Category: 2020

3.2.1.

we meet again at midnight.

swerve. crash. bang.

can’t promise any good beyond that.

can’t promise there won’t be fire either.

send the phantoms just in case

i fade again at midnight.

i think. i don’t quite know.

i wonder if, you’d wonder the same.

you don’t. you and i both know that.

i can see you pass me by.

two cars, headed straight on.

never crashing.

i never crash.

i never even turn the lane

to meet you at the concrete barrier.

not for more than a passing moment.

forgettable moment.

i think, it’s all quite strange.

i think, the sounds of the world

they drown me out.

i let them drown me out.

still i cling to small things like this

to drown the world out.

still i find you

you do the opposite.

you’re so silent and i’m so silent.

but you’re so great and i’m so

i don’t. i’m not here.

but it’s all over again, really.

i know just how this story ends.

i knew right from the moment

when i took the book off the shelf.

i’d seen the plot play out before

it’s become a cliche by now.

our pages split down the middle

blur only with stormwater

and even then, rarely.

i’m so very cold.

won’t you come pick me up? i’m down there, probably twenty-seven meters. bring enough oxygen for a few hours. it’s all it should take.

i think i’m faded off again.

i think i realized it looking at the turtle on the log.

i’m not really sure it’s real. i see fuzzy blue bugs on the walls of the bathroom stall.

yes i’ve had another breakdown in those metal confines. freezing in my tracks as the curtain shifts and crunches in a quick and unintentional threat.

it all feels so intentional.

maybe that’s becasue i know it. i know i’ve had it coming.

all the bad and terrible.

if time’s fluid than what i do now will come back to bite me in the ass, in the past. to make me a terrible human today.

it’s a loop, but i’ve caused it, so who am i to complain.

quietquietquiet

qhy am i still here.

i’d really love to punch you in the face.

i’d really love to shoot me in the face.

i’m too narcissistic to do that.

no.

i really loathe you, you know, but i can’t bring myself to make it pure.

that’s reserved for myself.

selfish, aren’t i. saving all that unadulterated hate for myself.

i am the only one who knows me. i am the only one who can jodge me. i am the only one who can hate me.

and know just what i’m hating. and why,

i can’t bring myself to hate anyone but myself.

and even still, i’m such a fucking self-obsessed freak.

greedy and selfish and fuckedupbeyond belief

i make myself sick. i can feel the fucking bile rising in my throat. ialwaysdothisialwaysdothiswhydoialwaysdo this.

getitoutgetitoutgetitoutwhydoihavetofuckitallup

someone lock the door to my room.

i need to be alone. i need to remove myself from life and float in my head for a little while until i’m done wasting.

ohgodihateme.

i was someone.

i am someone. i just wish that this someone could live.

and that someone did have dreams. i wish i could hang on to them for a little while longer, but they’ve been shattered.

it’s life, right?

i’m a walking curse. can’t do a damn thing right, can’t have a damn good thing happen.

sometimes i wonder if i should just stop.

sometimes i convince myself everything is my fault. somehow, some way.

everything bad leads back to me.

try so fucking hard, rip the fucking hair out of my skull and feed it to the vultures and there is nothing.

it looks like something, for years it looks like something. it looks worth it.

until it’s time to pay up, and everything falls though.

fuck everything.

but who am i to complain? things can always be worse.

selfish bastard i am.

maybe it serves me right. to live. to lead such a shitty existence.

39

im left behind in the stardust again. not that i mind

the birds lie silent and dead as the trees in the biting wind at your ears and your fingers til they freeze and fall off.

keep nothing but the hope of Nowhere, Neverland.

eyes black as the ink and the skies of september.

life dripping away like grains of sand in the hourglass. like blood between your fingers.

stained and never innocent. never is, never was.

my brains more glamorously destructive. or so it likes to think. pirouettes into the eye of the storm.

the clock ticks without a care. why cant i?

thats how life is. cotton between teeth, never shattered glass.

unless its to swallow. let it eat you alive.

digging to your tongue. bleeding your mouth from the inside out.

spill your stomach acid onto paper.

isnt it beautiful?

wake up again and its just that; bile on cheap napkins.

its the only way out of this.

---

some shit from my morning writings. i should start it up again. especially now that i have time. some fun nonsensical bullshit. stream-of-consciousness. quarantine stream-of-consciousness. i need it. i gotta replenish my creativity well.

fragments:

ill sell my dreams for a life i never wanted.

getting drunk off memories that were never mine.

i cant wear my heart on my sleeve, but ill sew yours on and pretend its mine.

one-liners. maybe ill use them one day. hopefully ill find them a home.

if you could hear the dreams i had, my dear, they would give you nightmares for a week.

---

rock bottom.

i hit that years ago.

but i cant stop digging.

the buzzing, the fuzzing in my head.

envy, maybe.

maybe its the missing hope.

i dont want to be you.

i just want to be you.

i just want to be me.

i cant fucking talk.

i cant fucking draw.

i cant fucking play.

i cant fucking write.

i cant fucking work.

i cant fucking function.

nothings jarring enough anymore

to shake me out of apathy,

im okay.

trust me.

i still want to taste my coffee

before i throw myself in front of your car.

---

xoryan