#empty thoughts

Am I only a pretty face?

A nice body?

Why is it that I’m enough to be lusted, but never enough to be loved?

Every time I meet someone new I think it’s going to be different.

But it never is.

And at the end of the day I’m always left feeling more empty and alone than before…

Or you drying his hair after his shower and he sat patiently watching you from the mirror. Or the gentle knock on your shoulder with his while you walk together side by side. You exchange knowing looks and smiles while bumping shoulders.

Or how natural it is when you slide across the bed, into his arms and he just accepts you even he is deep in slumber. His body finds yours like two magnets come together.

Cincinnati, Ohio

Theatrical Collapse

“I can’t let myself be loved.

Every time we talk, you make me feel excited, free, as if I have nothing to lose. But as soon as you hang up, everything turns off—the music I thought was harmonizing our love fades, and the vivid colors reflected by the sun turn into the cold, melancholic shades of the moon, even when it’s still hidden.

Then you call again, and everything colors itself once more. Suddenly, life isn’t so harsh with you by my side. But out of fear that the whole stage will fall apart again, I seek comfort in others.

I walk with you while looking back, making sure there are others behind me, waiting for the moment to reopen the scene with someone else. I don’t know how to love, much less believe that you will stay, but I am lost in the euphoric sensation of loving without expecting the certainty of your presence in my home.”

I am tired of feeling unloved.

I do not think anybody could ever love an unusual creature of perpetual habit like me. Only can they become intrigued with fascination of the unknown. Digging and prodding, only to yield no answers, fueling their anger until they move on to next best thing of existence, one that will gift them with the satisfaction they do hungrily desire.

I am tired of feeling this way.

My mind takes me to the dungeons of a Victorian castle in some frightful place unknown. Even the moonlight raises no hope against this stand of darkness within. I can never seem to escape the shackles. I must free myself. I must free my brain from it’s cranium. And then maybe I will finally be set free at last.

I am tired of the hollow emptiness.

It almost feels as if there is nobody else out here in this void of darkness. I call out, echoes of silence are my only answer in return. I turn mute. Only to match the peaceful, yet painful silence, that I am forever engulfed in.

I am tired of feeling trapped.

I wish I could free myself from this labyrinth, that I somehow found myself stumbling into. The birdcage in my chest that encloses a beautiful bluejay, feels punctured with every breath, being poked and prodded for amusement.

I am tired of breathing.

I breath, just for the oxygen to be sucked out of my lungs through the mouth of a lover, into the infinite space unknown. It is pointless, I shall take shallow breaths until my breathing diminishes altogether; this way it can never be stolen at the hands of a thief needy for more, again.

I am tired of seeing the good.

It becomes painfully hard to see the good, when I can only feel the bad. My eyes are the most diligent. They never fail at accomplishing to deceive me with enticements that are almost up for no refusal. I know better to believe the sweet lies that my eyes show me, telling me all is well. Almost nothing in this world is.

I am tired of fighting.

I am strong and indestructible, until I am not. I become so weak and fragile that with every step I take, my bones creak, revealing my hand of vulnerability. My armor has become too heavy, my arms to weak. Tears cascade down the calming silver onto the battle ground. Fighting has become pointless. It is not in my favor. But someone must win the battle. This war must end eventually.

I am tired of only being seen externally.

My body has nothing left to give. I have ripped every organ out with my bare hands, just to serve them on a silver platter to the greedy. I have given almost everything away, but no one has accepted my heart yet. Seek pity on me and just take what’s left of my heart and make it yours.

I am tired of this torturous day to day life.

A good day only seems to stare at me with wide eyes, extending it’s hand. I reach out in acceptance, thinking greatness is to be bestowed upon me, at last. I am deceived into receiving the small left over bread crumbs called inconvenience. I watch as the the latter is passed on to the next one in line awaiting the opportunity of delight.

I can’t do this much longer.

I am just really really tired.

but full of the wrong thing.

like a cookie tin with sewing needles,

or coffee can with old oil.

would you rather it be an irrelevant, empty vessel?

does filling it with something else mean it's full again?