Distracted.

I'm trying to think of happiness, as a straight feeling. But I just can't put my finger on it.
I'm trying to think of pure sadness, and thats pretty common. Easy to recreate. Something that I'm chained to.
I'm trying to think of why, instead of absolute happiness, there is only the feeling like I'm distracted from my sadness.
(Thanks T for this one, by the way.)

Like, there's always an undertone underneath my temporary insanity. (Happiness)
Because I never feel truly pure anymore. (Sadness.)
Always diluted, with some aftertaste. Constantly eating at my stature, at my decisions, at myself. Or what I think to be myself. (Happiness)
Too often I've second guessed myself because of this leash.. keeping me at close range. (Sadness.)
Because I'm afraid that breaking away from the leash, just means that my keeper comes to find me to punish me. (Happiness)
I want to know what you have to offer, world. Who, where, why, what you have to offer me. (Never)
I've wanted to all the tastes that everyone else seems to enjoy, just once. (Don't)
To feel young, and free. Before its too late. (Can't)
Please help me. Lead me. (No)
No? (Yes.)

But maybe I don't need them.
I've always been different.
Always been... something else.
Maybe for once I don't want to be treated like something else.
Maybe I'm just a shell filled with nothing.
Maybe I have no idea who I am, what I want and where I'm going?
I have no idea who I am, what I want and where I'm going.
And if thats o.k. with you, then thats o.k. with me.

Old Soul.

I have stood at the edge of reality.
Long after others have fallen asleep.
But, right before the day starts anew.
I have watched autumn leaves fall...
Ticking time away, seconds.. one by one falling away.
I have bathed in the seconds.. Letting then rain over me.
Fall over me.. Fall through me.
I have stood alone in the cold. Bathing in the falling seconds of my life.
Cold, but content. Almost as if the cold was my warmth.
My winter serenity comforts me.
I have stood still.. Within this timeless metaphor.
Within the timeless metaphor that I have built my life around.
I have stood at the edge of reality.
With eyes open wide to the beautiful peace that I have found.
Waiting right outside my front door.
The moon lighting the trees brightly through their yellow leaves..
In a black sky, not void of stars.
The leaves softly falling around and onto me.
The vivid colors of the sea of leaves I am standing in.
The light brisk winter air touches my face.. My entire body.
Touching my heart.. igniting my memory.
Awakening the side of me that I try and hide.
Solemn, serene, silent, content but lonely.
My old soul, so to speak.
I have stood at the edge of reality.
And there, I am someone new.
I am just myself.
Quietly.

Similarities.

In my short experience, everyone is exactly the same.
We all play games with each other.
Titillating each other with different mannerisims and conduct.
I'd to say that I'm as real as my own touch.
But that theory alone fails to adequately describe how touch feels and how real it is.
Next time you feel sad, step back from yourself.
For just a moment, and realize that sadness; (or any emotion for that matter) is just a part of the game.
I'm not sure if I'm the only one who constantly feels like their inside a shell.
Google -- Cold And Bitter Outlook On Everything.
(You won't find anything, but if I think this should pop up first.)

Each person has a code of behavior that is their... key.
Key to making them vulnerable, to triggering some sort of reaction -- This key is defined early in life.
Whether it be fixation on a certain stereotype situation, or parental guidence, it's predefined.
This is why they say that opposites attract, the behavioral reflection of both of the beings is predefining.
Some people just can't conform to the standards of one another, or are just too stupid.
Too often it is the latter, which is slightly disappointing, but somehow expected.
The dynamics to the system are quite bemusing at cursory glance.
It's scary how so many people can work and respond off each other.
And sometimes it's completely inexplicable how peoples dynamics change.
It's overwhelming trying to comprehend the difference instances.
My question, that I've been saving is simply, Why bother?
It seems to me that all of this is just complication on top of base thoughts.
It makes incredibly more sense to stick to being alone then subjecting yourself to such madness.
And yet we constantly fall into the same patterns constantly.
I'd love to say that I haven't or I don't, since I'm indignant towards it.
But it's happened to me time and time again.

I just don't get it.

Sleepless.

The irony of sweet caress, is that nothing truly matters.
Moments turn to hours to quickly, destroying those futile seconds.
But there is a hurricane behind those eyes.
Mesmerizing as they are, I can see slightly deeper.
Only slightly, as your mystery proceeds you.
But just enough to glance at that terrible storm.

"No one is really happy alone..."
Well, some people are I suppose. But being alone is really just a state of mind. Since being with someone else is an extension of their state of mind to yours.

I've come to a sad realization in these passing minutes.
That all attempts for forestall the change into my father have failed.
And that in the end I'm just as emotionally detached.
Not as you might believe that means.
I understand emotions, I have for a long time.
I emulate them perfectly.
Nothing really matters, is a quote that defines my character.
All moments, if you step back from yourself for a moment,
Really are just temporary. So why attach complication?
I wish somebody really knew me.
So they could tell me who I am.
Or who I was.
Or anything at all.

