Ω

Darkness at the break of noon shadows even the silver spoon. The handmade blade, the child's balloon eclipses both the sun and moon to understand you know too soon that there is no sense in trying.
Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn. Suicide remarks are torn from the fools gold mouthpiece. The hollow horn plays wasted words proved to warn that he not busy being born is busy dying.
Temptation's page flies out the door. You follow, find yourself at war. Watch waterfalls of pity roar, you feel to moan but unlike before you discover that you'd just be one more person crying.
So don't fear if you hear a foreign sound to your ear. It's alright, Ma, I'm only sighing.
As some warn victory, some downfall. Private reasons, great or small, can be seen in the eyes of those that call to make all that should be killed to crawl while others say don't hate nothing at all except hatred.
Disillusioned words like bullets bark as human gods aim for their marks. Made everything from toy guns that sparks, to flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark. It's easy to see without looking too far that not much is really sacred.
While preachers preach of evil fates, teachers teach that knowledge that waits can lead to hundred-dollar plates and goodness hides behind its gates.
And though the rules of the road have been lodged, it's only people's games that you got to dodge. And it's alright, Ma, I can make it.
Advertising signs that con you into thinking you're the one that can do what's never been done, that can win what's never been won. Meantime life outside goes on all around you.
You lose yourself, you reappear. You suddenly find you got nothing to fear and alone you stand without nobody near when a trembling distant voice, unclear, startles your sleeping ears to hear that somebody thinks they've really found you. A question in your nerves is lit, yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy, insure you not to quit, to keep it in your mind and not forget that it is not he or she or them or it that you belong to.
Although the masters make the rules for the wise men and the fools, I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.
For them that must obey authority that they do not respect in any degree, who despite their jobs, their destinies, speak jealously of them that are free and cultivate their flowers to be nothing more than something they invest in.
While some on principles baptized to strict party platforms ties, social clubs in drag disguise and outsiders they can freely criticize. Tell nothing except who to idolize and then say God Bless him.
While one who sings with his tongue on fire gargles in the rat race choir, bent out of shape from society's pliers cares not to come up any higher but rather get you down in the hole that he's in.
But I mean no harm nor put fault on anyone that lives in a vault. But it's alright, Ma, if I can't please him.
Old lady judges, watches people in pairs. Limited in sex, they dare to push fake morals, insult and stare. While money doesn't talk, it swears. Obscenity, who really cares? Propaganda, all is phony.
While them that defend what they cannot see with a killer's pride, security blows the minds most bitterly for them that think death's honesty won't fall upon them naturally. Life sometimes must get lonely.
My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards. False gods, I scuff at pettiness which plays so rough. Walk upside-down inside handcuffs, kick my legs to crash it off then say okay, I have had enough. What else can you show me? And if my thought-dreams could been seen, they'd probably put my head in a guillotine. But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only.

5 months, 1 semester,
1 hidden paper bag, 2 phone calls
3 lighters, 1 broken microscope,
4 scars, 1 wish.
And here I am breathing, beating, enjoying today. Boy, was I bad. I was delusional. I understand now and I am willing to change. [Hold that thought for a minute - I am not so committed]

Look around you. All the people in your life, which of them have what they want? Which of them are best at putting on a believable show that they're on top of the world? They are the ones who hold the firm belief that they are indeed 'the shit', who would wreak catastrophe to get what they want, and infact not those who expect the worse. I feared my worst nightmares would come true, and much to my chagrin, they did. Too wrapped up in my lack of self-worth, I was not able to appreciate the wonderful people in my life I feel in a sense blessed to have.

I am still insecure but at the moment I have a sense of stability enough to let me concentrate and make my priorities clear. I don't believe in living to see someone's face, but instead shut up, try and maybe something good happens.

I've been told that I am too mature for my age and it makes things twice as hard. I look at the superficial faces around me which one-dimensional minds lie behind and I appreciate the dissimilarities I have when put beside these deserted souls. I am profound and look beneath all the layers that are first presented but not many know. I am truthful, I am innate, I am curious, I am bitter, I am unsatisfied, I am weak, I am morose and one day I will embrace death with welcoming arms. I am proudly not another plastic mind in a synthetic society.

