The Past

I never look back.  I never look forward.  I only look at here, now and present.  Some people hate that about me.  I think it's my best quality.  Fuck em.

HOWEVER -

I used to write so eloquently, I used to have such a grandiose, lovely vocabulary.  I used to phrase things in such a way that I would send shivers down my spine.  I used to feel things so intensely that when I would write, it would be like me taking a knife to my skin and bleeding out all that I had left inside on these blank, blinking cursor templates.  I used to put together words and ideas that would never be thought to be put together, or anywhere near.  I don't know what has happened to me - I have many ideas of what but I cannot pin-point them.  For a long time, I always thought that I didn't feel the need to write anymore because I was happy - but the more I think about it, I was just distracted.  I was just alluding myself to think that I was happy. 

There is this constant and consistent limbo that I live in, probably that I have created - where my depression combines with my happiness in a perfect swirling circle.  Like the kind you would find on a peppermint.  I've come to terms with the fact that no matter how happy I am, with all or nothing in my life - that there is always this perpetual darkness that lingers there.  It is not a bad thing but it is not a good thing.  It's an OK thing.

I can't even remember a time where it did not exist.  That creature is the one that comes out when I write and for so long, I have suppressed it.  I have suffocated it to the most extreme degree that I feel that it has become angry - my inner voice, my inner spirit for lack of a better word and... I feel it emerging.  I feel it growing strength and momentum.  I do not wish the morbidity upon myself but I do want to feel the passion that I once felt to dictate these words onto these pages.  I want to let my subconscious free and see what kind of entity it is now.  It has been years since I have even known what my true thoughts are and which ones I fool myself with.

I hope that by engaging myself back into this, that I can find that beauty I once created.  Because even in those times of suffering, I felt the most intense happiness of self.  The most understanding of my being. And I yearn for that feeling again... of being whole - even if I am in pieces. 

I want noise to come out when I scream and I want my heart to beat again.

[There was this girl, who played with pearls
And Pretty Pretty Princess rings
Now she plays with knives and pills
And investigates conspiracies

When the night comes,
She becomes numb
And her eyes begin to beam
Of tragic tales and amphetamine like dreams
Where all the world is clean]