Ω

I'm standing on this corner. Can't get their attention. Facing rush hour faces turned around. I clutch my stack of paper, press one to a chest, then watch it swoop and stutter to the ground. I'm weary with right-angles, abbreviated daylight, and waiting for a winter to be done. Why do I still see you in every mirrored window, in all that I could never overcome? How I don't know what I should do with my hands when I talk to you. How you don't know where you should look, so you look at my hands. How movements rise and then dissolve, melted by our shallow breath. How causes dance away from me. I am your pamphleteer. I walk this room in time to the beat of the Gestetner, contemplate my next communique. The rhetoric and treason of saying that I'll miss you. Of saying "Hey, well maybe you should stay." Sing "Oh what force on earth could be weaker than the feeble strength of one" like me remembering the way it could have been. Help me with this barricade. No surrender. No defeat.

A soft breeze with the slippery concrete black and full of muddy slush, contrasting with the hoarfrost, clean and hung on a tunnel of silent shivering trees (the ones you said you'd like to be), and the birds that screamed at the sun now buried deep down below the ground, beneath the snow, I press my shoulder to this wall between us. I know you are behind me but I press my shoulder to this wall, determined not to turn around. I know I'll see you standing, still that statue that I molded in my mind to kiss, so beautiful you'll never move again. Someplace far away, at some sad table littered with bad light, with chipped plates, in 48 frames from a movie on the cutting room floor, you said "True meaning would be dying with you", and though I wanted to, I did not smile. But now I will give up on this wall that we have fought with, never uncover meaning behind our rich words. If I could I would make you a raging river, with angry rapids, supplied with rain, so you could always meander and forever be able to run away without contending with myths wrongly interpreted with pain. A harsh wind.

Measure me in metered lines, in one decisive stare, the time it takes to get from here to there. My ribs that show through t-shirts and these shoes I got for free; I'm unconsoled, I'm lonely. I am so much better than I used to be. Terrified of telephones and shopping mall, and knives, and drowning in the pools of other lives. Rely a bit to heavily on alcohol and irony. Get clobbered on by courtesy, in love with love, and lousy poetry. And I'm leaning on a broken fence between Past and Present tense. And I'm losing all these stupid games that I swore I'd never play. And it almost feels okay. Circumnavigate this body of wonder and uncertainty. Armed with every precious failure, and amateur cartography, I breathe in deep before I spread these maps out on my bedroom floor. Leaving. Wave goodbye. Losing, but I'll try, with the last ways left, to remember. Sing my imperfect offering.

I am sincerely glad that I can pick up the pieces of where I left off with certain people and I can reconstruct the scene perfectly as it was, as it'll always be. The sun half up in the sky, its radiance obscured by the heavy clouds that threaten to let it all go and this struggle sheds a sense of serenity over us. I can map out your face and there's a crease in your forehead, a frown standing offensively where a smile used to sleep and the brown in your eyes reflects deep exhaustion, all of which gives you away. I can draw out your voice, had I a pen and paper, and I'd sketch a picture of a thousand words, that each have no meaning but together reveal who you've been while I've been gone. I feel nothing but the desire to dive into your diction to reclaim what once was mine, turn every verb and noun into phrases that give me answers. This curiousity fades as I take a step back and examine this scene, pause and adjust the setting sun as if it's rising to show that even if we stood together until morning came nothing would change. And when the cloud gives in, let down by the impatient sun, I'd smile a sympathetic smile, sorry for your hopelessness and reassure you that this too will pass. The moment will require me walking away and I'd do exactly as I did once before so I exit the scene with nothing left to say but tell myself the sun will not wait on me, the clouds will not hold on for me and you and I, we owe each other nothing.

Dear Shithead, this isn't happening.
The sky is really falling, the paint's all made of lead, there's asbestos in the walls, hell's coming to rip off the doors to your priveliged heaven. Do you want to love and feel it? You can look but you can't taste it, you can reach but you'll never have it. We are untouchable, untouchable is something to be.

