I enjoyed it when you laid your head, shook and cried on my shoulder. I didn't know you kept so many demons in the closet.
And when you laughed with joy when the HOLY SPIRIT thundered through your veins.
I didn't know you, and I still don't. But I love you very much, my friend.
(I would have laid down and held you forever.)

And when the mindless words flew from my mouth, when the sobs were choking, and so like a child's,
I
was.

Like poetry, tears falling like words. Words I loved, hated, cared for, nurtured. Fell, fell.
And my throat rasped for you. And the notes came. My voice. Alive.

My, throat, rasped, for You.

New video. (:

All you need is love.

Hardest lesson to learn.
What if I don't care?

5:30 AM.
I woke up due to a nightmare and saw the moon, round and glowing white, staring directly into my window.
It was both beautiful and unnerving.

I can't help building images of you and me, the two of us.
Reading on the bench, but not paying attention, stealing each other's books like candies.
Another reverie.
Me half-drunk, laughing too much, you're irritated.

"You know, it's easier to get a girl to make love to you if she's drunk."

"I don't need that."

"Hey, look at me."

He looks.

"You know I'll be meeting other guys, right?"

"God, your breath stinks."

"Fuck, I'm serious."

"Yeah."

"You know I will spend 'time' with them, right? Do you know?"

Nod.

"What's wrong with you? Are you finally going to let me go?"

"No."

"As long as I'm the guy you'll come back to. As long as I'm the one you can come to when there's nowhere else to go. "

"Why would you do that?"

"You're still home to me."

I'm gonna sing you to me.

(no more complications, I'm flying with the current now.)

I don't normally write long stories. Maybe at most two pages. That's why I don't really do novels. I can't create deep enough characters to last through even fifty pages...it's difficult, and I grow attached to those characters--nearly to the point I think they're real.

I can't stop with this one character. I'm sure you've heard of my boy with the guitar. Funny thing actually, the guy I based him off of has been reading my deviantART for quite a while now. And he read my short story. Even commented. Of course, it was obviously very obvious I wrote about him. (laugh) If you're reading this by chance, I built the story off some memories of you, of other people; but know this: you truly saved me that day. You just sitting next to me brought me out of falling into myself. Thank you.

I think I'm creating this character for a deeper reason than just documenting a fleeting moment of self-worth and rebirth. The character is materializing the things I've wanted, the things I've cast aside, every imperfection and perfection I can think of. He's becoming a strange companion in my life, someone I can come back to. Imaginary friend much? Hahahah.

All I know is that I'm thankful for everything that happens. V, J, S.... All those initials I wrote as a hit-list, well, fuck that now. God is telling me to forgive, forgive, forgive. And boy with the guitar, I hope to make more memories with you, both as the real and breathing friend and my imaginary spirit.

www.youtube.com/watch


My heart's not solid anymore.

Drifting away like hot balloons in the sky.

You're still the one who makes me smile, you seem to care in that brief moment we're together.
That makes you my hero.

Can you hear the question I'm sending you?

I celebrate myself.
Today, the past is hopeful in its future.
Who I will be will appreciate who I am.

Hello to the camera.

I've been meaning to let this out. What a perfect prompt to do so.
The last "relationship" I was in ended simply because the boy lost interest in me. The communication stopped all of a sudden--no face-to-face, no Facebook, no phone calls. Maybe he never took me seriously. Who knows?

A few weeks ago I learned that he started dating my younger friend (the same age when I got involved with him, oddly.) and my pride was shot. I was disgusted. With him, with myself. Revolted, even.

So I blocked him off my Facebook. (Whoaahh, such a bold move!) I don't see him anyway, but when I saw his profile picture on my news-feed--in which he's snuggling his new girlfriend, I couldn't take it. My vomit reflexes acted up, and I have too much pride. I blocked his girlfriend too--but we talk at school. I can't do the pictures. Ever.

Even though I knew it was ending, even though I held on in vain, even though I was wronged, and even though it hurt so, so much--I learned something.
Again.

