My very self is distilled in this murky, petty fall. I don't answer to disregard, I don't recognize indifference. I act back at my best. I used to live at the surface of my existence, now I dwell in the depths. I am not far from indulging in all of my self righteous impulses, as they come all too frequently. I am only a membrane from breaking all that I have left. They can eat around a tart, of lemon sort, but of the center, dissuaded. For the city gate only guards the heart of the city, and all amongst it lie prone to society. Is it to be advertised thus? A waning front, oust it fades. Does he care not of sobriety? Of it, the faults of a deteriorating frailty... I must leave myself, abased in constant continuum. To be the best at something you were supposed to be, or to be the worst at something no one wanted you to be?... To raise oneself, you must not let others predict you, or they will be standing on your side of the scale. Knowledge is too absolute. Just the way they have you believe. I feast on my thoughts, my words.. The things I have only exist in my imagination as I write my soul on this screen.

I hate this.
I hate us.
I hate what I have to say to stay with you.

I hate what I have to conceal.
I hate what I have to act out.
I hate the person I've become.

I hate what you make be want to be.
I hate what you've made me.
I hate lying to myself and the world.

I hate the days.
I hate the nights.
I hate thinking I will never change.

I hate giving in.
I hate holding back.
I never want to tell you the truth.

Do I mean none of it, only to stay alive? I glide around the expectations placed upon me, I sneak around the only excitement I find worth living for. I only remain technical for the brutal honesty I emit. That day in the woods; that plaguing kiss... You tricked me into much more than that. Late that night, we mimicked a love, but I would never give in. Little do you know, for not even I know. The memories of us escape me, as if they were never there. We have cheated love, only to float... We have cheated society, and wander around without a care. Are we even us, if not recognized by more than ourselves? A rock falls off a cliff, but if no one observed this, did it really even happen?

For the first time in a long time I wasn't repulsed by the situation I was dealt. Expectations can ruin fun... As I don't take well to my soul, I am still amongst the desires of my contentment. There is a surprising relief with you, that I cannot explain. I wish none of it to be furthered, but only reserved in its state. How can I be so satisfied with this anti-progressive establishment? It confuses me, the peace I feel in the silence, the nonchalant bearing. How must something so wonderful be inherently bad and rebellious? The surrounding complications come to no avail within this ignorance. But how volatile is my state of mind? Am I never to depress myself in a matter further had it already wept upon me? Only by the census, terminated long before my reasoning. I was contented by my lonely countenance, had it ever to coincide with myself? But, I am forever astonished by my placings in this world. Why am I of this existence, and not another? How do souls come into existence if not by God? Questions for the skeptic, to be of another confusion. If ever an answer for every question, questions would lose their interest. If but all relativity diminished, would not life then lose it's lingering hold. Grey; the color of a thought. If an answer, never a thought.

And how may I escape that of which I have placed upon myself. In the secret follies admired unjustly by my soul, the caving of my spirit had become known. He is but something only the temporary would happenstance to wish upon. Never at enduring, only at dying, within the slow, subtle, breach of society's echoes. I am laced about my winding thoughts, they dread abut the weary darkness. To a front I play the fool, to live in the life I thought was needed. Never again, will I allow this weakness upon me. I shall not, and will not fear, but only with non-conditional, mandatory rulings placed within my heart. She crosses you plainly, yet you enlist about a warmth of light. She churns in the mixing of the others perspective, and you drool about how one can be so accustomed to conformity. You say you wish upon the unknown wench, the one of the night. The one that calls to the sea, and places her soul in the wind. I, but a feather to the bay at oceans current. Never amongst the thoughts, not even the shadowed ones. "Life would be no more than a succession of days. I wished it to be brief, for the secret follies of passion had become alien to me."-The Princess of Montpensier

Why what peace you must have. A lovely tourniquet follows you around like a plague. It invites its victims with a wave of apathetic endearment... Later to be crushed under the air they cannot breathe, because they are not of your kind. Can no one love you? Are you such a kind that waves the sight of containment, at its loss, never at its gain. Never understanding... Only fearing. At a time, you will be haunted, the lonely air will freeze at the sight of you. The trees will wither with your face, the sky will darken as the fog brazes the wind it travels. The sun will find you, but die soon after. Instead the moon will have you at your soul, but even keep its distance. For never will you have it. Never will you see it, gasping, emotions running deficient. You do not allow anything justified, you only desire wavering trifles. You wish upon the forest, the trees that are dying, the trees that search in sake of societal gain. The trees that give up on themselves to follow an importance. The trees that hate themselves, and convince themselves otherwise. I love you, but even that has its faults.