Take my soul away.

My demons and angels constantly wage war upon each other.
Some elders, others are newborn. They all have the same significance.
I've always been trapped square in the middle of this war. Lost and confused.
Nothing is ever really clear cut, and everything falls in the overlap.
(too tired to continue for now.)

Monsters.

We are the monsters that live in your head.
That gnaw on your thoughts.
That ravage the integrity of your decision.
We are the plague that infests the beauty of your life.
Corrupting everything about you.
Taking the emptiness and stretching it until it encompasses you.
We are, we are the monsters.
Sharp fangs, claws, red eyes.
We are the red eye behind your blue eyes.
That comes out only in still frame.
We are just under the skin,
Waiting for a paper cut release.
We are everything you wished you weren't,
You wished you didn't, You wished you couldn't,
We are your regret, and sorrow, and dissatisfaction.
We are.
We are.
Your monsters and you can't hold us back anymore.

Ghost Trails.

The beautiful part about being emotionally void is the ability to answer simply with "fine" whenever someone asks you if everything is o.k. and mean it.

They say that trauma is an everlasting imprint on your personality. It'll eventually start to shape it, if you're put through enough.

Have you ever looked through a camera when it had ghost trails turned on?
Everything leaves a light path. Well, lately thats what I see everything as. Just looking around, glancing around the room. Everything is leaving trails across my mind.
Kind of like the image is echoing, but slightly more in depth.

They call it, subliminal suicide. You participate in an activity that is extremely hazardous to your heath, because there is some part of you that wishes for death.

I spend so much time in my head, that it's getting harder and harder to focus on things. It's really quite a plague on my life. Having a photographic memory, means reliving every single horror story that you've witnessed every second that you allow it to happen. It means when everyone else's mind is quiet and asleep, yours is cranking away playing backwards and rewinding. It means insomnia. Permanently. It's a curse.

Everything burns a little brighter when you're dying.

Disconnected.

I've been narrating my own life for a long time.
Kind of like I've been going through the motions, but not quite there.
Like, I'm reading my own story from a book. Only with the most vivid realism no book could quite capture.

Come to think of it... Even as a child of 6. Surrounded by a ring of electronic parts. Wires. Batteries. Light bulbs. Microchips.
As I did things, in my "safe haven" I guess I'll call it, I would say everything I did, like I was telling a story.

For as long as I can remember, I always felt like their were two people in my head. Not in a schizophrenic manor though. My studies of psychology have thought me well I suppose. More as, like I said. One person was making the decisions, and the other was simply watching and narrating.

Everyone questions behavior. It's a part of being human. But their are certain activities in which people just do not question. They accept them as what they are, without further insight.

I have always felt disconnected from most other people because of this. Felt like the neurotic behavior that shares a common thread in everyone was slowly driving me off the edge. That each and every moment of it that I endure slowly eats away at my superiority. That some way, I had become infected by instinct. Something I swore to myself a long time ago, never to let take over.

--Instinct is something that lives inside us all. Base. Impulsive. No third layer thought process comprehends the full extent of instinct simply because it cannot understand the actions it indirectly poses. If the third layer fails, it simply defaults back to the base code. Also known as instinct. Thought evolution, by definition is the movement of a third layer thought process into base level thinking. Hence, completely modifying those "instincts" to call for more than just impulse. Making the host, smarter. --

If you watch people close enough, you can watch this actually take place. Interesting.

So. What's at the top of your brain?

Ending October. Starting November.

Tonight was a tough night to pick a topic for.
Too many things circling around in my head to really get anything truly right. But I'll try anyway.

Your weakness is my weakness.
Destruction in it's existence.
It eats at the underlying process of my life.
Destroying all that seems right.
I've watched you change.
Your ressurection out of your own impending death,
Always seemed so iminent.
Your own grave that you dug yourself.
And you were so ready to fill with your own flesh.
I'm tired of filling this hole with concrete.
And then watching, helplessly, as you blow it all away.
I've got the same scars.
Most hidden below the surface of my skin.
I wish all of you could see them. But theres too many, too complicated to explain.
I've been a savior for too many years. Don't be so vain.
I'm not Anybody's angel. Though I was yours.
I don't know who I am anymore.
Though I never really have.
I think thats the problem.
I've felt like No One for as long as I can remember.
It makes it really hard to realize that I just might be someone after all.
Don't you get it?
Set me free. Just becareful when you do.

I stood there.
At two seperate times.
I watched life get thrown away.
TOO MANY TIMES.
More than zero.
You'd think once was enough?
That I didn't learn the lessons of life.
Twice times the charm I suppose.
And how dare you of all people?
Of every single person on the planet?
The closest of close to myself.
And somehow that is better?
All that was, was selfish.
Just like the first time.
The beautiful irony that I never wanted to admit.
Selfish?
I miss you both.
I miss No One Formerly James.

I guess October really is the happiest time of year.