Roads

Everyday I have been making efforts and reaching out in hopes someone will see me... to take notice, to feel. I take photographs and post them for people to see and think about... always with a comment about myself and the way I feel. I realize I'm an amateur and my skill is lacking in comparison, but no one even bothers to look at it... the message doesn't seep into their minds. I write in here, my most intimate of thoughts, and no one reads them... again no one feels. In a world full of eyes, no one sees. My thoughts of being insignificant and invisible only worsen by my continual attempts... inside I die a little more. How can this death be so prolonged... it seems to last an eternity. How much worse can someone feel, before they turn cold and numb and feel nothing at all? Admittedly, I live a very isolated life and I don't cross paths with the walking often... but even the people that see me everyday, within my own home, don't see. I sit at my desk and cry for hours. I take a fistful of medication so I can sleep and keep the nightmares away. The slashes across my arms, where I cut myself just to feel something other than the pain on the inside. Nothing registers, no one takes notice. I step outside to walk with the living with sorrow tattooed on my face and tears swelling in my eyes and no one notices... not one will ever approach me or offer me one pleasantry. How many tears can I cry... how much more can I bleed? How can it feel this wrong...


Listen & Feel

T.O.D. - Another Side

This selected piece is is different from the others I have posted... this one shows another side of myself. I am not a totally heartless, bloated piece of shit... there is something left, even if it has been lost. This one has been published in several books... I have no idea why.


“Just One Chance”

Just one chance to touch your soul.
Is all I want to do.
To hold you close within my arms,
To say, I love you.

Just one chance to kiss you deep,
For in your heart I’d stay.
You’re a picture perfect lady,
And you take my breath away.

Just one chance to have a love,
That grows stronger everyday.
The countless ways you’ve touched my heart,
Is more than I can say.

Just one chance is all I ask.
Now it’s up to you.
I could hold you close or walk away;
Our love would be so true…

Information Highway

It is amazing how contact with another person can cause such a tidal wave of emotion... so beautiful and destructive at the same time. Whether it be verbal, physical or just a glance... the result is always the same for me. Imagine a highway filled with people traveling to and from their destinations. Everything is flowing smoothly and balanced... like water in a creek. Then comes contact, an accident or obstruction... the fluidity ceases and in it's place is chaos. The drivers must adjust accordingly, whether it be stopping to a screeching halt, swerving aside or calmly slowing down... the situation must be registered, evaluated and then processed. I tend to hide myself from the world, but out of desperation I find myself reaching out at times... to strangers, acquaintances or family. Most of the time people's instant response is rejection, but on the rare occasion when someone reaches back and contact has been established, my mind locks up... prepare for impact. Waves of emotion come crashing down, all of which conflict with one another... there is no balance and registering the event becomes very difficult at best. The voices in my mind begin their chanting and the symphony of chaos begins it's haunting melody causing the evaluation to become fragmented and desperate... joy, sorrow, love, hate, empathy, pity, appropriate or unseemly. Frustration and anxiety settles in while my mind tries to process all of these emotions... traffic is at a standstill and the motorists are restlessly awaiting for the debris to be cleared. Everything is cloudy and blended... it is impossible to take all of this in and come upon a conclusion. Some end result of the event that can be clearly defined, therefore allowing me to make a choice on what the most desirable reaction should be. It's hard enough to wade through the waves of emotion as they bombard me relentlessly, but with all of the noise, chatter and disorder being added by the voices in my mind, I want more than anything to swim back to shore... but there is none in sight. Even the simplest event is turned into an epic moment... what am I feeling, how should I be feeling, what should I do now, how, why, are you sure, what if? It is maddening. All of this manifests itself into a desire to stop reaching out... then the loneliness comes back, desperation settles itself within again and I find myself once more screaming inside to reach out. I have lost all ability to relate and communicate freely with the outside world... all that remains inside is the rotting company of my illness and the legion of demons that taunt me endlessly without mercy. I wish I could end this cycle of destruction... I long for the peace and comfort of my own skin. All the while, I long for my voice to be heard and for a day to come, when someone will answer me and reach back with the patience and compassion for me to express myself in kind. I suppose that is a lot to ask. People in the world today have many burdens to bear on their own... they need not be burdened with my dysfunctions. It is unfair to them and it is unfair to me... but the nightmare never stops. It will continue to play itself out over and over again... as hard as I try, I cannot stop reaching out. I cannot stop dreaming.

