It's not supposed to be a battle field.

If I could write to you I would. If I could tell you what you'd done i'd explain every detail. I dont even have to think anymore it just all comes out, sometimes too fast for my hands to keep up.

Truth is we all have one. One of those people who kick us when we're down, who knowingly and repeatedly beat us to the ground leaving us bruised and bloody; because they know they can. It's own stupidity that keeps making us get back up to try again.

Albert Einstein once said, "the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." It makes you question you're own sanity does it not?
Why is it so easy to see something for what it is when you're standing on the outside, but so much harder when you're right there takeing the blows? Surely we were not designed for such deadly warfare. The unfair advantage is that the one who cares the least will always, always win. Whilst you sit at home licking you're wounds, they're somewhere planning their next attack or worse still... you havn't even crossed their mind. Aborting any strategic manouvers you have in place is almost out of the question. So your next tactic, you get sad or you get angry and you tell yourself you just can't let go. You admit defeat and you remain trapped in your own cycle doing the same things, thinking the same thoughts and feeling the same feelings over and over again, going utterley insane.
There is a choice here, letting go hurts but so does being emotionally abused time and time again.

So the big question is, what hurts more?

I don't like things to be too obvious;

I just wanted to see what you'd say, but you'll say nothing and I'll just be the idiot, so easily and so willingly. Or so it would seem. Mum always used to tell me if a person is on you're mind it means you're on theirs. So if i'm thinking about you does that mean you're thinking about me?

A sadness seems to wash over me. I was content being angry at you but now I just keep missing you. I regret the conversations I have with you, but I still keep looking forward to the next one. I'm not sure what to do. I don't know what to say, who to tell or what to ask; and you're no help whatsoever.

And as for you, you're just another character that barely fills a chapter in this story.

Pour me another glass.

Fragments

today:

There was a storm this afternoon and as it was brewing the wind picked up, carrying a countless number of seeds and leaves along with it, those things you call 'Santa Claus's' and make a wish on. I watched them all float away and all I could think was, how beautifully fitting it seemed.

last week sometime:

Sit the fuck back down! You're just as oblivious as the rest of us. You're wasteing time and I have so much work to do and so little motivation to do it.

I had a dream that you just wouldnt let us die, so the walls around me started burning, you held your breath while I searched for some peace of mind. You just sat back down and started playing chess.

Just another moment suspended in time, accompanied by just another heart beat inside.

17th October:

A culmination of emotional supression into a manifestation of physical illness -

Mother says I could give myself cancer.

15th October:

Fragmented sunlight through scratched glass windows.

Delicate shadows of dancing leaves all in silouette.

An appreciation for the dust particles that float softly through the air, visible only when they cross paths with the sunlight.

A couldren of colour disappearing into the blue to caress the skin of another.

A familiar journey winding through broken ground, for the purpose of both business and pleasure.

To the grey skys with a reflection.

To the whithering tree's in an open field.

To the abandoned little habits we use to make our way home each day.

To those we join in our comfort and those who join us in the privacy of our thoughts.

The music that accompanies you so gracefully.

The headaches caused by tension you just can't pin point.

The wonder of how easily emotions scatter and progress in new directions through out the hours.

too many weeks ago to count:

We tell ourselves we're heartless because we havn't got the heart to live with it being broken. We keep ourselves safe and although it is the cowards way out, nobody ever said we had to be brave. You can risk everything in life to make yourself feel fullfilled; but risking your heart comes with greater consequences then any of us could forsee. To allow ones self to be so content, so enthralled, entrapped in another means to lose them will be earth shattering. And we will lose them, every single one of them. We all fall away.

Bad Idea

The way I felt sick to the stomach in the car. How undecided I was, how much I just knew it was a bad idea for one reason or another. How much I didnt want to give into you again. I gave in too easily, again. The worst part now though is not that I broke a promise to myself, not that I went back on all the anger and things I said about you; but instead the fact that I miss you. Its only just dawned on me. God I miss you so much. We were nothing, I know that. Only a line, perhaps a few sentences in this story, but I just keep re-reading you. You make me happy when I'm with you, but I dont trust you in the slightest and I don't believe that I'm anything more then a couple of nights and a couple of days to you. I feel like i've known you so much longer then I have and yet we know nothing of each other. I'm not sure if things will change, I'm not sure what it is you actually want and I dont think you're sure either. We're friends. I won't forget you, you made everything hurt again in such a short amount of time. Before that you made everything right again, if only momentarily. Only for a day. As though it were a bad dream. You made me cry, a huge accomplishment. You took me 10 steps and 2 years back.

I wonder what you're doing right now, I'm not sure I'd want to know. I wish I never had to wake you up those mornings, I wish I could have just laid there. I never could sleep though, you always had me awake early. You have my attention. What else do you want now?

You still make me so fucking angry!

- 14th November

Self destructive

So I took off running, running as far as I could. I've been running all this time, but now it seems i've come full circle and I'm simply running head first back towards you, stumbling as I go. Hopeing, praying that something gets in my way.
I'm so silently self destructive, so ironically aware of my own decisions to completley obliterate myself. I have no sense of whether this is what I want or if it simply fullfills my romantic illusions. The fantasies of a person who is so elated by the expression of emotion through words. What fun is writeing about contentment? The poets who used to write poem after poem, confessing undieing love, expressing the torment of a feeling so overwhelming, so all consumeing, so completley enthralled by another. Was this true love every time, or the sin in which we call lust? Surely true love can only be felt once. Where have the most beautiful words come from? Pain. It makes you wonder what a life of self destruction and torture can accomplish. The mind of a tortured poet, the heart of a tortured soul. An old soul, not at rest.


Unfinished.
I'm still pondering, but my eyes are too heavy to clearly project my thoughts.

timeless

I realised how perfectly polaroids seem to capture a moment.
Looking for my own on Ebay tomorrow.