MIA for others, Venerating for me

It was this weekend. Just me. I adored it, want more of it. It was the pleasure of not talking to anyone, ignoring the world. I had all the time to waste and no one to answer to. It’s simple to do, but guilty to answer to.

Looked upon as if it’s poignant, but it’s what saves me. The cold chill of rain, enclosed by my smile and cherishing the moments of solitude. I wouldn’t ask for anything more. I hate answering. Disrupting what time I have, to be spent on things that don’t enforce my person…Right now, it doesn’t want anything but me.

The yellow lines, unreadable print, challenging my feelings. Attractive, to see feelings spelled out against the yellow lines. You cannot hind from those; seeing them scratched alongside of you. The music filling the chill as it was swallowing me whole. There was no torture in feeling those lines, it was remembering the time when it was harder to breathe. Now, its answering to how this came about. What happened to those feelings, they are not surrounding the same things. Is it a new thought, a gesture of what’s to come.

Or more simply, just repeating the same feelings in other words. Describing another viewpoint from what was already said. It’s funny to think what people might actually think of you, honestly, it’s thought about all the time until it’s just me and those yellow lines. So for now, I take what I can and invent excuses to leave things as I want them to be.

Just me, I adored it, want more of it. Cover me in yellow lines. Chill me in daunting music. To see an ideal concept, alone in yellow lines. 

Bringing me alone to the place the reveals me, its like a child's kingdom, promises that need to be kept. Keep me just as I am.

A Once Over

I'm literally just staring.. at nothing. I want to give more but this isn't going as planned. I want to be this big important person that exists, that people hear about and gasp at the mere fact that I constantly try. But honestly, why? 

My conscious repeats itself in the same patterns. Continuous acknowledgment of myself, my being, my actions. Questioning moves that shouldn't matter. Wanting to please everyone. When will I start having silence with what comes to be. What if I am a bitch. What if I can’t write. What if someone tries to pitch in.  

To the many, its nothing. It simple bliss. I want rooms of books overlooking some crowded view of pleasure. I want to reside among the thoughts of words that escape my thoughts. It’s always going to be a dearest thought. None of it makes sense to the many. Sounds distracting. 

Distractions are good while they last, they just don’t seem at add value into what I want. 

Doesn't seem selfish, not after the fact. It actually feels good if I could just ride into my feelings and just say it. Everyone else does. Looking back, I want to do it for me…but I wont. I’ll do it for someone else. They wont even know. Fuck, I don't even know what this is anymore. Merely just thoughts weaving into carbon. 

Does this mean I have no purpose, probably not. I don’t care (but I always will). I’m a jerk, but its who I have become. Now I will just make sure to avoid the feelings until we all get the point. 

I miss blue, I miss being covered. Now being stuck in this constant flat white, its like stealing something that wasn't meant for me. I don’t want it anymore. Remediating the situation just makes me worthless, lazy, simple. I dare not be simple. It up to those judging me, but I still care. 

I don’t know how to end it. Its like it shocks me each time it comes up for advice. I want it focused on me but I want to find the answer for you. This isn't going to happen each time. They will reach to others. I wont have the same perspective of the situation. I will have my preoccupied words.