Questions... No Answers

Is there a point, or is it pointless?

- This blog?
- This enterntainment?
- This breath?
- This love?
- This life?

Is it absolutely necessary for me to do anything of merit?

Do I have to do something to avoid mediocrity?

Why is there this obsession, this fear of mediocrity?

Why do I feel this incredible need to do something huge?
- The need to be someone important?

There is this pull,
some force that tells me I am meant for so much more than this.
Like I was made to be something different.
Someone important.

And if this force is not just in my head,
then why the hell do I feel so completely useless?
Like I've done nothing with myself and time is so against me?

I want to revolutionize.
What? I don't know yet.

Something belongs to me.
Something in me makes me different.
Something in me aches to do something incredible.

Something fantastic.

And yeah, this blogging totally helps...
It's just me wasting time again.
I need to get to work...

"Perfect Despair"

Those two words keep sticking in my head.
When this type of thing happens,
When words like that get stuck in my mind and I can't seem to get them out,
My first instinct is to write.

(Not blog.)

But no words can describe my tragedy.
No words could ever tell you how I used to hurt.
How I used to be so afraid.
How I try to accept one of the worst things ever to happen to me.

How would you cope if your worst fear came to pass?
Because one of my worst fears,
The fear of losing my one and only,
It happened.

No one knew and no one will ever know how much it frightened me.

So I did what I could to continue.
And now, without much effort on my part at all,
I continue.
But now there is this permanently empty spot inside me.

My light has gone away,
and with it went all other things I had to comfort me in the dark.
But now all this time has passed,
And my eyes have adjusted.
I have forged weapons of my very own for protection,
but still I remain in shadow.

This emptiness,
This loss of a soul,
Loss of life,
Now it's all I know,
And it is all I can see of my future.

I think "Perfect Despair" sums it up pretty well.

Title

So we've never discussed the title of my blog.
Since no one reads this, then it doesn't really matter but I need something to take up the space in my head right now so i'll give an example of "the little things that kill."

Phone call.

Yes, a simple phone call.

The first call that killed was the worst.
It took everything I had inside of me up until that point.
My loss of a soul became evident to those around me and they left as well.
That hurt more.
Tore more of the life out of me.
But I came to conclusions, epiphanies if you will,
after these tragedies struck my not so bullet proof shell.

I had my nice walls all securely built, and there was but one person that could ever get through again.

And she did.
She didn't even speak to me the next time she saw me.
All she had to do was be there, and I crumbled.
Badly hidden beneath bitterness and resentment of course.
Cracking stupid jokes and laughing at the perfectly wrong time so she would know...

I told her to forget my name and number after that.
She said ok, so I thought it was finally over.
Then I get a phone call tonight.
Another excuse for me to not be out of her life.

The little things that kill.

And I'm still dying.

Knots

I still get all tied up in knots when I think certain things could happen.
It's a crazy making situation.
The things I do to keep the torture flowing.
It's insane.
I love love and hate it too.
It's everything.
It makes up my entire being.