Relapse

I don’t wanna be somebody
Fallin’ in a relapse
Every time I see that smile again
I just think of when //

On Friday I felt real again, when another girl called me a good boy. And I felt real too, when a stranger gently nudged Anni aside to hand me her bag. Might have been to get rid of it, who knew, but then again, who cares.

On Saturday I was shaken, on Sunday partially broken, and on Monday I rebuild myself again.

Friday 13th

fine, do whatever you want. I feel sadness, I'm wrong. I apologise, I'm wrong. Everything I do also wrong wrong wrong.

7.54

and you can buy her the world but you can't buy her love.

And you said it don't matter

Maybe it's my face. The face of someone nice but not worth it. Nice but unsuccessful. Nice but irresponsible. I hope it's my face.

Kindly realise that your actions have consequences beyond the inmediate audience. Time and again I have allowed myself to be drawn to your friendship only to realise, time and again, that I have no worth in your eyes. 

I have never and will never be a real man in your eyes, are you scared to tell me that to my irresponsible face? 

I will only ever be good enough for people you don't care about, I'm a what, a flight-risk? A chew toy of some sort to use and throw?

Or god knows I'm pitiful, a sad case to tell your acquaintances about at bonfires: The Walking Tragedy and His Story of Lost Love

-----

You know she loves you with her life. I hurt her and you know it. I hurt her by second guessing her choices and I deserve whatever distrust or ill feelings she might have towards me. Wake up, and understand that you have immunity against that. What you said to her was in retrospect the exact same mistake that I made. Listen buddy, we're both stupid human beings who think we know what's best for the ones we care about. Wake up. We don't. She will never distrust you, so don't go around taking advantage of that full-well knowing that the walls have ears - I will hear every damn thing you say, or imply about me. 

I hurt her, and I have to live with that regret every day. I am torn between happiness that her best friend loves and cares for her, and the cost it incurs on my being. I am a person, and I am trying my utmost to be a better one. I want her to be safe, and I want her to be happy, too, we're not too far off, you and I. 

I don't have the simplest of lives, but my demons are all out in the open. So price me down for what you see me as, will you, but I've got nothing else to hide, nothing. I'm honestly hurt by what you think of me, for the last time I am sick. Of having to prove myself because I don't need you to tell me I'm not good enough. But for all the shit that I am, I'm not a for-the-moment guy, and if you knew me, you'd know.

23.8.2017

Remorse is the rightful weight of an act of betrayal.

It is the time you bear full responsibility, being the catalyst of any sequence, but more importantly, it is the moment you understand why things happened the way they did. It is shame at the recklessness of your thoughts and that spurs helplessness as the carnage turns to ash. There is pain, so, so much pain that your two hands just aren't enough to contain it. It is pleading for mercy at the feet of the ones you hurt, while your conscience reminds you that forgiveness is unjust.

22.8

What happens when a soul breaks? Do we feel it, do we know, or does it slip through your fingers like dry sand without leaving a trace? Every day we dance on our tiptoes, careful not to upset the balance between emotion and void.

"Emotions are nothing but heartache", they say, but of course, we only ever hear of a bitter aftertaste.

"I wish I could delete my emotions". Oh, do you?

I think that when a soul breaks, you can feel it. If you're lucky enough to recognise the feeling, you might be able to scramble up the pieces before they turn to dust. Otherwise you fight for your life.

Because suddenly you're wearing sunglasses at 7 p.m., and it's all the kitchen lights can do to shine a weak glow around you. There's people talking, people walking past you, but the room is empty, and you're simultaneously wearing fifteen layers of clothes yet you're naked to the bone. You're alive, but are you, because you don't remember your surroundings in monochromatic tones. But you must be, you're breathing, you can do things, but you're starting to read between the lines of "losing one's senses".

It's like pins and needles, healing. After your foot has fallen asleep and you begin to wonder if you're gonna have to resort to amputation. A breathless, fearful moment, and then the buzzing. Every sensation feels new, forced perhaps, but you take the time to appreciate those that feel good to you. You appreciate an insect you don't know the name of through the lens of a borrowed camera. A solitary lunch at a hidden beach feels good too. Eventually, slowly, the fog lifts enough for you to see your surroundings once more. You buy yourself a camera, now collecting dust on a shelf from the years that's passed. You play the guitar for the love of your life at the hidden beach; she doesn't question the location but loves it anyway. She doesn't know why, but she might.

You know who you are. It's not your fault, you know it too. The fog will lift.


Edit. I thought I missed you, but why should I? You're still here, and I'm here with you.

17.07

Sometimes I can't fall asleep because I lay awake thinking about death. I am young, and I am surrounded by such healthy, ambitious individuals that the idea of one of us dying would come as a shock. I wouldn't say I fear death in itself, but I fear the mask it might wear as it approaches. Would it be a long spell of suffering, several minutes of crushing pain, or would it come slow and most welcome after all the people I love have long since perished?

I don't want to take this life for granted, nor the people I love, because in a heartbeat, we extinguish so easily like a candle in the wind.