I think that I should say it. I feel as though I should say it But is it all wrong; is it all in vain? Do I think that I should just fucking say it out loud? I know how I feel, but I don't want to feel rejected. I could come on too strong. But I've already done that before. And you know how it feels.

I barely know you, yet I feel as though I know you. We're not that close, it's not like a huge approximation. But I know the little secrets that you gave me that make my determination gigantic. You occasionally flood my thoughts in an overall positive way. It's the tumor that I love, the pain that I crave, the imaginary rose that impales the pathological divide of my brain. But I'm too weak to say the words. I'm a pussy, but I've already stated the cause and the bullet has flooded my brain.

You could forget about me. But you say that I'm not disposable, you say that I'm like you. I don't know at all. But are we the magnets that can attract, like the polar opposites? My instability pushes you away from me and into the abyss. The fields. I don't think you understand me, but I'll be there for you. I can't say those words yet; I just need time to figure out if there really is a master-plan.

You'll be gone soon and I'm pretty sure of that. I can't change the past or the present, but I'd like to set a stone for the future. It is probably set in stone. I can't change the past or the present, but I'd like to believe in faith with good reasoning.

You'll be gone soon and it'll tear me apart. You've already entered my life and now you can't leave me. I'll dress the wound, cover it up and move along. But it will leave a scar on my skin, physically and emotionally. There's no one else like you.

I don't want you to be gone soon. I've already lost one tot the battle of life. She was back home in a bed. The last words she even said to me were long before. I'm glad I didn't go to the funeral, the eulogy would've gotten me.

Please don't leave me. I'll beg like the sheep and kneel onto the ground. I'd rather give you my soul so you can live on; I'd die knowing you will outlive me. I don't think the future has materialized yet. Hey, listen! Hark, hark, give me the poison!

But seldom is the chance of outliving death. Just embrace me if and when you can and I'll hold you forever.

Acceptance is one thing. But just being stupid is another. I feel like writing this so I can at least release the emotion and in time for that day. However, I can also doubt myself even for a person of confidence. I was too drunk then and you noticed. I'm sorry for the stress I put on you.

I can believe that I might be doing this foolishly or, at the very least, for some reason. I don't know if I truly love you or I'm stuck in a Romeo & Juliet fantasy, but I look forward to you every single day. But the questions just keep arriving. I just felt horrible that day and I really don't understand myself. Congratulations to my analysis brought from another person.

But I'm running out of everything. The cellar's being deserted. And it might be only a matter of time before life decides to get rid of it.

The title doesn't mean anything, it probably a bother

Though the company of another isn't a romantic fling.

A friend is someone you live for — someone you cherish,

Whether it be an Amish or the one for whom you open the door.

I'm probably a loner, someone who's afflicted like a stoner.

But you turned on the light and told me to fight

You started to talk to me and I was a-loner.

It's been weeks and it all started on December

I was in the car, my words leaked and I think you remember.

However, I started a tear that wore you down; I put it away because I hate to see you frown.

Humans were born to love, born to hate.

The pain has stayed but you perched on the branch like a dove.

I will remember the girl with a name

That is not from here but has stayed the same.

The call of adventure brings mind of what future I'll seek.

Capturing the dense landscape in a lens, writing my heart on fresh pages.

Entertainment.

However, fear and anxiety manifests itself as a pain I do not understand.

Something that tickles my stomach and helps me understand.

There's always some people who will take things the wrong way. You did and I'm sorry for that.

There's always some people who are free and united. I'm still stumbling behind that passion.

Outer space looms in the distance, a vast space of void. The stars shining from the dark blue canvas, I see a constellation of a hunter and his belt.

Here in whatever room I'm in, I'm all alone, by myself writing this as my catharsis.

I don't own a Ferrari and I can call myself a slack. Regardless, I can't impersonate people or trick the school. I feel normal and I'm rowing without a paddle.

I wish to take a day off and just relax outside. But you're not there, so I stay introverted in a white cave.

The desk is there for me to lean on. It doesn't mind. But I do care about my friends and my family. There's a few people I talk to and they can understand.

I just wish I could tell everything to them. And you.

"It's a complicated mix of emotions."

I've never seen what behind those eyes. They might hold beauty or something I've never seen. But what I do know is that eyes hold the window to a soul. The human soul.

The soul is something I've never understood for a while. But I know it is what makes us human. Anyone can have a soul. I have a soul. You have a soul.

Even someone who writes letters or stories from prison can have a soul.

