Electricity...

Electricity.

Seems like you never really knew me,
Seems like you never understood me,
Seems like you never really knew how to feel,
But electricity, ooh, it drew you near to me,
What you needed was to be rid of me...

And there were times you really made me smile,
And there were times you really made me cry,
And there were times I never really knew how to feel,
But electricity, ooh, it drew you near to me,
What you needed was to be rid of me,
And the fear made you so unsure of me,
What you needed was to be rid of me....

--

There's a hole. A gaping, open space carved out of something. The original substance doesn't matter... only a hole remains. This is all I am, the present. The results of what I've done are here, and I'm staring at the beast, just out of reach. But shackles are crumbling, and everything is pouring in... I am eating myself alive. I am an animal that scratches, bit by bit, until all that's left is a strange, sanguine complacency.

I can't stand this. So long have I hidden inside a tremor, spoken through a filter. I hate my own incompetance, but I'm still living it every day, watching as it slowly takes my life from me. The cuts are too deep, too painful to take. Is purity a lie that is slowly stripped away by the indifference of reality? I feel like I'm doing nothing more than waiting to drown.

I dream of a place so far away that I never have a chance to try to get there, and I can't swim any more. My muscles ache and my heart is tired. All I want is some peace of mind...

Living is so low...

A spasm of inundation: panic's finest form. Reflecting back brings a certain kind of frustration. Nothing can ever be done to bring it back, the innocence and open wonder of growing up.

In that process of distortion, it's easy to see the fascination with polarity. My emotions have been building and building towards something with finality, but without a ceiling or floodgate, it's endless. Every time I venture close to something, I'm uprooted and thrown into a directionless trance. How can I brace myself for the conclusive impact of my own mind? How many times have I found a catalyst, only to be misled from my own purity, the most important piece of myself?

How many times have I asked myself a question that I couldn't find an answer for, no matter how I tried?

You, the prisoner...

The return to purity is much more ambiguous than the mind's conception. It's not a cleansing, it's a journey backwards. To feed the basic structure, and let the details starve to death; within this, progress.

From this low point, I can see how gnarled and twisted branches have become. The roots are earthly, humble and expectant. The third-person omnipotence that acts as a catalyst for change... can annihilate the perpetual manifestation of thoughts that have become so misguided in the course of time.

When I slow everything down to a low, placid hum, the atmosphere clears. So lucid, so very calming, but there is a twinge, a pang somewhere that I have to consciously keep down.

Alone...

When my mind breaks down, it's almost comforting. I return to a place of pure solitude, no matter the surroundings. A fear of life itself sustained by constant self-loathing... but, it's quiet. The rythyms within sadness are slow and melodic. I never wanted to be so familiar with the beat.

But it's who I am. When I am rapid and spontaneous, I stick my neck into a place it isn't welcome. In doing so, I degrade my worth as a person and as a man. I do things unbecoming of me, and am always left out, feeling foolish; like an idiot. Like every action I've done is wrong. Every second that has come before the present is a mistake.

Is this the only way I can survive?

I have a suspicion that I am moving further and further from reality. It's a tingling feeling, like there's something I can't quite grasp...

It's visceral and unrelenting. A slow, methodical pulse that gradually grows in strength. Each piece of me will be blown apart, or they will survive only to hang languidly together... valor grows out of destruction, and then is murdered by the shadow of that plague.

Scared to death...

What do I do now? There isn't a key to find nor a window to climb through. I don't know how to get in...

I would sacrifice any part of my life if I knew it would bring you to me. Why is that? Why do I fight so readily? To take a full breath and release, screaming into the same void that separates my fingers from my dreams.

I'm going to take as long as I need to. I'm going to build a system that makes me work; that makes us work.

But, I can't decipher the "why?". It creeps behind me, waiting for a chance to speak. I need validation... I need to know that it's real.

I'm such a failure. I can't even grasp the things I live for. And, in doing so, I am hurting someone else.

What I fear will happen is I'll return to where I used to be. I don't want that isolation again... I can't take it. It's what probably will happen... it's what always happens. It makes me so angry with myself that I can't think straight.

...In a slow, rolling fog, a door is to be found. I don't know how long I have to search for, but that is my charge, my mission.

I was wrong...

The greatest thing, I think, about the Human mind is the ability to become a lance. To focus so severely and viscerally at one's enemy. Not a corporeal enemy, but a belief or idea. To be passionate in regards to your apex; To climb through the waves of euphoria.

To be happy -- To have the ability to be happy. Thoughts filled with appreciation and the organic, yet spiritual thing called love...

In that verdant field, I can be happy.

It suddenly seems...

When I take in my surroundings, I realize I'm far from where I was the last time I was observant of the world around me. The only constant, the only satisfaction is in the same thing. It bolsters my resolve, tears apart insecurity and fills me instead with passion. The innumerable changes don't bother me at all... to the point of apathy. But this light, I don't ever want to lose.

There is a kink in my thought process, though. Something stalls me long enough to electrocute my senses, to force my spirit haywire. I don't notice anything else when focused on the incandescence of the thread that leads me to my goal.

I don't care for all of what I could be doing... I want something that lets me sleep at night. I want the feeling of safety in knowing that there is real understanding in this world. I want to wake up in ten years and cry out of joy, for all this time will have meant something.

To think about life as a story, with every action creating connections and building towards a grand climax... is depressing. To view it in this way only makes me realize that nothing can ever be perfect or fulfilling in that purely divine way.

Where are you tonight?

Rampant static distorts and controls, but it fades eventually... and I'm left with a chance. To focus passion into a blade, a scythe to clear away the overgrowth. The bare me is nowhere near as idealistic or hopeful as the carapace that covers all that is me. I know how pathetic I am... It's not something I ignore. I know that I can't expect anyone to understand or to care, because it's only hominid to live from the inside out.

But I won't give up and I won't lose out. If I'm going to fail, I will burn out in the most dazzling, excruciating and incandescent explosion. I will reach until my arms fall off, even as I seem to do things that make my spirit bleed profusely. I know what depletion is, real depletion... and I am hounded by the back of my mind. A voice inside me says that nothing is as it seems, blaring loudly as a deep cynicism.

I shove it back, stuff it down and wait. The thing I want the most is the thing that I keep telling myself I can't have... but I would give anything if I was sure that there was the same feeling coming back to me. It's flustering me completely and I can never get the words out. Those three words that have so much meaning behind them, they scare me until I'm mute.