Is it that obvious?

I fell backwards into the chair across from my mother as soon as I was home from work. She tilted her head, gazing at me.

"You look so tired. Your eyes... they look so dark."

I smiled widely, I couldn't help myself.

"Do they?"

Let this burden drift away

I came home from work, immediately running the to the computer to see if he was there. This seemed to be a habit. He was, and my hands fumbled over the keyboard, joyfully popping up a greeting. Then, it began. The harder I fell for someone, the stronger my anxiety became.

2 minutes.

7 minutes.

13 minutes.

No response.

20 minutes.

The timer ended for me at 33, and I just went outside for a cigarette. I carefully sat on my front porch, making sure to sit on my top step, so my feet could rest on the bottom one. I brought the lighter to my face, burning the tip of the cigarette, slowly leaning back and pushing all the smoke out. This is where I always stop, glancing around. My eyes shift from one house to the next; from the houses to the trees looming above them; from the strees to the sky. I brought the cigarette to my lips again, staring straight ahead as I breathed in the poisonous smoke. I began to clutch at myself, wrapping my arms around myself as tightly as possible, since there was no one else to do it for me. My mind always wandered back to him, what I was going to say, what I was going to do to leave an impression. How long would I stare at the monitor before replying?

I took a few more drags, finishing the cigarette. Stood up, walked to the end of the driveway, flicked it in the street. Always the same. I retreated to my bed, gently sitting on it, debating if I wanted to even turn my monitor back on, or if I should just go to bed.

I made the decision to just go to bed.

My phone was turned off; I didn't want to be woken up.

I drifted off quickly, no obstacles in my way.

The night cradled me, lulled me, loved me.

I didn't wake up once.

The next morning

Sun poured in through my window, spilling onto the floor. My body was telling me, screaming at me, that it was too early. I turned over, turning my cell phone back on.

......9:17 a.m.

But more importantly----

no texts

no calls

no questions "Where are you?"

I don't think he cared that I disappeared.

Thinking about this hurts my heart.

chasing, running.

I always wind up chasing.

Always.

How does this happen?

Why can't I ever just sit back and relax?

I thought love was about give and take. But apparently not with me.

Love is about me chasing. And getting turned down.

I throw myself out there haphazardly. I make a fool of myself under all those bright lights. Then I'm left out there, alone.

I still haven't told you the truth.

You'll probably never read this.

But I left him, for you.

turning.

issues? really?

i went through a lot of pain and sacrifice

just to find out he has commitment issues.

exit here. a novel by Jason Myers

"I stalk around my room. I take out this notebook and start writing things down.

Things like:

When I see her, I see need,

I see a black gift wrapped in pink paper,

I see a skeleton draped in red velvet,

I see a frown hiding in a smile,

I see filth and dirt, covered by a rose garden

I crib:

What the fuck is love anyway?

Is it a phone call the next morning?

Is it picking up a hundred-dollar-meal tab?

Is it flowers on the fifth date?

Or is it sleeping on the wet spot?

With my notebook in my lap, my left hand draped against the side of my face, I slam:

You are wrong to think I have no feelings,

You are wrong to think I would not care,

You are not sorry so don't tell me that you are,

You are nothing to me, just some distant black star

I scribble:

July eighteenth.

Three forty-five in the afternoon.

A Team Sleep CD spinning around the player.

I have no one else but myself to blame.

This is all my fault.

It hurts.

It will always hurts.

I will never forget.

I could try, and I will try, but I will never forget.

It will burn in my memory forever.

Just like everything else.

I will not be able to put this away."

careful

you asked me to do this

you told me to do this

i think i let someone break me again

how am i so easily broken?

be careful with my heart

I just want you here, right this moment.

Circling circling inside of you

Close your eyes
Close your eyes
Put your thoughts to sleep
Let your brilliance float to the surface

who feels love

[nido] VIRTUD

Mayhem 2009

How I felt so alive.

Oh, how I wish I were better.

I lay down at night, and I dream. Oh, how I dream. I try to create but I fail miserably. Something half good must come from these fingers at some time or another. It kills me... I used to be quite the artist. I painted and drew for hours upon hours, never looking back. Now the most I do is draw patterns in the cement with my cigarette ashes. I keep a book at my side, and often times it is forgotten for days and weeks. I try so hard to keep it with me, but sometimes my head just lulls to the side and doesn't want to think right. He was the one who inspired me to create, but I don't quite want to remember him anymore. I've moved on to bigger, better things. If you don't want me, then I don't want you.

I try to be happy, I try to smile.

But these sleepless nights are getting to me. They make my body frail and tired, and suddenly I feel like death is approaching. Why can't I just get along during the day like everybody else?

And now, I don't know what I want. I don't know what I want from anybody.

From you, from him, from her. From myself.

What more can I ask? I simply need to keep existing from day to day.

I feel like moving far and starting again.

I've fucked up royally thus far.

These feelings inspire, and these feelings kill.

I never truly feel that I am too alone.

my own pictures.