Love isn't permanent. Sometimes, kind people can be cruel. And we all have to deal with that.
Break things off when they end. Don't hurt yourself online.
_______

I think of you
Whenever I hear "Blackbird"s sweeping above
Stillness like your face as
you play play my guitar strings.

To the boy with the guitar.

"Women hold up half the sky." Chinese proverb.
Read the book Half the Sky by Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn and find out why.

Something hopeful for today:
"My mom died on the 19th. It's been hard. I really miss her. On the day of her funeral, while driving to the cemetery in a long line of cars, the construction workers on the road stopped working and some of them took of their hard hats. I was so touched. They provided such comfort and are and will always remain complete strangers. They GMH." www.givesmehope.com/view/Random+acts+of+kindness/17454

I know online, people often discount relationships.
But those pixelated words can truly touch someone.
Twitter, GMH, Facebook--somethings can truly have positive effects.

The universe is blind.
Ears ears ears unseeing but splaying across America.
My world is parallel.
Dripping passion, the songs of the souls wind tales.

Troubled boy living in your suitcase
Pornography strewn about
Play play your guitar, sing your throat dry.

Decorated general staring at reflections
Disgusted in the bathroom stall
Scream scream of all the lives you squelched.

Jeans yanked off, shoes plop to the linoleum floor
What is the couple doing in the other room?
Don't make a sound--God may hear.

Whales hightailing ocean tops
Blowholes spewing bloody water
Holy holy ocean echo, echo.

Ignored. Dark skinned girl sobbing tearlessly
Radio's broken, bloody, bloody mess
Virtue taken, boy with a gun.

Walt, have you become? What became?

The blades (of grass) stick sharply to my skin
Staining it green as envy.
My faded guitar weeping silently as I strum.

I become the force of pain
The sounds of passion, of lust
Trumpets gargle, skins prickle
The orchestra consumes the last of them.

This scream bolted to my throat
Dark dark dark dark secrets cling.
Cigarettes sizzle too quietly.

Sing your song, America.

(I want you so bad, it's driving me mad. Mad mad mad.)

I got attacked by a peacock once when I was around 6.
I can still feel the scar its talons scratched on top of my head.
It's a little nub of a scar, but raised.

Maybe that's why I'm so messed up.

I can't find any inspiration. 
I cannot articulate the things that were once beautiful to me.
People no longer seem human to me.
I only see the bullshit--no love, no faith, nothing.

Black waves, even in the day.
I need God's light.

I can't function without stimulation from the outer world.
It's cliched, but the day is darkness.
I am overreacting, the tears don't even come.

The candle is beautiful and well-crafted, but the wind keeps blowing the flame out.
I keep lighting a match to rekindle the wick, but it keeps going out.
One by one, my matches are running out.

Did you know that when the purest, whitest snow falls, when nothing perturbs the flakes, the sun leaves shadows of blue, not grey?

I remember reading that in DNAngel, the first manga I really loved. That image of untainted, unsoiled beauty stuck in my mind forever. Someday, I wanted to see snow that was tinted blue by the darkness. It gave me a little hope. Some fragile things, though they don't last very long, are the most breathtaking things in the world.



Just breathe. That's all I want to do. Go on breathing and breathing.
Loving closes my throat, like tears that choke and sting.
Breathing gets hard when I call your name. It cracks.
My voice freezes, then it's hard to breathe.
I can't. I can't bring myself to say it.
My lips turn blue and grey.
I want to fly, wings--
That take me to
heavens with
words that
flow.

"When I'm with you, I don't have to pretend. I don't have to pretend I'm happy or sad, attractive or ugly. I can be me, raw, and with music.
And the best part of it all? I'm not worried about showing off or sounding right. the silence between us is louder than the song. This is something we just understand--no one has to utter one word. I can shut my eyes in the vibrations of sound and sing in pure silence, but I know you are beside me. And that is happiness."