Take a seat, clear your eyes.
I'm not sure whether or not I should stay inside the lines or not. I'm not sure if things are better inside the lines or outside the lines. I don't know if i've ever even been outside the lines. Expression is desired but not at the loss of sanity. Which is better? I would really like to tell you what I feel and think, but I can't. Everytime I can't, I have a great deal of things I want you to know, I need you to know. When the oppritunity arises, I can't tell you, I don't want you to know. I don't know which of my thoughts are sain and which aren't. I assume that most aren't but it's very hard for me to decipher the feelings and thoughts and wants and needs into proper categories. Take this entry as a stab at reality, a stab at being true to myself, a stab at telling the truth. I shadow the truth very often with metaphors or distorted truths. Infact, almost everything I say is distorted or molded in one way or another. It's artificial. I think everything through, it's all rehearsed. I'm rehearsed. I'm not real. I'm strange, but not strange enough. I'm myself, but not enough of myself. I am everything I wish I wasn't, and I am not everything I wish I was. I am not good enough for myself or for anyone else, yet I am good enough for life. I am good enough to try harder, to try harder to be the person I want to be. I will never be who I want to be. Some uncontrolable flaw will dictate some part of my life in one form or another. Any manifestation of truth I thought I was going to propose in this entry I forgot about, so once again this whole thing is metaphorical and distorted. I don't even know what this means. I'm just writing what I am thinking, without question. I listen to myself, but I don't respond to myself, or do anything about what I tell myself. I'm not good enough. You should know that by now. You have no business here, so move along, before things end up hot. I can't tell you how I will feel tomarrow, let alone a week from now. What am I refering to? I am not totally sure. There are a lot of things I wish I could get off of my chest but I don't know how, and even if I did I doubt I would anyways. Live, love, life. Emotions are contagious, but not contagious enough, and karma is NOT real. I have realized this within the past two minutes. My hand is covered in gash's and deep cuts. I think I broke my knuckle. Yesterday was a bad day. Injections, withdrawal, metal pipes, cotton, sticking poking prodding probing, powerbars. Protein, the building block of all the muscles I don't have. How did I used to be so content with myself, and so content with everyone else, and so content with life. Why can't I be like that now? If this stupid situation seperates at all, AT ALL, I am going to be very, VERY dissappointed. My hand is covered in blood. I couldn't fight you off.. I'm sick to death of keeping everything inside of me, but if I didn't know one would like me, I would have no friends, and I certainly would not have any of you. None. I don't know how it's done. How can one act so detatched, so uninterested? How can one act so emotionally stiff? How can you lie like that? How can you lie to yourself and to me like that? Why do you? Why don't you just let go of all your bullshit pasts, all of your bullshit thoughts, why don't you let go of all of it? I would if one could. I doubt one can. I doubt one ever will. My mind is buzzing but I can't find keys, and I certainly could not utter words. I can tune them in though. Collaboration with Keaton. I can say anything if I'm singing it. Anything. I could tell you I am crazy because of what you do, I could tell you I love you for all that you are, I could tell you that you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. She comes and she goes like no one can. And she thinks nothing of it, but she is always buzzing in my mind. Who knows how long.. Who knows? HOW LONG? Time is the enemy, and the ticking of the clock symbolizes eternity falling before me, before everything I wish I had but will never be. True. Truth. Some of what I just said was truth. How true I'm not sure. If anyone read this, I feel very sorry for you. I am very sorry to have soaked up any amount of time in convincing you to read this. I don't really even know. I don't know. I never know. I think you know, but you never fucking tell me. I need your help. I need you to tell me what you know. Then, maybe then, I would be able to piece everything together, then I too would know. I'd be in the know. In the know. Now. Right now. How long does one have to wait for answers? How long does one have to wait to get what they want, even if they don't deserve it?