Wherence, I find my stature diluted upon. To understand is to forget all of ones naturals state, into the unknown. Does fate envelop love? Does love overtake all of its predecessors? In alacrity, my mind seethes upon my thoughts unto its honing instincts. If it were, the infatuation claims a faulty crutch, leer me, a fortuitous substitute. My sentiments relapse within these yearnings, as I shout to the heavens my elusive nature. Never again, but only this. Thus a prison, thus a market, a sell of endowment, a sell of predetermined prospects, these my parents take refuge abut. We fade amongst the lilies, at bay, neath the kingdom stay. Trust is a fortified argument, nothing to be sham, and a loose lengthened array to favor ancestral dominance. Folly echoes the breaths of my past. For it to never be again, a proof of longevity, to natures charm, and societies wit. Only but a change, a swivel I must take.

To but just have a glimpse of hope, I shall be sustained in loneliness. If only but a thought. The essence of my mind, a trifling encounter, a mercy beckoning cry. At the weight of my judgment, a far-sighted nigh. And with it the loose lengthening emotions that are me. I control you, but I cannot. If I could do whatever I did I would be lost. Lost and forgotten in myself, a wintry falsification of truth. He's a thinker, dressed in fastidious black. A forever aloof embellishment, and a long lighted texan. This place is dry, this place is wet, but it shall whichever of displeasure. I am discontented, but shimmering in my countenance. As it were, though as you could tell, a dull lingering furtherance. Last Christmas was a fun discontinuation of my soul. I shan't bring myself upon susceptibility again. I thank thee that inhibits me. Upon you I give my graces to, for you give rise to my innate self. I gently kiss the weathered disposition that has become of me, become of us. Have I finally reason to move from this cold, assuming path? Yet a bitter wind of chills from the north, and all I have is knowledge of the abyss.

I wonder at this extremity. I only work with subtle affirmations, and it brings me to my demise. Under the sound of simpering whispers, under the torches lighted dimly, the wood of the roots, and the essence of moisture in the desert air. Of which I reciprocate, of which denial beseeches its receivers. I could never feel a kiss so bold, I would never see love if it was written so plainly, I wont ever realize the depths of emotions so bluntly expressed. Only at ambiguity can my stature be replaced, and therein it will remain. Unto me a founded place, it only disintegrates with its known existence. I rot herein and find myself panting for a sacred haven. I gloat upon and temper trued. And now I understand, no further amplifications will be upon state. This hour, if it but had of me, I would say hello. The chill in the wind frees me from my expectations, but I must face them. I look to the face of my life and I recognize my likelihood of survival: at nigh of an oblivion. "The winner takes it all"

It may be your abilities, and not what your abilities have placed upon you. I cannot look to the face that he is. How can you look upon my existence with a nonchalant high? It seemed as though we could make nothing of it, but in realism a better bough. An extension of you, that is the longing I sore of. Maybe for the best, I do contend, but not as if I wanted it to be. How you can say so much and mean nothing of it. How the world is implied, in a rosemary of sorts, and a parsing ache. Your obsessions delve themselves to your side, to your feathering whims. And at a caustic trifle, a sound is made. The sound of your life, in a twenty second abated interval. I hear it trudging along, dreading itself, and at a far sighted plea I leer upon a grin. A fateful sigh, and I relic upon you a rye expression of dull adherence. I acknowledge your presence and with a muddle you disgrace mine. Am I not the person that my words condone?

