I ache inside. I don't know why I'm so surprised, but still I am. My heart keeps stuttering like I'm waking up from a nightmare but I'm living it. Time drags

Hollow

Hollow.

I am past despair. I am past the hours of hot tears streaming down my face. I am alone. I am empty. I am filled with grief. I can't breathe. Iron shackles bind me. I'm drowning in my anguish. I am calm. I am hopeless. I am the withered husk of what could have been.

I am hollow.

I love you, completely. I look at you and know I can't deny you anything. You want my heart? You already have it. You want my attention? It never left you. You want my blanket I've kept since I was 12? All yours. I just can't help these thoughts that you feel the same. It's probably the fact that I've been used and let down so much in the past that keeps me from believing I could ever have anything so great as you. Bourne doesn't get nice things. Bourne doesn't deserve nice things.

     How could you ever be happy with me? What can I ever give to you that you couldn't get better from someone else? When am I going to feel that sweet, familiar burning in my chest when you tell me you just don't feel it anymore? When am I going to put on my smile and tell you it's alright, I understand. When am I going to watch you walk away, like everyone else in my life? When will I be alone again? When will my dreams of a future fade away into painful memory? I love you.

PULVIS ET UMBRA SUMUS

Sometimes life just gets you down. Everything will be going alright and then, suddenly at night, you can be freight trained by depression. That's alright. Each night has a dawn. If we never experienced sadness, how could we experience joy? They are yin and yang. This just really hit me hard just recently. Everything is fine, I just found myself loathing my existence. I had such a feeling of futility, that no matter what I do it never matters. It's completely ridiculous thought process (or lack thereof), but I found myself there. Then there are the little things, the little victories. Ran into a friend at the store and he remarked on how I looked better, skinnier. Later on I gave myself a good looking at in the mirror and you can bet your boots that I was looking better. It really wasn't much, but I felt better. Knowing that all this work I've been putting into myself has been paying off, that's great. I feel so much more free now that I've stopped trying to impress everyone else, and just work on my own opinion of myself. I'm nowhere close to where I want to be, but I've certainly jumped from where I started. 

 

And that's all I really have to say about that.

7.8.14

I don't cry myself to sleep. I just lay here as my thoughts get scarier and scarier, full of more and more hatred, making myself so depressed that eventually my brain shuts down til morning.

The sun sets.

Man is born in a day, and he dies in a day, and the thing is easily over; but to have a sick heart for three-fourths of one's lifetime is simply to have death renewed each morning; and life at that price is not worth living.

A poem

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

Every time I trust, that trust is betrayed. I'm better off alone.

I'm so sick of everything. I'm going to flee to mexico for a week. February 2nd is my day. There are too many things which shouldn't matter at all to me which I let cut through to my heart. I am a fool