I don't know how where to begin. I'm thinking about everything that happened internally in the past three weeks and it seems like someone else's memories; those of a girl too angry to function. I'm different. I thought I screwed up all my chances of success in any manner in this town then got on a plane and left for a sunny destination. Soon enough I discovered that if you arrive depressed you leave depressed. Strangely, lying beneath the beautiful skies of sunny Manzanillo made me homesick for Toronto like I never have been before. I was terribly alone. I missed my cold bed and my friends. The usual friendly nature I have when in tropical countries was overshadowed by extremely distasteful attitudes. I chose to swim alone and soak up the sun alone because it seems like everyone else was so very nice, but to me. It's always like that. I subconciously attract negativity. I was in the greatest rush to get back to this chilly suburb and tie the loose ends I had left hanging when the plane left. I spent the last couple hours of my lovely vacation in the lobby of the fancy hotel, dizzy from ibuprofene and double shot margaritas and I was told I was loved by a couple drunk guys. The dark cloud of self enticed misery followed me from here to there and back again and truly, I had never wanted to die so badly. I needed someone who knew me and I wanted to talk and cry and kick and yell that I want this shit to end__This New Years Eve was the best I ever had. I'd never been so glad to see familiar and friendly faces. It's ironic though, how I had purely sober fun and yet I still spent the first several hours of 2008 on the bathroom floor, shaking uncontrollably and with my heart beating as if it was on cocaine. For the groggy week that followed, I was nothing short of cynical and frantic. I didn't belong in my skin, in this town, in this world, or so I convinced myself to believe. I knew my existence is a meaningless one but it infuriated me how I eagerly I was looking for something right when it's obvious that I am translucent stardust. I lived in this world disconnected and I was going to leave it without a trace, what the hell do I waste breaths trying to fix everything irreparable when I am going to die inevitably and I am not in the position to create anything immortal, like intense adoring feelings that will never fade. If I am not capable of leaving a mark on anything I come across, what is the point? The only constant is change, nothing good or bad lasts. It doesn't matter how long you know someone, they will be a stranger to you as well as yourself. So what the fuck are we all doing. We're here for something, not somebody.[?] Maybe to prove that it's better to dwell on profound questions than to rather find the answers or maybe even that there is no reason as to why we exist. Maybe we just have the mental ability to ponder our being in a vast universe but it won't serve a purpose in our shallow and ignorant lives. Every thought leads back to itself, I wanted out and I didn't care if I was being irrational. Seriously, I am aware that I am not a big part of anyone but I still want my absence to be noticed...don't we all? I don't know anything.

[dec. 20. 2007] I know I've said it before and I'm reluctant to repeat empty thoughts and words, but man do I lack inspiration in its greatest form, and lately my most dear friends have been bottles containing a substance which I have grown numb and nonresponsive to. It goes without saying that I've always seeked comfort from inanimate and potentially hazourdous objects rather than affectionate human arms and now I'm left to deal with my mind (I assure you it won't be for long though). Here I go, off track again because I've never been able to commit and the fear of it is irrational, at times hysterical. I had been clean for almost five weeks, with a few exceptions here and there. I did what I needed to do, just objective assignments which I can say I am proud of now, but only until I see my mediocre grade then do I admit that 'oh, I didn't even try'. Yes, I still try to achieve academically and continue to sacrifice rest to finish independent study units, only because I use the excuse that 'I have an overwhelming amount of work to do this weekend, sorry, I really can't hang out', but really I just need time away from anything that can spark the faintest memory of sincere and tender emotion. I can't sleep, so I might as well get ahead in the physics unit rather than lying there in restless agitation and repentance, but then I lie there and remorse some more...such a pathetic sight. I hid the dope in my closet, thinking I could use my spared braincells to come up with a clever thesis and perhaps have something not too close to a disappointment. I lasted and now here I am. I used to think that people didn't understand my motives and why I am so bitter, but it's now clear that they just didn't want to bother with a hopeless case and I am fine with that; they're better off without my problems to deal with anyhow and that's one burden off my senseless back. Yeah so, fuck it. This is not what I cried over; this is not what I beat myself so ruthlessly for. I wanted passion, something tender, and anything kind. Reality is, no one needs me like I need them so why, why, why should I for another second continue to sense any sort of content sentiments towards anyone. Instead of wasting my time showering another with compliments, I'll get lost in melodies, alcohol, sun and sand, and for those simulated moments of minimal bewilderment I'll dispense with existence and you might see a flicker of a smile in my eyes if you're paying close enough attention. Maybe it'll be the excessive cocktails, maybe it'll be the most frank sense I've endured but will refuse to acknowledge. All I know is that it won't be the same smile I radiate and gleam when I see you standing there, smiling over me. Again, instants of minimal bliss are becoming less and less meaningful and all the more teasing, with the stained blunt razor looking all the more seductive and tempting when I promised I wouldn't and they have no idea how I haven't kept my word. I inflict all sorts of pain onto myself, so much that my vile tendencies startle even me at times; but don't fret, this is how I anesthetize myself and brace for life outside my mind. I have no shame in admitting the cowardly ways I get by and at least I can easily confess to the high degree of fear which I stand for [is that a step forward or just stymieing my sad existence?]. What I'm looking for is something real; I miss the ability to recognize lucky incidents and fathom the ecstasy they have to offer. This explains the sores, anger and attachment. What makes this even sadder is how I bear the painfully joyous memories of wanting to see the latest movies, stay up late gossiping and grinning because we were self-proclaimed invincible. I don't hide behind the face of an individual with kind intentions and a mind and soul sheltered of all things real. I think she ran away and left the distasteful and wrong being that is writing now, and I'll bet good money she's better off. In 11 hours I'm going on a non-stop flight to a desired destination and maybe I'll be sober enough to dig a whole in the bottom of the Pacific Ocean and sleep there without being flustered, but not before I look you straight in the eye and say “goodbye, call me when I get back”, as if I want to live to see another day.