I need to stop fettering with the stars. They plague me so, they leave me deftly. I find a mist to wander in, I find a wolf to dance with. I died that night and you never looked for me. But again with this soundless whimpering, this finicky plow of determined existence. And I cave at the edge of my thoughts, the edge of my mind. I feel the presence of evil as it rays its lovely etching across my understanding. Have I escaped? Or am I stuck in the burrows of haphazard emotions? Had it been absolved, I would be free. Had it been a relic in times fragrance, a smear in the dimension's opening. Had I never known the other side for what it really was, I would still be looping about in my own world. But no, exposition at it's greatest, in the thicket of nonsense, in the layers of treason and remorse, and tall tail signs of pigmented truth. I foretell the eyes that see me, in a bliss of wandering soughs that make of me my soul. Ah, but it would never had it ever. Calm your senses dear dear Julia.

I climb upon this ladder of uncertainty. I am lost in this fog. I need to reach out, but I don't know where I will be taken. I find myself lurking among stupidity in the face of curiosity. That's all it is... But I'm too scared to fight it. I can't fight it. I won't. I'm shaken off my feet, caught in this whirlwind, once again, oh but once again, a many more times in probability. I'm shredded to the very finest of texture, and yet I complain. This lazy confinement i have figured is taking it's toll. I listen to 60's music, and it calms me. I used to hate 60's music. I just don't understand. I fight you in the face of idealism, but what I need is realism, that is you, but do I really. No one knows, and no one will ever know. I figure things to my advantage and I figure my advantage to society... A terrible thing, a vicious cycle, and yet I partake in such. I don't really know you, I only know what has become of you, but what are you, who are you, how can I tell, and I am lying to myself. Time can only tell the face of these manners, only time can bring upon understanding. But time used is time wasted... Or is it?

It seems as though the more I try to avoid awkward situations, the more I become involved in them. So many times I try to date guys shortly after meeting them to avoid awkward pretenses involved with me and my guy friends or guy acquaintances. But there are so many problems with dating guys without really knowing them. I never know what I'm going to get, and that's really annoying. But I'm glad I finally figured it out. Now I just need to find some magical potion to go back in time so that I can get to know guys before committing anything to them. The only thing I can't argue with is that when I break up with a guy after thinking I was in love with them after not really knowing them is really not that hard, just annoying to be looked upon with animosity.

I have been declared dead and now rest in the sunders of disassociation. I love you, and I fabricate the day we will meet. I know not of this yet, but that I hope we will is enough. I can think of you upon a thought, a day dream, a swift envisioning of your presence. Just a touch, oh but if a touch, only one. My eyes lose their strength, they are weakened by the sight of you. You are a captivation, bringing resistance at its end. I wish upon this, that I should be able to look into your soul. Forever at peace you bring me, just a sound, a sound in the silence, your voice can melt me. It would be enough to just be able to look at your face, to see your thoughts. I have fallen to the sides of society, I reside in the cracks beneath the city walls. I see to the fallen souls, paying respect to those of a different kind. The scum of the earth, I see myself. I bring innocent spirits down, I entrap them in a melody of idealism. But forever I shall repent. For this and for you. May you find yourself in the lockets of time. May you wish upon the echoed existence of nature. May you let go of all that has ever had its pending albatross upon your heart. May you think in the daylight and melt your soul with the evening's grace.

I seek, I stumble, I seek, I stumble. What is to become of me? My soul, my despondent spirit, such a mockery to existence, such a fable, a fantasy. I plodder through the sense of loneliness; love is such a mystery. I am beaten, broken, helpless, and a wreck to society's grin. My dissenting mind is difficult, and my will stubborn. I have been underwater all these years, and at the sight of you, ready to reach land again. But alas, it not be. I have fought these serpents and now I rest in the seas. I cannot find you here, but I know where you are.

Every side has two sides.

