kelso263

i set my life on fire, just to watch it burn to the ground of which i have built it from.
justine's post got me thinking. what am i? she's the bee, the insect, the last kid in gym, that muddy puddle. but what am i? i know how most people see me. but, how do i see me?

i put on a face in public. i have my own inner-being underneath this strong facade in which i hide. i don't even know what my true self is because i guess i'm too scared to show it. i've only recently discovered i've been living a lie my whole life, and that i'm deeper than this mask shows.

i creep out when writing. peek between the ink and look at the world through my true eyes. everything is blurred. i tell stories in my writing. though few can decipher. not even i know what i mean when i write, but sometimes, later on after i've finished the piece, it comes to me.

when i look in the mirror, i don't really see what i think i am. i don't smile at myself. i don't care for myself most of the time and sometimes i hate what i've become. why can't i live in that make-believe world, where i was at least funny. sometimes. and not just stupid. i want to change. my whole outlook, and how people look in. but...i'm afraid such a big change would kill who i was, sending me plumeting down into a depressant filled world, where death is the only way out. and then i would be happy. then i could continuously write, for only myself. because there would be no one, or nothing to write for. because i then, would trully be alone.

of course there would be someone there. in the darkness. another lost soul, but i wouldn't be able to see them because i would be blinded by my own self hatred and the ink of the writing in my mind.

but on a lighter note. 3 days. thats all. three days. i've went through a similar 3 days of waiting like this. but the prize was far most spectacular than being able to sleep in.



i will break this mask which binds my soul. and out will pour light from inside. blinding all who hate me or what i've suddenly become.

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