Bonfire

A fire burns in my heart.

It’s stifling. Brimming. Incandescent.

And yet it shines on no one.

I’m but a kindle vessel, baking in to out.

Steam escapes me like a smokers cough

and I hack and hack into my hand.

Tears rolling down smolder cheeks from it

slicing divots: a red, red path

ending in a torrent for the tongue,

lapped up ceaselessly.

A waterfall that gurgles to the gut

and sizzles on that fire.

Evaporated.

And

started

again.

I think that falling in love is one of the worst things that can happen to anyone. Once you fall in love you can’t help it. I hate anything in my life being so out of control.

But people need love. I need love. And so I show it and I get it and that’s the end.

Love is sort of a greedy mistress. A black hole temptation for the mind. It swirls downward, downward and then we expect love to be what sustains us. Love to be what takes care of us.

No.

You take care of yourself. It’s safer that way. It’s easier that way. Trust me, you won’t realize it now but when you’re almost dead. When you’re hanging there, sighing your last I-love-you’s when you wonder who made those words up? It’s just a phrase composed randomly of 26 characters we were taught to say when we were 2. Their words attached to a meaning we can’t express. A meaning that if we could, would eat us up inside anyway, because we could never fathom how to express it but by shedding our own bodies red.

How ignorant to love.

The above is sort of a monologue that I came up with. The first was a poem.

The below is sort of thoughts I’ve been having for the past few days.

I’m sort of addicted to writing. I can’t really help it. Sometimes I get into frenzy and I spout of a whole bunch of words! I think the worst though is when I can’t find anything to write about.

But writing is the perfect stress reliever. The best high I can get sober. :)

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking on the human psychology and man! It’s soo cool! It just makes me wanting to be a psychologist all the more worth it.

I both enjoy and despise how indecisive I am.

Sometimes I get a little too angry, or too upset or too happy, without examining all the results that may happen afterward.

I’m so glad to have feelings. I’d rather be miserable constantly then to not have the capability of being miserable.

I feel like writing a song.

I’m reading Susan Kay’s Phantom and it kind of blows my mind.

I wish I could tell people I love them instead of hiding it because I’m afraid of what they’ll say back…

What an odd blog this was! :)