in a daze

i think i've come up with enough courage to poke my head out of the sand for a gasp of much-needed air.

so what's become of me? i couldn't tell you the truth, really. i'd honestly just feed you silver-lined bullshit because i was so nervous, so self-conscious that nothing ever really mattered at all to me.

i had an unwavering yearning for self-fulfillment. as time passed on, my visions became unclear as my mind sat in a haze. what did i want? was there a differentiation between my wants and my needs? did i really need this, or you? if it was pain, or elation, it was running deeper, cutting bottomless crevasses into my reality.

i was unable to tell if things were beautiful, even if they did hurt.

i decided that i needed to feel alive. to see that there was a difference between living and being alive. this was not an issue of semantics. i wanted to be vulnerable, to liberate myself in ways i couldn't explain nor ask of anyone else. i wanted to make a decision that could possibly be my downfall.

i wanted to say the word "love" again.

this has been long overdue.

proposal

due to an overwhelming amount of anxiety, i will be taking a leave of communicative absence until spring.

until then, i promise you that i will fix this and to make everything right again, it's just that i cannot be content until all the moves have been made. the only problem is that it's my turn to initiate the cascade.

over and out, captain.

convolution

two separate functions
one area of convergence
two opposing mindsets
infinite divergence

what am i to you?

two: captain's confessional

my life is a loaded gun. i can vividly remember being in high school and always crossing my arms so that their inside faces were always hidden. i wore hoodies for the sake of them having long sleeves. even today, i cross my arms to hide my past.

playful touching is a somewhat awkwardly restricted action. from what skin tone can hide, touch can reveal secrets that i don't want you to know. i slide my left hand under the shoulder portion of my shirt to feel what's still remaining. i know what it feels like to not want to be touched.

there are so many hidden facets in plain view, but i alter my nonverbal communication to keep them from your eye.

if i ever made you laugh, i want you to remember that.

if i ever crossed the line, i want you to tell me that.

if i ever offended you, i want to be told that i did.

if i ever did anything that was not part of a mutual agreement, i want you to condemn me.

if i ever gave you less than the utmost respect you deserve, i want it to be known.

if i ever failed to give you attention, i want you to tell me that i was being selfish.

if i ever made you cry, i want my feelings to be torn.

if i ever lied to you, i want to be criticized.

if i ever falsely assumed you of something, i want to be scorned.

if i ever was deceitful, i want to be retaliated against.

if i ever complimented you, i'd like you to acknowledge that.

i am a very reserved person. combined with an anxiety-laden head on my shoulders, i don't expect to be respected nor communicated with. i will talk with purpose, but also poor delivery. i value the substance of words and the emotions they evoke. i am not a nice person. i am selfish, undeserving, and pretentious. i have allowed these negative traits to diffuse across my entire brain, slowly creating the mass of anxiety i hold today. i cannot find satisfaction in anything that is not another person. the substance that casual conversation holds satiates me like no other necessity. my personality is great defined by the text i consume. i am not a highly-refined individual.

i only create media for myself to consume. all other eyes that lay a glance at these convoluted fragments of text merely see it as entertainment. it may be ambiguous and sporadically constructed, but there is a purpose.

i've been constantly wondering if you're honestly telling me the truth. if there's a conversational filter at all between what we say and what we mean. ideally, i'd like to be there while we grow old and live our lives, i just wish that i felt as if i deserve to be alive to see it.

matriculation

standing atop a silver slate facing an ocean. all i can think about is rappelling down the face of the quarry wall. wishing for a safe descent, slowly progressing to that clearly-defined edge. the wind pours over our ears, creating minuscule currents of air that whirl into our aural caverns, sending multiple sensory impulses.

i cannot describe what security feels like.

i cannot relate to a summer that was not mine.

wide-eyed and with shortened breaths, i apprehend a small glimpse of what ground zero appears to be. a sea of red velvet littered with an array of white roads. a candy-painted circuit board safety net.

but what rests beyond this red and white lie?

what never ceases, but fails to rear its head?

focusing on the level plane while facing straight down, i feel a rush of lightheadedness as my brain attempts to calculate this astronomical distance and how much pain will be caused. with idle hands, a void continues to remain malignant in some part of my personality.

they say the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.

but what happens if i alter the vector?

thoughts are constantly reeling through my inner thought processes. a neural battlefield creating an immeasurable cataclysm. a controlled explosion of catastrophic proportions. an amalgamation for the convalescent.

we're all born to fabricate some sort of death wish.

we all bleed as if it was our obligation to fulfill it.