewhere only i know is real.
So I'll listen until my ears fucking bleed,
I'll write until my hands can't move,
I'll create until my soul has done all it can do,
I'll live, like this- completely free.
- (m.m)

Those are hardly connected, idk where it went, I was going somewhere with it. I always intend to write from the eyes of a stalker but then it turns into something different, idk how to write like that, I've got it in my head and I can't explain it. I can be kind of a scary person, my head is a bit dangerous but I don't mind, I like everything that's there, everything I'm made of. Writing balances me out, it's the truth to all I've ever known.