Blank

I can't write because I can't be alone.
It's fucking hot, no air conditioning.
I'm paranoid someone I know will see me writing.
I don't want anyone to know...
But I want everyone to know...
And nobody needs to know.

I want to go somewhere.
Get away.
I mean far away.
Escape.
Where it doesn't matter what I wear.
If I shower.
What I write.
Where there are drugs.
Enough to keep my mind occupied.
Where money isn't an issue.

I can have anything I want.
Guilt free.
I want to float.
Or fly.
Through freedom.
Bask in it.

I want to forget the troubles of the world for a moment.
Forget my troubles forever.
I don't want to go out of my way to please anyone.
I want to naturally please.
I want to murder my inhibitions.
I want to soak my anxiety in hydrofluoric acid.
I want to remember.
I want to do.
Just to do whatever the fuck I want.
Like I write whatever the fuck I want.

I want to be logical.
I want everything to make sense.
I need a drink...
Or seven.

All I've written is bullshit.
Every word on this blog...
Bullshit.
Every idea...
Bullshit.
Every dream...
Bullshit.
Every poem...
Bullshit.
Every half hearted story I never finished...
Bullshit.

You shouldn't be reading this.
You're wasting your time.
There's nothing to see here.
No feelings to feel.
No life to care for.
No words to understand.

It's all beautifully sick twisted bullshit.
None of it really matters to you.
None of it really matters to anyone...
But me.
And I don't even want to see any of it.
I don't want to read any of it.
I don't want any of it to matter anymore.
It hurts.
These are my self inflicted wounds.
I'm the only one who can hurt myself.
I'm the only one who can love myself.
I won't allow anyone in.
Not even the one's I want in.

This isn't what I imagined.
This isn't what I thought.
It's too hard.
Hard to keep a friend...
And be selfish.
Easy to get what I want.
Then feel guilty.

Think.
Think.
Think.
Think.
Think.

I want someone to know exactly what I want and what I need.
Come pick me up.
Take me somewhere.
Anywhere.
Allow me to feel comfortable.
Allow me to feel wonderful.
Allow me anything I want.
Lead conversation.
Kidnap me.
Drown in another's company.
Enjoy it.

I want someone who will make my life easier.
I want to do the same for that person.

I want to get high now...
Because there is nothing else to do.
I don't care about anything.
Because I don't have anything.
Because anything is something...
And something is nothing...
And in nothing resides a shell...
Of what I used to be.
Here lie the words,
Of how I once would think.
There lies the me,
That I want to be.
I'm stuck...
In between.
Once enraged with feeling...
Now blank at best.
Emotions...
Fuck them.
Logic is...
Where it's at.

Pardon my gibberish.