My tendencies represent a fateless reality. I am pushed back, I am doubted. Time and time again I fix myself upon a shred of light, a truth existing among society's prevarications. I avoid everything right, I run away from anything good. And I am found helpless, observing my natural state, my human existence, my fatal wanderings. I look to the south, to the east, to my lovely surroundings. To the aesthetic feel of a heart throb, the morbid classification of needing a shocking element. I appease every rightful term to its innate behavior, in order to justify my own. I happenstance every event to the desire for no meaning. I cannot feel, I cannot breathe, I need these things but I am quite happy without them. I feel your presence and it betrays my existence. It inquires upon my subtle, sustaining words. My soul, my emotions, at peace within my weary countenance. I wont allow humbling myself, for it sides with unjustified poverty. I must not bring light upon that of which I do not completely agree with. But to be totally and noticeably in the depths, I feel what I do not feel, as it has a simpler meaning, which I do not express my condolences for. I wish myself to only be an idea, not a person, as I have made you the former, and sadly rejoice in it. I want to be an art, I shant be shamed of something so limitedly observed.

I love you. Oh so very much. It pains me so to see you rejected by the one you love. I am apt to learn you indeed, but I fear you. I fear what my mind has made you. I fear that you are an idea, and I will never know you. I will never fall in love with you. You just represent a world to me that I am never to access, never to attain the wonderings of love. But know that I want it, and I want you. But that will never happen, and I know it to be. I just wish I was her, the girl you love, the girl that rejected you, that couldn't love you the way you wanted her to. I would love you, all that and more. I would love you every day and a lifetime. I already do. If we can't be together I will still love you, as I have been. Every relationship of mine has been an absolute flake, none of it meaning anything. I always wonder why I am never able to give all of myself. But this is the reason. You are the reason. I love you. And I will forever more love you. Every day, every night, every afternoon. Not a day goes by where I don't think upon you, of you, your words softly echo in my vision. I see you aloft my imagination. I need to touch you. Just a touch. I will have touched the world if only you. If only you knew. But you must never. I only grace your eyes with a shaft of mine, only a weary sigh in the corner of your existence. Am I never to be realized? to be upon your understanding? Just a thought never to be spoken, just a wandering little wonder. Wandering around in wonder. What a wonder this wonder. A wonder. I wonder. A wonder. I would faint on sight if ever we did come to fruition. But that is a shay shay thought. I feel as though I make these impossible conditional reasonings so that I don't have to deal with the outcome if the condition is made. But I do know, deeply inside, it would never be right without you. Any relationship will be and has been a flake. Because they have not been you.

I'm like a cat... I'm playing with my food but I don't anticipate eating it... Like a cat with a mouse; having fun with it, but after realizing it's dead, ignoring it. I try to justify my choices, convincing myself that he is perfect. Actually most of the time I do see them as perfect, but not perfect for me, perfect for someone else. I see them for who they are, and I realize that the girl they should be with is not me, but regardless I continue to lead them on, just for the thrill of the ride. This is bad on my part, and I see it as foolish. But it's an addiction. I've used my skills and endowments to lure unsuspecting victims into my traps. When I set them free they are heart broken and teary eyed. I must be a sick, twisted animal. An addiction has grown inside of me and I need to let go of it. Sometimes I feel like I can't finish anything, ever. I always want something new, something better. I get bored easily and I'm constantly on the lookout for bigger and better. Schools, jobs, boyfriends, clothes, shoes, sports teams. EVERYTHING. Even churches. I just feel so guilty. I can never keep anything, and I try so hard to convince myself to hold on to security, but I wont allow myself to take part in reason. I wont allow myself to make sense.

I am just so repulsed by the situation I'm in right now. My existence is just screaming to get out of this. But I can't do it, I wont. Sometimes I force myself to go through things just to prove to myself I can. This time it's to the point where I just feel like I'm going to vomit all over the place any and every time I'm reminded of my situation. It's just hard, you know. If I was out of this pressure, out of this headache, this anomaly, this animosity.... I would be free you know. Free to write, free to feel, free to act upon any urge I wanted to. But no, I'm trapped. I can't even tell you why I'm trapped because it's so fragile that if anyone that knew me personally was to get a hold of this writing, I would be dead. Me and my life, dead, in the ground. But I would be gone at least, then I would allow myself to actually think, not bounded by this stupid repression. It gets even worse when the situation asks upon you something. It just reminds you that you have to give to get (or be taken back in this case). Taken back to the depths of my sorry sorry consciousness. I want to scream, but I know I wouldn't even be able to hear myself. I want to let go, but even then I would be holding on. It would be holding on to me, clutched to my very thoughts, my very self. It needs me to survive, to thrive. I wouldn't be able to get rid of it even if I tried. Even if I pushed it away, buried in the ground. There I would find myself, buried with it.