Aegrescit Medendo

The sorrow and weariness is overwhelming... swelling, consuming and enveloping my every thought and emotion. I am tired, so tired of being alone... here in this place I sit alone and watch the world and all within it together. Such strength and magnificence is displayed in their relationships. Here, surrounded by family, I am alone. Here, surrounded by warmth, I am cold. Here, surrounded by laughter, I am crying. Their words can not pierce through the walls surrounding me. I have sealed every entry for my own protection. Now left alone, in this cell, who will protect me? I have become the creature that lurks beneath the bed... ready to devour myself and steal any remaining comfort. I have become the skeleton locked away in the closet... a constant reminder of the things I loathe the most. How much remorse is required for redemption... how many apologies equate to forgiveness? In this solitude, nothing can penetrate through... no love, no light, no touch, no breath. In this solitude, nothing can escape... sorrow, loss, hatred, despair and darkness entangle and suffocate this shell of a man. The walls are too steep to climb and be free..there is no door nor place for a key. I long to feel those words once uttered for me... rather than have them labeled as a dream. With little faith and trust for another person, I locked myself away... never to feel the pain again dealt from the deceivers and takers of this world. It was for my survival, remaining sanity and protection... the walls took those precious things away, now I can see. With no one left to feel or offer comfort, peace and assurance... who will protect me, from me?

The Beautiful People

How much different would life be, if I was beautiful / handsome? It seems to be the moving force behind someone noticing your existence. People flock around beautiful people... like lemmings marching to their fate or a wolf to an injured prey. It doesn't matter if you're disgusting on the inside, it doesn't matter if you have zero talent... mindlessly they gather bringing trinkets of praise or manipulation. A good example would be a photography community known as "Flickr"... search for awhile and you will see with your own eyes. I was looking around there today and stumbled upon a young lady's page... perhaps in the range of 14-16 years old. She had posted on her main page her visit count and literally within weeks had over 9,000 different people come admire her "photographs". It wasn't her talent all of those people came to see, because there was none... just fluff, photoshop editing and flesh. The are some that post on Flickr that would be considered "less desirable" physically, but their photographs are beyond stunning... do they receive even a fraction of the praise, attention and comments- No. For someone like myself, this can be extremely hurtful. I am in no way handsome or desirable, whether it be inside or out... nor do I possess any form of talent. Does this make me of less importance in the world... does it mean I can't succeed with in my pursuits or dreams? It feels that way. However, this could just be another mass delusion and conspiracy I have imagined. I guess the real question would be... Does the world reject me because all they can see is my own self hatred?

What Is T.O.D. ?

Assuming anyone even reads this blog, perhaps I should take some time to explain this reoccurring terminology- T.O.D. . What the hell am I talking about? Well, T.O.D. , is the abbreviated title of my book I wrote long long ago. The actual title is "Thoughts… Or Delusions, Whatever They May Be". It's basically a collection of my poetry, writings and experiences of my life. In an earlier post, I referred to it as a failure... which in a sense it was and in another it wasn't. I've had some of my poetry published in several books, so in a way it wasn't a complete failure. As a whole however, things didn't go so well. I used to know this really rich guy that owned several businesses, one of which was a publishing house. I gave him a copy of my book and he just loved it... he said he found it very moving. Then he told me, "But... I can't publish it for you. Poetry doesn't sell unless your dead or famous.". So, with my tail between my legs, there ended my writing career. So, long story made short... T.O.D. is a book. My book... my life... my long lost dream.

T.O.D. - More Of The Same

"Time"


You got the time...
To beat me for awhile?
It has been a really long time.
Or curse and rape...
My soul you must break.

You got the time...
To put me down?
I've been feeling pretty good.
How about a lie or two...
That would be just great.

You got the time...
To watch me cry?
I know it always makes you smile.
Whats that?
...perhaps another time.


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