I'd like to tell you that you're rude and inconsiderate. With you, it's always 'hey, look at me, look at my dress, look at my issues, come help me solve them, please don't leave me!'. I'd like to tell you to stop it. Please. I don't expect a thank you letter for the times I've been there for you and understood you when nobody else had the patience to be around you, but a little empathy would be nice. At least let me finish my sentence before you take everyone around me away. You have tunnel vision and all you see is you, your dress, your make-up and your bullshit about being after 'closure'. It's between you and him. Nobody else. People are here to help you cope and support you when you're breaking but you can't force them to accompany you all the way and back. I don't even know. I can't even justify why I feel this way. I'd like to erase the memory of me from everyone's mind and crawl into a corner and disappear.
Part of me knows not to care for such mindless crap but at the same time, it's awfully difficult to pretend that it doesn't hurt when something I held so dearly is torn away from me. Maybe I'm too forgiving even when most of the time, I see the worst in people. I'm too weak to hold a grudge. I just wish everybody would get along and it's awful to hope for something so impossible.
I feel abandoned. Everybody goes home and I have to wait for the next day to see people at school. There's the very few people who I actually feel that give a damn, but at the end of the day, I'm alone in my bed thinking of the conversations I'm going to have with people the next day. I could skip any slumber just wait for morning to come.
I don't matter to the people around me. That's how I feel and it's so sad and pathetic in its truth.
A joke is only funny the first time. When you repeat the same punch line and I'm the butt of your jokes, I'm fed up. But I have to grin and force a chuckle because when I show any signs of seriousness, all of a sudden there is something wrong with me, what the fuck is wrong with me?
It's gotten to the point where I'd would have to pay someone a large sum of cash if I wanted anyone to be there for me.
I know what I want. I want someone with patience. To sit through the many people I can be. To stick around in the morning when I wake up and I'm a different person. Someone to ask me to move in with them, disorders and rectangular prisms and all.
But nobody has patience anymore. We move through life too quickly. There's always something new to look at, within seconds. In a blink of an eye, you are old news. Or when you're having a conversation with somebody, it's rude for somebody else to run towards you and grab the hand of whoever you were talking to, no matter who they are, and just drag them away, while I stand there with my words hanging out of my mouth and nobody to give them to. Then I swallow and sigh at the typicality of the situation because there's nothing else to do.
So yes, you're making me sick just like how you did everyone else.
Well firstly, I think the most important thing from today is that I felt something. I didn't like it and I don't know what it was, but it happened and now I'm here, full of emotion, not sure how to get it out.
So I sit here, typing what I can, unable to follow one single train of thought. I wish I could sit here and watch days and nights go by,sitting on my window sill. A simple and desolate life, one in whcih I'd be calmed by the setting of the sun and awakened by the visits of the gentle wind. I'd see eye to eye with the tops of trees and houses. I'd like to forget what it's like to be on the ground, waist deep in anger of the city concrete who's witnessed a million and one lives break from its relentless indifference.

The most consideration anyone had for me today was when my mom said she'd keep my dinner in the oven so it'd stay warm. So that after I'd gone out and picked up her husband to whom she's not talking from the gym where he'd been working out for 3 hours after I'd dropped him off there before work, not caring to ask how he was getting home, I'd then come home and enjoy a nice warm meal. I put on my jacket over my pyjamas and stuck my feet into the first shoes I saw without any socks, grabbed my wallet and cell phone and slammed the door shut on the way out for effect and doubled the speed limit as I blasted Against Me! in the car stereo (they calm me down when I feel frustrated). After running every other red light, my father gets into the car and immediately starts ranting about how I must always have it my way, I'm just so stubborn and why won't I take into account what anyone else says? I pulled up into the driveway in minutes. I'm sitting here in my bedroom. My mom walked in to ask me why I'd gotten so angry and why I wasn't eating dinner. Mother, I'm not hungry or angry. I'd like to be alone. There is something wrong with the whole world lately and I'm tired of putting up with its crap. When my parents quit acting like children and once the other people I know start showing a little more compassion and maturity, then I'll be ready to face the world without a clenched jaw or fists.

* I enjoy life and I am grateful for all the people I know. I love every second of every day. I am forever warm, calm and collected.
* I've developped a habit of not attending class. Not only one class, but often I skip half my day.
* If life was a class, I'd skip it.
* The weather tomorrow will be exceptionally nice. I predict I will not attend class, accompanied by so-and-so and we will return to school to watch a friend's performance. We promised.
* I've been feeling rather manic lately.
* School needs to end now, because it's not like I enjoy being closed up in a humid building with people that make me want to rip my hair out.
* School being over will give me more time to post articles such as this, with asterisks marking several insignificant details of how I spend my time.
* I'm exhausted after being at school for an extra 6 hours only to return home when it was dark, but my mind is too active to let climb into bed and shut my eyes.
* Sleeping is a waste of time. It's just hours spent subconsciously thinking, which leads to dreaming and that is never, ever any good.
* I could pass out right about now.
* I've lost interest in everything that's around me. I don't want to listen to anything that's on my iPod, I want to converse with people whose names I don't know and pierce my tongue.
* Lately I've been voicing every thought that passes through my mind.
* I enjoy this strangeness. I don't know where it came from but I don't want it to leave again.

I think that just hurt.

Why does it hurt when you speak of her? Why does her name make me want to rip out my hair and eyes? Why does it hurt, when I know it shouldn't? Why does it feeling like a knife searing through my flesh, tangling my nerves and sending my heart into a rampage when I know it should mean absolutely nothing? I feel like crying and yelling, anything for the pain to just stop because I'm fucking sick of feeling dull when you're not there, I'm sick of you making me laugh and smile just to leave. I'm not jealous. I want someone to care about me. To fall asleep on my lap. I want to admire someone I can call my own. I don't want to hurt. I want someone I can just smile at and it would be the truth. Someone I can hold hands with down the hall. Someone to love me despite how impatient and unpredictable I can be. I want warmth.

I want someone to confess to. I want to tell them everything I feel about them without a fear. I want them to tell me that they love me. For once, I want to be told that my absence is like being robbed of a vital organ and when I walk away I leave you startled, dripping in blood, dangling on a string, balancing on the verge of death, asking yourself how it got to this point, searching for a last breath to call my name, gripping onto your life because it was worth something when I was around. And when I come back (just in time), I want someone who will ask me where I was and tell me to never, ever leave them again and I promise I won't, if only you'd ask.

It seems there is something wrong with me.