Bemuse Me

It feels a lot later than it is. The curtains are drawn and it wouldn't make a difference if they were open because you'd never see a single star in the smoggy Toronto sky. I wasted the summer with these shades drawn, with my eyelids drawn. I'm trying to open my eyes to find an existence outside of these walls.

I used to write great one-liners and garner comparisons to the ones I admired. Twisting words to hide myself behind the big open wound - my heart. I don't know if the lesions have entirely healed, but there's thick enough scar tissue to protect what's left from any foreign intervention. Except for the only FOREIGN intervention that my heart seems to beat for. But I can't fall in love with a country the way I fell in love with green eyes and my narcissistic obsession with his affections. Funny how I haven't felt the same since.

A year after I ended my own life I found music and words that forced the pain through my eyes and let it fall into my lap, keyboard, steering wheel. I wish I had kept those drops in a jar. I miss the salty taste of regret. I always tell myself to forget all about it because you can't live in the past. Last week I said his name twice. I hate when I say it like he exists in the same reality as me. The more time I spend in seclusion, the more I'm convinced that there isn't a single soul living in the same reality as me.

What happened to the Holographic Paradigm Theory? What happened to interfering rays of light to create the holographic world in which we "live"? Where are the books? The songs? The curiosity? I don't even have a special writing pen anymore. I miss my spiral bound silver Nortel notebook.

They are all in totes scattered around Ontario like the rest of my existence. All I have on my person is my heart and it's more unreliable than my flighty behavior.
Sure!
No.
Tomorrow!
Cancel.
Sounds Good!
Unfortunately.

My biggest wish is to plant my heart in the ground and hope for something whole to blossom. I've become weapon sharp like a heart-shaped shank ready to assail the boys who try to cross that line. Very few try and there are no success stories to speak of.

I don't want to write because then I have to feel. Without this outlet I've become so sensitive. Tears flow for anything that finds its way under my skin. I'm so frustrated at 2209 and so desperately need things to change. Glamorizing Japan isn't going to fix everything. I'm worried that I will always be a beautiful-tragic-suicidal mess. Thanks to my ancestors for bequeathing me with this constant manic depressive state. The truth is that I don't even remember how to live.

Hold your head high heavy heart.
So take a chance and make it big,
Cause it’s the last you’ll ever get.
If we don’t take it, when will we make it?
I make plans to break plans,
And I’ve been planning something big, planning something big, planning.

ecks oh.

Off Topic: PW saved my life. I don't know how many times I've written that but I mean it just as much this time as I did the first time I actually admitted it to myself. "I love your hair!" I almost wish he had never acknowledged me.