Quiet
February 05, 2002 @ 2:15 p.m.
I honestly have never been so frustrated at absolutely nothing in all my life. I feel a need to scream obscenities, punch walls, sob and curse away everything pure. The seams are straining, slipping, breaking...I am heartless, angry, anxious. I'm searching for something but I don't have a clue as to what that is. I feel a need to escape, to run and never look back, to explain to no one, to live a life solitary. But I know, ultimately, I wouldn't be happy then, either. And so here I sit, drowning, while like bees they swarm over words like flowers. I don't wish to be here. I am wandering, lost and alone. So alone. So confused. So blind. So loud in my mind. No training. No signs. All lies. Blinders. Chains. Binding. Bondage. Bandannas over the eyes, hiding. So I don't make sense anymore. I never said that I would. Never said that I could. Measuring up to nothing sighing crying breathing in the chemicals and exhaling feeling the empty and liking it anyway quiet. And I don't want to do anything except be in someone's arms and waste away oh so happily there, showering only sometimes when I feel dirty, which when I was in your arms would be very rare. Just laying there and healing and crying myself into sanity and letting you kiss my tears away so that I am completely satisfied and absolutely found, there's enough in that because you're level with me. You said that I could call if I needed anything but when tears leak down my cheeks I cannot call you because I'm not worth your time even forty-three minutes and I can't make that change so you have to make the first move but Matt you won't because you don't care enough to want to hold me and make me okay and let me scream and sob and release me of my virginity. I'm so wanting to cry in your arms and kiss you so desperately and be in your life and worth your time but I'm so fucking sorry that I'm so needy but it's always just been that way and I just ache for you to understand. I really find this pointless but I think if I stepped away from it that I couldn't make it and I would need you to hold my hand and you wouldn't. You don't care. Not enough. Not at all. And I can't make you because your eyes point downward, and back and away, and anywhere but so that my needy eyes don't search yours, and I can't grab your hand because I know you'd just yank it back away anyway and so I won't ask for you to bring me happiness if you just show up and dance your little routine and sing and cackle with delight. It's like second grade and I'm being chastised for something I haven't even done. And so I'll just sit quiet with his hands folded in my lap and try not to be too pleased with the whole idea. Just quiet. Quiet.
I promise it'll be quiet.
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