theres a certain feeling about it.

when yer feet scruff the carpet and the dust flies up into my nose, i can see that in slow motion, the tennis shoes as they back away and turn around, the wind sneaking through the door making me colder as you smile sweetly and leave.its like this image of blue jeans that will never leave my mind, creases and spots and rips, patched and unpatched, always moving always warm.

the softness of a face in a picture tells me again of things that are lost. there was a light around it, a glow that shows through in the image that tells me, this is the image, the slight look of anger, that look of anger and fear and love and happiness and annoyance all at once. that look that i saw more and more often and let the distance come in and fill up this crack that had appeared, filled it up and burst it all. im a fool for not seeing the distance behind that look and running through it, running past it and closing it off. i think thats me though, always seeing something going a bit away and being too afraid to move, too afraid to make the wrong decision.

for a second, ill tell you what i think. i dont change my pants much because i like the way they look. i like peeling the paint off of them in the days after painting. i like to draw characters out of the shapes made by the brush marks on them. i cut my own hair, and i wont let anyone else do it for me. my hair grows for me to cut it, its my toy to play with. i want to make others know that i have similar feelings to them, so that we can together be less alone. i realized once that no matter how close you are to someone, you are always alone on the inside, they cannot know your thoughts. but if you show someone something beautiful, that beauty brings a part of you into them, and they can cherish it and feel less alone. people that are not self-reflective do not enjoy mu company i think, for they do not feel the loneliness of life. i am here for those that have searched inside, and have found that it is only themselves, their thoughts, that no one else is here.

of course i still wonder if this is worth doing. if the touch of a hand will bring warmth that will not fade. i am lost in this maze of flesh and wants, seeing the negative and positive, judging neither and following the only obvious path. when i kiss my girl i only want it to be over, it doesn't bring me pleasure, only this pitiful suggestion of what pleasure should be, in the way a few pennies suggests real money. is it that i care for myself so little now that its impossible to care for others? how is it that its not written plain as day on my face, my nonchalance and my absentness.
like a paper boat in a drainpipe, surrounded by dirt and beauty im stuck in the tar, anything that moves me forward destroys me as well. i long for beauty but what could i do with anything beautiful? am i capable of preserving it, serving it, changing it, of even witnessing it at all? or am i so full of sorrow and regret that my words are meaningless whines and mumbles, perceived as self-referential babble by a populace that has no way of understanding? how can i change my facade, how can i empty this sad serenity that has flowed from the inner depths of my mind ever since i first realized i had to care for myself?
i cannot communicate wisdom i do not possess to people that have neither the time nor inclination to care or listen.
my madness will surely destroy me, for how can i fight the demon that brings me the only pleasure i know.

or mebbe im just upset cause there is no weight behind the kisses i receive, no sweeping melodrama that quickens my pulse and drives me crazy with confusion. and of course i want confusion, it gives me something to work for, a goal that cannot be accomplished simply be knowing what is wanted and doing it. any fool can do that. i want to work for something intangible only to have the focus switched to some other random point, for all perfect things have their flaws, only boredom is flawless.