Lackluster

I see it as an injustice really.

Talk is cheap. Life is cheap, or at least somehow I feel cheated. Moonlight has struck again and no clearer am I to resolving those inner turmoils that plague a nation. But plague on some lower level, inside my heart. I see no need for people to feel the way they feel. Perhaps I’m an egotist, a sadist, but at least I keep that on the inside. For me, like it, to show the world the teeth that dug into this brain quite some time ago, would be like unmasking the horrible skeletons in everyone’s life. Oh wait, they’ve already done that.

It has no bearing on my life, what has happened in its past. I have no opinion, no emotion, and no advice to give. I would rather draw blood from myself with a rusty needle than to listen the way I do, the way I do still. Please see, that it doesn’t matter to me. Talk until the words blur, scream until the words repeat themselves over and over again, a telegraph that plays in my mind, invades my sleep, and robs me slowly of my sanity. That thin line that separates is slowly deteriorating, and no longer can I stand by. It wears me to the core…makes my hands cold and my ducts well up. Unrealesed tears in presence will make me a case study…but better then letting in the shards.

The world does not need this gift. It has not been bestowed upon us to kneel down and pray to. In fact, for those who posess any intelligence or common sense in matters of human psychology, it is considered sick. Perverse. My release comes in the form of feeling my hands warm while typing. It will never come from the words that spew out of its mouth and land on my skin like green acid that eats me to the bone. Respect is expected, and I abide by the conformity of a society that says if I want to buy things, I have to dish out that respect. So the words are safe, and of course there is my total lack of wanting any conflict. That is my downfall, fallen on deaf ears. Joined by any and all thought I’ve had in the last five months. Any intuition, genius, or initiative that swells in me has been swallowed. Pitted in my stomach. That ‘gift’ moves around with all eyes on it, as if by hypnotic trance its followed by the like, and ruined any chance for true greatness. No spotlight for the deserving, no rest for the wicked.

I make no claim that I am better, or worthy of what I think it is not. I simply state that no longer can I keep this burden without some sort of release. If it is this, so shall it be. The tiny footprints that are left on me everyday will finally destroy me or make me explode. I can’t predict which, and I hope it’s the former. I couldn’t bear to look smugness, bitterness, ego, and a God complex in the eye and resist delivering it mind blowing reality. I still have to buy things, afterall.

I consider it shunned in my eyes, and please forgive my resistance to run away when it is presented to me. If I walk, take that as a sign of supressing an urge, of what I’d really like to do. It bothers me, that it bothers me. It bothers me that I am unable to sweep it under the rug where so many of my other festerings lay dormant. This is not easy to resolve as it is a part of that human personality, and there is no way to change it, or at least, I don’t have the means.

I wish no harm (outwardly), I only wish to find peace with this and make it bearable again. Bring back that shimmer in me that has been torched to a dull finish.

Please remove the glass shards from my brain. They don’t belong to me.

“Who’s gonna drive you home, tonight?” ~The Cars