My eyes are troubled. The dark brown in the iris personifies everything that has happened in my life. If you looked into my eyes, you could probably see who I really am.

I'd imagine them a different color as I really find them plain. But they fit me, I guess. They run in the family.

I dream often. But I don't feel like I'm escaping.

We only use a lamp to illuminate the room, it's dull radiance broadcasting over the messy bedroom. But it's crooked, I wonder what that means.

The confines to the room reside on the rectangular object on hinges. Mostly, they're closed at night because isolation provides a familiar sentiment, because it surrounds me and lulls me into neutrality.

But it all stops when I think of you

Whenever I do, I believe you are fine and strive to prove I care. Not as a romantic person but as someone who can be there. All the time spent writing full-stopped sentences is worth it. I get to talk to a person who is somewhat similar to me.

I'm not always there, however. Same with you. And last time I was emotional, I got carried away and ruptured the friendship.

But when you've accidentally fell asleep during our conversations, I can only imagine you asleep. I find it adorable and cute and I mostly say "Good night" to you then in spite of you sleeping soundly.

I can only dream.

Is it weird that I adore how people look when they sleep? To someone else, they think I'm a stalker, but that's false. I like how people look when they are peaceful, calm and happy. But I can only dream. And people can criticize.

My soul is impure and I've witnessed too much. The very same thing that has made me human has also turned me inside-out. I'm sorry for everything that I have caused, just put the blame on me.

It's mostly my cause that has led the conversation down to the doldrums.

But the soulful question I'm wondering is: Do I really care?

It's hard to explain.

These feelings just gets to me because it's so complicated. Just like me.

It's how I come to terms with everything, how I explore the world. But its also what personifies me and makes me who I am.

It's that incorporation of sense that makes it hard to explain, but does it really make sense?

I feel lost, aiming without an arrow.

The feeling of touch and hearing are among my favorites, besides the visuals. They're the backbone to the projector, they immerse you in the experience.

Have you ever ran your hands through hot water, almost to the max temperature? I love that feeling, it gives off an uncanny pleasure. But, luckily, the bathtub never goes to the boiling threshold.

Standing outside and enjoying nature. But I often ignore the wind blowing on my face whenever I'm still. So does my ears, once they almost go numb. I constantly burry my hands in the pockets.

Have you ever tranquilly increased the volume and just let it blast in your ears? The gushing cascade of sensual sound in your mind. It feels so amazing, I can't wait to go deaf!

That's not all, however.

I've opened up old scars and wounds, I've seen blood pour from them. Have you ever tasted it? It's so addicting...

What about emotion, the feeling of feeling? I wonder if that has ever played a role.

Well, I think I can't explain how complicated it is. 

On one hand, I adore you. On the other, I know its wrong. I'm horrible at keeping my thoughts in my head.

But I'll do it for you and everyone else.

i don't dream in color, but I'd like to think so.

even if I try hard enough, the picture's fuzzy.

the headphones accompany my imagination when I lay on the bed

but I'm drenched in the waves, paralyzed although.

bring back the summer days where I can lay down all day,

at cost of my health and my emotional state.

bring back how things were in 2015 or before adolescence,

when my imagination was in my head, not damned and put away

now school is starting up again, I'm changing in different ways.

i hate the fact that reality is now the pill you take.

i'll be isolated intentionally yet unintentionally

and my life has now become a colorless haze.

i used to be a source of energy, much brighter than today.

now, life has turned down the microwave setting.

fun is a drug that's been pulled from the shelves

when higher education bans it and plops paper on the hay.

i hate how my personality is fucking anxious and automatic.

i'm prone to explode or burst like the person in Scanners

i'll find another way to make use of limited time.

to return to form, to just be ecstatic.

often i see beauty hidden in something so edgy and uninteresting, heeding my cult to its figurative gaslight. i find neon to be beautiful with its elegance, its charm and its supernatural luminescence that covers its surroundings with its grasp. the soaked atmosphere of it all, felt it wash throughout my skin and inundate my eyes. red feels like the oxygenated blood I feel oozing out, while blue feels more drippy and psychedelic to me. It feels as though it'll be the continuum of what I choose. maybe i'll buy one someday, plug it in and turn off the light. it would coat the space with its harmonizing radiance, fuzzing the ambiance and tolerating the scene. i don't know how you feel often because I'm like the neon. i'm still unknown and precarious, but you hold the pieces and i'll keep running.

Don't leave me here, now.

The movie isn't over,

It's about halfway.

The previous was

More of me crying out loud.

The next will be there.