Fake

I’m tired of how fake this world seems.

The fake smiles. The fake laughs. The fake pictures with the fake angles and the “fake enhancing” filters.

Who are the people my profile calls my friends? Is anything I know about them real? Or is everything I believe them to be a mirage of what or who they hope they are or want to be?

Maybe they’re just as lost as I am because, God knows, I have no idea who I am.

So to you, my friends, whether now or later, it’s okay to say that you do not know, when I ask you who you are.

Because: we’re all just crawling in the dark choosing what we believe to be real.

Run

I don’t know who I am anymore. I cannot even remember who I was before all this.

How long have I been running? What have I been running from? And why do I always feel like I haven’t run far enough?

It sucks not being able to talk to you. I see you almost every day and all I want to do is go up to you and ask you about your life.

How’s school?

Are you still playing music?

Am I still not just another statistic?

Was it really your who told me to stay away? Or did you just make that up so I would leave you alone?

I know it was hard to understand why I said what I said and did what I did, but you don’t know what it’s like to have no control over your emotions: to feel the under tow pull you down as you thrash helplessly, pulling all those around you down.

I miss out conversation. I miss everything about you: your laugh, your smile. The smile that made everything alright. That made the worst days the best day.

That smile that keeps me up at night and taunts me in my dreams.

“This is the story of a girl,
Who cried a river and drown the whole world.
And while she looks so sad in photograph I absolutely love her,
When she smiles…”
Story of a girl – Nine Days

Rock and a Hard Place

It’s the hardest thing in the world: seeing you almost every day and not being able to talk to you. I want to know how you’re doing. I want to know if you’re still playing music. If you’re happy or sad or angry. I want to know everything there is to know about you… but I can’t.

There is this wall between us now: I put it there. I fucked up and scared you and now, you can’t even look me in the eye.

What would I give to turn back time: to take back that night I said all those stupid things, but I can’t, so I’m stuck here between a rock and a hard place.

It’s more than I can bare…

Only Happiness

Lately, I don’t feel like a belong in this band anymore…

We practice together, we perform together, but when the music stops, you guys go one way and I’m just standing here, looking on from a distance. Do you ever think of asking me to come along? How can we be band mates, and not be friends? How could that ever hope to work? I never thought I’d be a part of a band and still be the odd one out.

We were friends once upon a time, but those times are over it seems. You make me feel like you have neither respect for me; trust in me nor care for me. Last year when M was part of the band, he got the flu one week and missed practice. You made him cupcakes and drive all the way to his place to give it to him. Two weeks ago I ended up in the hospital not more than five hundred meters from where you live and you could not even be bothered to message and say, “Hey, I hope you don’t fucking die.”

I feel like you’re just waiting for me to give up. Maybe it’s time you found a drummer you can care about. Somebody you want to have around.

Honestly, I would have followed you to the end of the world, if only you gave a damn.

I wish you only happiness.

Fool

I wish you didn’t feel like you had to hide from me.

I’ve been good: I’ve kept my distance, and I will continue to do so.

So please, don’t hide your face. Don’t act like that can really shield you from my sight. If we have to exist in the same room together, don’t treat me like a fool.

I’ll stay away, I won’t say a word, but if you keep acting like this, I’ll have to give up my favourite watering hole and that’s just not fair.

I was here first…

Undeliverable

Dear W,

I wanted  to thank you for everything you’ve done for me, both K and you: You welcomed me into your family and I do not take that lightly.

That is why it is so hard to say that I am leaving.

I had a lot of fun at first and I believed that it would last forever, but in life, nothing lasts forever, not this, not anything.

I’m no longer comfortable being here. As a matter of fact, it’s a horse hair’s breath short of being complete and utter torture for me, with the only thing keeping me in it being a promise I made a long time ago.

However, the person I made that promise to no longer cares about me, so I’m just banging my head against a brick wall now; Having to sit and watch something that makes me sick to my stomach.

It’s almost like she wants me to suffer…

In the end, I’m not wanted and easily replaceable, and I’m looking to find people who think me irreplaceable because even as I write this, I feel like the only thing any of you are thinking about is who the next person will be, and whether he’ll learn his place in time.

That’s how M and you have made me feel in recent history.

Take care and God speed.

Kal.

Goodbye…

Do you know how the choices you make affect me?

Do you even care?

If not, then what am I doing here?

Why am I sacrificing so much of who I am, for someone who hurts me and doesn’t even care that they do?

I want to talk to you about it, but every time I’ve tried to talk to you about us in the past, you’ve run away from it.

IF YOU DON’T WANT ME IN YOUR LIFE THEN JUST SAY IT! DON’T PLAY GAMES WITH ME! DON’T PRETEND TO BE MY FRIEND! DON’T!

DON’T!! DON’T!!! DON’T!!!! DOOOOOONT!!!!

……….

Don’t torture me…

I won’t let go, so you Have to let me go. Put me out of my misery.

All you have to say is good bye, and I’ll leave you, this world and everything I knew behind and try again in another life.

Sanctuary

I know I haven’t written much lately. The words are there but every time I sit here and I stare at the blank page, it stares right back at me, and it scares me.

I’ve been writing in here for 7 years: It is my sanctuary. It is the one place that I can say all the stupid things going on in my head without fear or regret or judgement.

When I made it public, that changed. Now I feel the weight of the world’s eye bearing down on me with every keystroke.

Why did I do that?

Maybe I got fed up of screaming into the void.

Maybe I wanted attention: some small belief that my words would actually be heard by someone else and I wouldn’t feel as alone.