Where The Smoke Is Coming From....

It's hard to forget.

It's hard to forget those feelings that beat too true to go away with just a passing of time.
It is beautiful how nobody understands me....

Beautiful like an out of control fire... the lights and colors are beauty to the eyes, but it burns,
and destroys whatever is in its path.

Every single day it seems that much easier to blame myself. Blame myself for the disdain
I feel I receive. I plague my mind with thoughts of far-fetched stupidity, because I know nothing
of treatment that is other that what I've received.

A smile seems like I have to work for it. A question of concern, is something that I feel I only receive on my
birthday.
I don't understand my loneliness, nor do I feel I should.
Nor do I understand why fatal wounds were inflicted upon my heart, as it burst out of my chest
into your waiting hands.
I never understood what it is about me that carries such ill-will towards me.

"I love you"

I don't even want to talk about it now.... It's coming to the point that I don't want to write about it.
I don't know what to do.
I don't know what to feel.
I don't know why I caused you to hate me.

Break-down.... I don't even care that I care this much. Enough to bring a person down.

This is how much you make my heart feel....

Now I can't even get someone to take what you damaged....

I like to pretend.
Not make-believe...

Pretending. Pretending that things don't break my heart. Pretending to smile when inside the crack
in my heart begins to intensify.

Smiling while everything inside me shatters.

It's hard to talk to living dreams and not reach your hand out... just to at least
touch something that heals your soul.

Hmm... It's hard to stare at God-made diamonds and not want them to be yours.

It's hard to pretend to be happy about losing your heart. It's hard to watch your heart be given away.


I like to pretend... so I don't have to show my real emotions. I like to make you think everything is ok.
I smile when I say, "And you don't even give a fuck."
But this smile can easily be broken. This facade is not thick enough to endure an interrogation.

And here goes my smile again... realizing this hurts.

*sigh*

 Being loved.

Someone wanting to hear what you say, no matter what you say....
This hurts more than I led on.

"I'm ok" is a mechanical answer. A predetermined answer to any question directed about my
feelings. Nobody ever feels the need to ask anything more after that answer.
Nobody ever feels that I'm worth the energy needed to break my soft responses.

I don't believe in nice. I believe people act "human" because they want something from
another individual. Being nice isn't an action, it's being human...

I'm tired of having my heart ripped out. I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of feeling.
I wonder why out of all the many emotions there are, I feel the ones that hurt me.

I wonder why people don't understand, that I do things out of love - I try to
help. But it always seems that my help isn't needed. That my help is misconstrued
as something bad.

I just want to help....

I feel if people see how I give so much of myself, they'd at least give me a breathe
of themselves. 2 heartbeats. 1 smile.

This is hard. To love the dagger in your heart, even though it plunges itself much deeper
with every hurtful word. With every inconsiderate action.
I pretend it doesn't hurt. Heehee... haahaa... I laugh as if the dagger tickles my heart.
But only love trickles out... no blood, no death. No soul.

I'm ok alone. I'm ok with no friends. I'm ok with no one to love. I'm ok with no one to love me.
I'm ok walking down the alley at night with tears falling on the ground. I'm ok when I need a hug.
I'm ok when you break my heart. I'm ok when I need someone to talk to, but no one
is willing to listen. I'm ok with a frown. I'm ok when you see me crying, but you walk
away. I'm ok only giving love, but not receiving any.  I'm ok.... I'm ok.
I'm ok.

I don't know who I write to... because I don't write for anybody to hear me. I write because
nobody hears me. My words at least have one reader, me. And I recycle my own love.
Give myself what little I have... but there's nothing special there. Just the remnants
of scraps left by the ravenous lovethirsty Angels.

You should see me smile right now... what a big smile.
Watch the windows to my soul and see that the rain makes it impossible....