* I wrote this before going on a vacation that I was looking forward to and it's really, really funny how immature and pathetic I was just 19 days ago. I was a wreck, the most ugly mess any one would have the unfortune to cross. I feel sorry for myself. Let this be the last time I say it. *

* don't bother. This is useless. It's strange, I put on a happy face, speak in a happy tone, laugh it all off but best friends can see through it. I didn't get a chance to fully explain myself today. I was given up on, once again. Told I was too depressed to be around, and that hurt more than anything has lately. It's better this way, I don't want to say I'm sorry for hurting you.

Well, where were we... so I realize that I create my own fate, I control my own life and the way I feel about things depends on me only, and the way I choose to perceive ups and downs. I'd just like you [my best friend, anyone, doesn't matter who], to know that I'm extremely conscious that what I do is destructive not only to my self, but to every one around me as well. I continue to choose to be negative, depressed, anxious, and miserable, bitter, [...] because I see how it drives you away and it's my firm belief that it's better off when I'm left alone. I'll just be a menace to myself rather than everyone else, and trust me it's better like that. I'm not stupid, I know that I'm not the only one with problems and that everyone else feels like this. I don't care about how people got through their 'tough' times, but this is how I'm coping. Plus, it's not like anything drastic has happened...on the contrary even. It's just that I've decided that it's better when I'm alone, away from human affection. I'd rather hurt myself than anyone else. Don't tell me that I'm the one who doesn't understand when you're the one that just doesn't get it; I like being harsh, I enjoy being cruel to myself and being cynical is comforting. Of course I can change; you don't need to tell me that I can just pick myself off the ground and be happy because I'm still young and I've got friends that care. You don't see how it's better if I stay low and unhappy. Why would I even try to be content when I know I'll fail, just like I did now? This way, I won't repeatedly get my hopes high and repeatedly get them demolished. You don't understand my logic, but this is as simple as it gets: I like being alone because that way I only hurt myself and I've accepted it and so should you. I wish I could tell everyone how much they mean to me, but they'll be better off without me to empathize and calm. There's no one here to hold me and just tell me it'll be okay and I am held responsible. I've either pushed them away, or not let them in even when I really need them. I know that once everything becomes steady and I have a shoulder to rest upon, I'll just thrust them away and convince them that they're better off. I don't know what has happened these past few months to entice this kind of attitude, but I've adapted a lifestyle where my goal is not to be happy, but to remain indifferent, not to dream, but stay in a prolonged deep slumber, and not to love, but to be independent. It's hard having no one else to turn to, but I've made it through this far and I guess I'm okay. I made a mistake telling you about my extremely hazardous behavior that you judged as suicidal tendencies, and one way or another it worried you more than I wanted it to. You don't get it. I don't want to die. I want to live. Live in a world of accepted desolation and isolation, and why can't you at least pretend to tolerate it? Please, there's no need for you to feel apprehensive because, see, I'm not crying anymore! I've settled in this new room for the rest of my life; there are no photographs because they'll just remind me of the time where I was gleeful. It's just the stereo, a cold bed and I. At first, I was a sobbing mess because, I don't care who you are, it's damn sad when you realize that you don't care for everything you once loved to the point where you're dying, even if it's just figurative speech. Now the tears have stopped and there's just a red hazy atmosphere and I can't tell if it's the streetlight or just all my rage and I. Either way, from this point on, this is how I'm going to be. It aches me that you gave up on me so soon, but it's better. Maybe you think that I've given up on everything, but I'm ready to burst with adoration... Who knows, maybe someday I'll climb back up to the top with you, but until then, goodbye.
There's nothing here, and I've got that remarkable gut feeling that nothing good will come if I stick around. All the while, I'll self medicate myself through this mess that I've made. There's nothing, but I'll stay. Perhaps at some point I'll get intolerably sick and die, and it won't be as bad as you think.



