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I'm alright again. Is it ridiculous though to say that I think scars heal too quickly? Or do the mind and heart mend together into a perfect mesh too soon and the entire thing just leaves me feeling ridiculed when I look at my arms? Am I too dramatic sometimes? Do I overreact? I'm asking questions to which I have answers.
I fear the future is an incorrect correlation of the past and present and I will not let that which I do not have rob me of happiness.
We'll fly to North Carolina or even drive there. When did it get so bad? We're driving nowhere and we pause to admire the scenery, just please don't take me home. Can we spend tonight behind lights that burn red, counting the seconds until we can just go? Drive into the dark, drive until the only light we see comes from the iPod playing the soundtrack to our get-away to no-where. We'll find a lake with a port off of which we'll jump. The water is unnecessairly cold but please don't shiver. Let's keep our hearts beating to the pace of our time. Let each second begin and end when blood enters and then exits the heart. The definition of 'living'. Time passes too quickly when you're up there. We make eye contact within mirrors and embrace through the window. I can see you and I can feel you. My mind tells me it's your presence and your essence which wrap around my existence and swallows my life. I want to breathe but we're doubling the speed limit and the moments don't last enough, let's stop these racing beats and so the next second is rendered infinite.

I regret the majority of the past four weeks. While appreciating the great nights, I wasted away sunlight in a sea of strange faces. I have a innate lack of concentration but I didn't even try for a moment to focus and so I broke my self down, in tears of frustration. I don't want to be 'adequate' when I hope to be 'superior'. No matter how many people I talked to, no matter who sat beside me and offered their genuinely kind words and despite piercing glances from boys I hope to never see again, I seemed to feel a definite sense of invisibility at the end of the day. I don't know what I'm chasing here but it's very clear that I regress too quickly and without warning. I'm made of sand, I crumble into each wave and sink into what seems like forever only to find that the end is dark, cold and lonely, strikingly similar to my bathroom floor. This edge has been abused and deep down inside, I might be afraid. The problem is that I can't fathom reality. To be honest, this whole parade we call our lives might as well be a dream, because no matter what happens here, the end result is the same. Our very breathing is defined by the only fate we will meet, the strange and abstract thought of demise shakes us from the core and so all we see is pain and we try to out run each other, in the hopes of immortalizing ourselves and this is the reason why we end up with no ones hand to hold. We come alone and leave lonely.

No matter what I've ever said or written, it all ends the same. I can't stand being here. I want to shut my eyes and open them only to see a new reality. Something different. I want other people, places and things. Different names, faces and different shadows cast on a different pavement this time. "I need a change of skin."
Where are you? There are a few people whose simple stare into my eyes makes me feel like I exist...for the last little while I haven't been alive.
It feels the same. The fluttering of butterflies in the stomach, that lump in the back of the throat and a clenched jaw are collective indicators that I'm in my own company or that someone has surprised me and attempted to reach for me. Why do I feel the same when I'm alone or when an individual gets to me on a deeper level? Right now I feel the aching of both extremes. What a way to be.
Let the compliments rain down; these endless showers of petty joy are my best moments, I'll never have enough, lie to me until you deceive your own mind of its essence just so I can breathe in ease. Let's talk about me, my eyes, my hair, my golden complexion, all the things that are infinitesimal, everything unreal that I wish I could see.

You got a fast car,
I want a ticket to anywhere,
Maybe we can make a deal,
Maybe together we can get somewhere,
Any place is better,
Starting from zero, got nothing to lose,
Maybe we'll make something,
Me myself, I've got nothing to prove.

You got a fast car,
I got a plan to get us outta here,
Been working at a convenience store,
Managed to save just a little bit of money
We won't have to drive too far,
Just across the border and into the city,
You and I can both get jobs,
And finally see what it means to be living.

You got a fast car,
Is it fast enough so we can fly away?
We gotta make a decision,
Leave tonight or live and die this way.

So I remember when we were driving,
Driving in your car,
Speeds so fast I felt like I was drunk,
City lights lay out before us,
And your arm felt nice wrapped around my shoulder,
And I had a feeling that I belonged,
And I had a feeling I could be someone.

You got a fast car,
We go cruising to entertain ourselves,
I'd always hoped for better,
Thought maybe together, you and me'd find it,
I got no plans, I ain't going nowhere.

I don't want to sleep. I have re-occuring nightmares, I worry during my sleep and then when I wake up I do not feel rested at all because I spent the entire night worrying. I've realized that this has been my problem for as long as I can remember and I want out. My anxiety knows no end. Get me out of my mind. I feel endless mental exhaustion and I don't know where to run to help myself. I just want to stop dreaming.