Today I feel trapped. Writing is really the only escape I have. The escape that I cannot access due to a societal understanding, that inhibits me from externalizing my mind into a vapor that can escape me. I need to feel escaped, but alas I cannot. Sometimes misfortune follows me around, and like a plague it takes me and all of those around me down. It can be hard to escape and once you realize the cause of the misfortune is you, it's even harder to escape. Again, I feel as though I am trapped, and anything I say can and will be used against me; Here, in my private journals, in my dream journals, facebook, and everywhere else. It's like I'm being followed and I really just need to cut of my resources expending... That said, don't continue reading if you plan on judging me. I just don't understand how some people just function is society so naturally, like the way it should be. It takes so much work on my part to overcome my mindset that I actually like to socialize, that I actually like other people. Some people dream of being in love. I don't understand why, it's nothing special. I fought with this for so long but... Nevermind. I can't say it on here. Someone might be *gasp* reading this. I doubt it though... Highly. Nevertheless I can't say what's on my mind, it's too risky.

Right now I'm really pissed. I have decided that my conception of people is amassed into two principles. 1. Everybody is only something if they are that something completely. 2. Everyone that lives by the first principle is completely and utterly an idiot. Now that I've gone over the basic logistics of my reasoning we can move on to more interesting nonsensical boughs that overextend themselves into my thoughts daily and leave traces of scratches and dirt, only to be laughed at based on their excretions.
I am easily angered, though it rarely permeates through my constant almost abrasive fear of societies standards and proper etiquette and blah blah blah. Right now all of my bound, beaten, stuffed emotions are at the mercy of a thin, stretched membrane close to tearing and emitting a vaporous stench of qualms and ash coated plights. Gasp. Sometimes I stagger for breath in situations like these, but at the same time experiencing the feeling of intense displeasure so that I can relive it time and time again. Why do I elongate my disheartened emotions dry? To thrive in the person that is me; to live a passion so discretely obtained mostly by sadistic pessimistic theorists living in an abyss of idealistic contradictions.

Monday, May 26th

Today life was pretty easy, almost too easy... I have decided to put my itunes on shuffle and tell you guys the most profound lyrics i can find in the next song and analyze them!. Ok ready??? Here we go.... Well okay, as soon as I can find a song I like. Sorry I cheated, Okay now go:
1. Avenged Sevenfold- Afterlife
Like walking into a dream, so unlike what you've seen
so unsure but it seems, ’cause we’ve been waiting for you
Fallen into this place, just giving you a small taste
of your afterlife here so stay, you'll be back here soon anyway
Okay, so basically this song is based on the surreal reality the writer endows. He believes everyone sees differently in their realities (...walking into a dream, so unlike what you've seen). The writer believes that his surreal reality is in fact to unreal to substantiate his consciousness (so unsure but it seems, 'cause we've been waiting for you). He resounds the stance that no one understands what it is like in his "afterlife" (.. just giving you a small taste of your afterlife here so stay), and he feels trapped inside his reality he has created (Fallen into this place). The writer thinks that everyone, or at least the person he is writing about, will eventually end up at the same concluding and fortuitous life (... you'll be back here soon anyways).

What is lost to us haunts the oblivion of our minds into a daunting eternity. it escapades our souls, our makeshift realities; internally; externally. But all the same understanding of what we cannot make reason. Thusly dubbing abstract explanations the only sensible bough. I think of this to you, my future love I know not of:

I would kiss you back,

and hold your face in my hands,

run my fingers through your hair,

and hug you for an eternity.