goddamn was i angsty

just rediscovered my journal thing here after a few years and i think i'm going to continue spilling my thoughts and feelings since this is the only place on the internet where i can be alone.

old armchair

i feel bad for this chair.
no one sits in it because it's really uncomfortable.
would it help if i said "it's not you, it's me" ?

thats not the truth, though.

i want you to be mine but i don't want to be yours.

disposable: a disposable product is designed for cheapness and short term convenience rather than long lasting durability; usually intended for single use.

dusty gray moth

i walk down the small, slightly wet and oddly sunny street thinking about the countless times i've been here before. it's very quiet and the occasional car makes little fuss - stopping and going, turning and driving. there are no people out and i tell myself the rain scared them away, or perhaps they have places to be on an early thursday morning. in bed, maybe. i stop at an intersection and wait for the light to turn green. how many times have i stood here before? how many times did i wonder if i would be thinking about myself standing in this one spot. i try not to let my mind slip, keep myself on a steady path. just follow the yellow brick road. but the puddles call me, and the the faint smell of rain on sidewalk taunt my thoughts to stray. evertime i'm in this god forsaken city i think of you. i avoid the places i know you might be, but i keep to the side lines and small pockets of streets in hopes of catching just one glimpse. "that's all i need" i tell myself. of course that is never the case - like a moth to a flame. a glimpse is never enough. so i head home, knowing full well the dangers that might lurk around every corner. the rush of blood to my chest, to my head, at the thought of seeing you again after all this time.. it's almost too much.
it's garbage day and i survey the heaps of trash that are out on display in front of every crumbling little brick house on my street. egg cartons, beer bottles, left over ramen and arizona ice tea. every house's trash is the same.

i keep my sights set on the tips of my worn out boots, head down. never look up, never look around. all because i know, that if my eyes wander for just a moment and by some awful cosmic coincidence i catch the tiniest peek - i will become a dusty gray moth, fascinated with the dazzling and sparkling allure of the bright light. i will become a dusty gray moth.. and i will burn alive.

do you ever feel

like running?
i get these random cravings to sprint down the street, as fast as my legs will carry me. i run, with no particular destination, just to feel the wind in my hair, and my heart beating. how funny is that, i have to run for it to beat.
and for just a moment, my mind wanders. as always. it wanders to the places i have locked far far away in the depths of the back of my mind. and in that moment, everything is so still, and silent.
then my breath goes, and i have to stop. i breathe in and out, gasping for air.
i'm out of shape, and smoking really isn't helping my physique.

my empty voice.

i don't think i feel.
i look at the chipping paint on my ceiling. my room is so quiet, the street is so quiet. my mind wanders. to you, always.

fuck off.

facebook.

dear facebook,
i'm writing you an angry letter. the issue at hand is, well, lets face it you're a fucking soul eater. you eat people's souls. you take the mystery out of people - in reality, you suck up conversation starters as you allow people to post every little tiny fact about themselves for the world to see. you allow the creation of groups that explain every pet peeve, and every situation that people could possibly share in real life.

dear facebook,
i wish you could quit you. but i fear that i would be completely cut off from the world and from my friends if i did that. because like you have ripped my soul from my chest, you have sucked, ripped, torn and stolen their souls as well. release us from this awful fate. let us disconnected and disappear.

i don't want people to know my favourite bands, movies or books without talking to me. i do not want my ideas, sense of humor or little quirks to be defined by your groups. so please, let me just ask you for one thing..
let me remain a mystery.