Hey...
I don't need to say it, but all things come to and end, good or bad and this pointless experience is also entitled to this fact. So let me start by saying that what I'm going to say is stupid and you definitely don't care but I'd like to sort things out for myself. At this point, I realize how long it's been since I've cared...I don't even count the days, so it's with slight uncertainty when I say that last week was the last time I'll see you. I don't understand why I spent so long insisting on you but I really am glad that the chance of me seeing you have probably decreased by fifty percent and so please do me the favour of staying away. Out of sight and out of mind, so hopefully that pang of shame and embarrassment in my chest will diminish into a sense of confusion; oh wait, what's your name again? So understand that the reason I turned down the invitation to attend commencement is that I don't care for goodbyes and I don't care to celebrate any accomplishments you've made. It's in all honesty when I say I'm quite happy and very relieved you managed to graduate. Good luck in the future.
Sincerely, me.
,
I don't even know where to start now. I have an endless list of things I'd like to say.
I keep thinking back to that day when I called you and you answered with an eager voice [perhaps happy, too?] even though you were in the middle of something and it was a rather an inconvenient time and place for you to converse. It's stupid and you definitely don't care but I'm toying around with different reasons in my mind as to why you answered. Did you expect me to confess my utter, burning love for you? Haha. Were you hoping I'd say 'Hey, um there's something I've been wanting to tell you...' with slight hesitation in my voice and so maybe, you could retort with something strong and passionate and you'd run outside to me and we'd run away until we drop dead, drive into the sunset, challenge the horizon, straighten the curvature of the earth and it'd be a happiness that'd survive our death? Haha. Well I didn't either. You might be happy to know that I see the reasons why...my heart is with you but so is my mind and that's where the problem lies. I don't know how to handle this so I feel everything from absolute happiness and profound anger to resentment and jealousy. This is it for now. [This is not a goodbye because I'd die if ever...]
,
I've closed my eyes and blindedly wished, with all my might, for things like 'love', 'happiness' and the chance to wake up someday as Sailor Venus. All stupid things that I wouldn't notice were gone, were they to disappear the next day. What I want now transcends the power of joy. I've been faithelessly wishing for a fast forward button to skip through the sad days and slow nights and bring myself to a moment where everything is absolutely great [assuming time is linear (which is always a possibility) and this moment where everything is structured in my favour to allow for maximum contentment actually exists (which I mostly doubt)].
,
I want a sunshine that threatens to shine forever. I want endless supplies of gasoline, clothes, shoes and makeup. I want access to all the libraries in the world. I want louder music in a faster car with more people screaming [we can lead a high speed chase down the freeway]. I want instability and an amplified sense of uncertainty.

went out just for a drive, it turned into the story of your life

Old crows ride in the mouth of the beast; sleep beneath its tongue, cradled by it's teeth. We roam from shore to shore, from the open sky to the ocean floor; the more we move, the less we are ourselves and when we finally stop, we've changed to something else. As rapid as a river flows, as frigid as the cold wind can blow, as devious as the devil's grin, our blood is cold and we've shed our skin. Now, we are not the kids we used to be: stop wishing for yesterday. The crows are calling - seems the end is near. They're spelling out their names, yet we have no fear. Oh, the damage a man can do when ambition takes over his search for the truth. Sometimes life just gets the best of us; some things in life will get the best of us. Every skyline beats in my chest, somewhere between love and sadness. This is our fate, this is our test. We ride in the mouth of madness.

Old Crows Lyrics, Alexisonfire.

I always watch you when you're dreaming because I know it's not of me. I smoke a dozen cancer sticks, imagine there are two or three ways to make you love me and not dream of someone else, become the movie on your eyelids. The reflection of yourself, I cry when I listen to you breathing because I know there's nothing else. The conscious of that crushing feeling to know there's no connection left, that we both go through the motions, that we're both living somewhere else, that the movie on your eyelids is no reflection of myself.

Cast your mind back to the days when I pretended I was okay. I had so very much to say about my crazy living. Now that I've stared into the void, so many people I've annoyed, I have to find a middle way, a better way of giving. So I haven't given up but all my choices, my good luck appear to go and get me stuck in an open prison. Now I am trying to break free in a state of empathy, find the true and inner me, eradicate this schism. No one can take it away from me, and no one can tear it apart because a heart that hurts is a heart that works. 'Maybe' is an elaborate fantasy, but it's the perfect place to start.

Headlights race towards the corner of the dining room. Half illuminate a face before they disappear. You breathe in forty years of failing to describe a feeling. I breathe out smoke against the window, trace the letters in your name. Our letters sound the same; full of all our changing that isn't change at all. All straight lines circle sometime. You said "Somewhere there's a box full of replacement parts to all the tenderness we've broken or let rust away. Somewhere sympathy is more than just a way of leaving. Somewhere someone says 'I'm sorry.' Someone's making plans to stay." So tell me it's okay. Tell me anything, or show me there's a pull, unassailable, that will lead you there, from the dark, alone, benevolence that you've never known, or you knew when you were four and can't remember. Where a small knife tears out those sloppy seams, and the silence knows what your silence means, and your metaphors (as mixed as you can make them) are linked, like days, together. I still hear trains at night, when the wind is right. I remember everything, lick and thread this string that will never mend you or tailor more than a memory of a kitchen floor, or the fire-door that we kept propping open. And I love this place; the enormous sky, and the faces, hands that I'm haunted by, so why can't I forgive these buildings, these frameworks labeled "Home"?