I don't want it to be like this, but it's better this way. I can't say I'm sorry...

I take everything as a joke. Laugh, because I'm too scared to face the truth. Most of the time, the truth is a great thing, just what I need. However, when something good happens it must be a sick joke.
I assume great compliments from complete strangers to be unnacceptable. Who are they aiming to flatter, who is this stranger calling pretty? His appealing words must have been directed to someone behind me, beside me, in front of me; never me.
Some people are just too nice, too sympathetic, living with standards much too low.

... carve your name into my arm, instead of stressed I lie here charmed...'cause there's nothing I can do.

DREAMS NEVER COME TRUE. DREAMS ARE TORMENTING YOU OF WHAT YOU WILL NEVER HAVE IN REALITY. IT'S AMAZING HOW THE MIND CAN STIMULATE EVERY EMOTION SO INCREDIBLY CONVINCINGLY, TO THE POINT WHERE YOU BELIEVE THAT YOUR LUCK HAS TURNED AND IT'S ACTUALLY ALL TRUE. BUT THEN, BAM, YOU WAKE UP SHAKING IN A COLD EMPTY BED. IT'S ALL IN YOUR HEAD; OUTSIDE YOUR WRETCHED MIND YOU HAVE NOTHING. I HATE DREAMING.

What the hell have I gotten myself into... Something like this isn't supposed to take this long, slow days aren't supposed to hurt like this. I'm doing things my way, learning what not to do and how to fuck things up along the way. I don't throw myself at you because that's just not who I am. I don't act all too proud to care around you because I'm too ashamed of what I am. I say I'm okay with everything, believe me I really do appreciate it, but the truth is I am too scared of knowing the truth, good or bad. At least I have semi-formal and Manzanillo to look forward to...

Wrapped up in happiness, distorted in reality.
Tie me up and blind me with your love.
I need you now because one of the necessary
ingredients to this great vision that I call my future is you. ------------------ Timide, c'est écrit sur nos blouses
But drag on my dear; you have my heart to pull on. --------------------------------Humide, on peut nous croire I see that desparation in your eyes. --------------------------------------------------- Mais y a dans notre regard
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------qui est rivé sur nos godasses
The smoke clears leaving a lucid vision of reality and it only -------------------------------- la peur de décevoir
makes me close my eyes and wish to sleep behind the haze. ---------------------- et pas un manque d'audace
You're the scapegoat for my insecurities. Delay hurts...my fault, I'm sorry.
I'm at a loss of words...static because I've never been so terrified.
Just a little bit stronger, just a little bit aware, just a little pretty,
just a little audacious and maybe I'd get there faster.

Make mistakes, face the penalities, pull your self together and excell...
Yeah. I know it all too well. Overdosed on routine, choking up on frustration. I like to think it's worth it

------------------------------------- Your patronizing stare can watch me heal,
------------------------------------- what I would give for you to take the wheel.
------------------------------------- The strong resemblance to my mother's womb
------------------------------------- is the reason why I will not leave this room.
------------------------------------- My lullaby sounds more like distant screams,
------------------------------------- I wake up sleep deprived and sick after every dream.
------------------------------------- My flesh makes little sense compared to yours.
------------------------------------- and I wish my restlessness would open doors to you.
------------------------------------- It's just been a long time coming.