I want to write my heart out

No body reads this blog and it's better this way. One day, an historian from the future will stumble upon it, read some lines and go on to the next blog about Justin Bieber's abs. I don't know how long this will last. I need to type it out. It starts with a rant. It usually does but sooner or later it turns into something else. A flip switches and some kind of a reaction is set off. A story and images mix until it bursts out into a violet cloud that covers everything I could see seconds ago.

 She took his hands and put them on her mouth. She wanted it him to shut her up. Shut me up. Don't let me speak. Let my voice stay in my throat. Let it resonate through my torso. Vibrate so loud and clear, yet in complete silence, until it strikes your heart and awakes it. Let me awake your heart. Let it resonate with that invisible voice, that vibration that shuffles my body's cells, strikes the airs cords and reaches your torso, messes with your cell and gets to your heart. Let these words I've never said, rock your world like you couldn't imagine. I can hurt you. I can love you. I can change you. With the sound of my silent, invisible voice. I can catch your thoughts. Transform your dreams. I will melt in your hand and mix with your blood. I'll become the leader of each of your organs. I will start a rebellion. I'll tell your stomach to grow an environment suitable for butterflies so you can feel them there all the time, butterflying around. I'll order your pancreas to misjudge the hormonal responses of the other organs. I want you to fell bad. I want him to feel bad. Let him feel bad for once. I 'll tell your hands to clap stupidly. Until they bleed. Bitch. How could ou slap me there and then. I'll make your feet cross and squeeze until your balls hurt. You broke my heart, I'll bust your balls. And I'll let your brain stand there watching. You killed me from inside. Not just once. You heart me over and over again. You have attachment issues, or some poor shit issues that makes your mind the fucked up mind it constantly acts as. I have a knife now and I'm looking at you sleeping but I can't kill you. Because I love you. I love you bitch. Bitch boy. How strange you are with your stupid morning fatigue. And your stupid diet and lifestyle and obsessions. But these cheeks and this hair. God. I'd like to cut you. Make you bleed on my pillows, make a sea out of your blood and swim in despair. Drown. Kill myself in your death. God. I hate you so much it fills my nostrils. It makes me choke. Why did you have to leave? You wanted to see the world and the whores out there? What if I'm the one you idiot? What if you lost me forever? What do you do then?

I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll fucking survive. I'll chew on my wrists and I'll fucking keep breathing caus' there's more than you to life. I'll look into myself and think until I get somewhere. Fuck it, I'll keep thinking until I burn out my neurons. I'll get somewhere safe with my thoughts. Somewhere high and new. I'll discover things hidden within. I'll find a path nobody new. Not even me. Not even you. I'll crack the code. I'll do it.

There's a wave in the distance that's waiting to be ridden. Either that or it's willing to kill someone. And that's a metaphor for you. Waves are there either to kill you or to get you higher. Your skills, your will determine the outcome. I have a surfboard I'm creating now. I know how to survive. I know what to do.

I want to keep going. But God the tears behind my eyes. I shouldn't write when I'm procrastinating so much. And lost so very much. I should just. God. I should have a friend that listens or something. Fuck my everyday loneliness. It feels everyone pours stuff at me and I suck up my own pain. Why didn't you slap so hard so I woke up and understood I shouldn't leave. No.

It wouldn't have been any different. I wouldn't have opened up. I won't open up. I just don't open up. I'm like that. But man, it gets heavy some times. It feels like a mountain and I keep wondering if there isn't a way to make all of this lighter. Do I need to travel for a year. Money, Sex, Heart, Mind, Body. I keep thinking I have all these to accomplish. I have a to-do list and another to-do list and a calendar and e-mails and people who want me to speak and stuff. And all I want to do is just is there like the moron I really am and just weep. And weep some more caus' I'm fucking sad inside. Empty. Like there's nothing to live up too. How horrible is that ? What the fuck am I doing dragging myself every day from building to building, from an obsession to another, from a girl to a woman to another girl and another woman. Like I'm searching for a hook. And there's nothing. Not one thing I want to grab and keep close. It's pure loneliness.

I had an angel when I was a kid and parted with him. Now he's back. God. Isn't there a single person out there that can be the perfect friend? The perfect wing-man, the perfect listener with the perfect wits? I mean not perfect but just adequate? Oh fuck it. I'm going to sleep. Feeling hollow.

Where's the poetry? A deep purple cloud expanded inside her heart and vibrated so strongly it awoke him. He came back from the dead and his eyes were now shining blue, surrounded by purple haze. He was a new god. And he had to fly away. Away. Away.