THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
You break my heart.
FG, FF- You have ruined our lives forever, holding our hearts in irreverent hands.
Anything I do, anywhere I go, my guts still belong to where I came from. This place is fucked, the scene is fucked- I don't even know what any of it means anymore. I feel like I got pushed out of what I once owned, and I have no idea what's going on inside it anymore.
I miss allience. I miss hating what we were, and knowing everyone else hated us for it.
Maybe being owned by a city and the colors it makes, by the gods and the strings its wrapped all over me- Maybe that means more. I am part of a larger body. I am a face among many, an individual in a crowd of individuals, made that way not by their rebellion or persistance but by the environment out of which they came, and the survivalism it breeds inside us. Maybe being part of something solid means more. I am loyal to this city in ways I cannot explain. Here or elsewhere- I know exactly where I'm from and how its crippled me.
But still.
I miss it. I don't care anymore, and I don't need to belong. I understand why people do. I understand what it's like in the beginning.
I envy them a little, I think.
I am too impulsive. I am obsessed, fixated, in a way that inhibits my interaction and judgement of others. It's sick. It's sick because I can't help it, and it's sick because I don't really want to stop it anyway. I feel like I'm protecting myself in this way. They are my optimism, they are the only pull on the outside world, on the goodness of others that I have. My heart breaks a hundred times because I know it is not real, and I know that every word I write takes it father away from reality, and draws me farther in. I would give anything for it, somedays. For those people. For a life filled with troubles, cushioned by the exclusivity and preciousness of the company.
They are my ideals. I have worked so hard to find them, and I'm not any closer to making them material.
I don't understand it anymore. They are a part of it. I hate him. I want nothing from you and you give it to me anyway. You steal every thought, all of the future. Thirteen to their nine? Are you kidding me? It may not be prose, but I'm not stupid.
I don't even know anymore. You don't exist.