Internal Thoughts Of A Catastrophic Fool.

So here I am. Again.
Happy. Jaunty. Devil may care.
Because I've realised something over the last two days.
I'm not a burden and never will be. To toot my own horn I'm far too interesting.
My mind is like a puzzle that needs solving, the pieces not quite fitting together.
I thought I'd be gutted. I was for the whole of an hour but then I looked at shit realistically.

I am not ever gonna be 100% happy at the moment.
I can try but its not going to happen. I'll be like 95.5%.
I will always have lingering doubts over everything so I'm no good to anybody in this state.
My life goes on without me while I drink and drown in a sea of pointless pussy.

I had a dream last night. It was fucked up. She was in it. Not she. Another one.
They're all nameless to me. But I don't understand why this paticular woman was in it.
I've never met her before in my life. She's a good kisser though. In my dream of course.
Now I thought it was just a random dream. I'm used to them.
But if I dig beneath the surface I have a theory.
It doesn't take Freud to figure it out.
I have an affinity to unavailable women. Fucking great.

So now I must muse over which way to go. Do I choose my favoured route.
The "head down,get on with things" or do I go for broke and just drink and fuck whatever comes my way instead of backing out like I have in the past because of one tiny thing.
Maybe to much pubus, I was too tired or I just really didnt find her that attractive.
Fuck it we shall see.

It is funny though. Life.
It's full of so many twists and turns I've lost my touch with reality.
I don't know what's fantasy and what is real.
I wish to get lost in fantasy. Everything works for me and I can just sit back in my metaphorical armchair and relax.

But in this reality I lie in my bed alone. Bloodshot eyes, hungover and yet not entirely unhappy.
Life. The wonders. The mystique. Got to love it.
I am no longer chasing the dragon. It's not worth the effort.
Fuck.

Addicted.

Its funny as of late
As I contemplate all that is at stake
I'm addicted to the all the pain in my scalp
People screaming I need help
But I don't,I'm just trying to burn in hell
Thoughts of suicide all the time
As I'm getting high
Sitting back in the night with my head in the sky

I'm addicted to all these pills around me
All this alcohol that surrounds me
Take a swig from the bottle
Fly off full throttle
There's nothing I couldnt be.
I'm addicted to all this shit
All the thoughts inside my head
All the pain that I seem to feel
Questioning whats real
All I know is I'm addicted.

Wasted Romance.

Wasted Romance. Where do I begin? Do I retread everything I've spoken about before?
Or do I try and put a new spin on it? A narrative. Structure.
Well, what is wasted romance? Is it really a waste? Or is it just the mind playing tricks?
Is it really romance? Or is it just constituting acting like a fucking faggot?

I have been called many things but romantic is not one of them. I like to think I am but something I do must not sit with the female mind.
Am I soppy? I don't like to think that. I like to speak my mind and hell if it means calling a woman beautiful then so be it. She must be for me to say it.
True beauty isn't makeup, Extensions and fake fucking nails.
Its facial structure,hair(prefereably curled.Take note.) and eyes.
A personality. Character.
Add them together and well. Thats a pretty fucking beautiful woman.

I try my hardest. I'm not the most confident evidently. But if I have something to aim for I will peel my shell off. Blow the cobwebs off my brain and thaw out my heart(30 degrees pre-heated works.) I will tell her how I feel. Woo her. Let her feel the woman she is. Realise her pro's, her flaws and get caught up in the whirlwind. Flying,falling failing.
I want her to know I'm not just there for the moment. Here today,gone tomorrow.
That aint me.

How i want to just see her. Hey, if its just innocent talking I can be content in my head.
I know she'll never want that. I can't help that. But I can help her.
But at the end of it all will she truly trust me? Probably not.
Life's too fucked up to let any person truly let their guard down.
I can no longer pine after her. It makes my head hurt.
And I've got to stop blogging about her. It's ridiculous.

What a wasted romance.

Fool's Fiddle.

So the feelings are out, the thoughts have been said.
Mistakes have been made on my part.
And yet here I sit not entirely dissatisfied.
When all is said and done she made me happy for the course of a weekend.
Feelings not felt for a while were stirred up, cooked and devoured.
Real attraction. A fatal attraction.

How did it start? We have to travel back a month or so.
Through the crowds of people, chatter, banter and alcohol chirped a voice "Too young Follows".
I admit it raised a smile. A real one, not the fake ones i plaster onto my face in the mornings.
But nah it didnt start there. At that point she was just a beauty in the night, a lady to behold.
In hindsight I probably should have left shit there.
But no, it moved on. Week after week I saw her, heard her and in a way felt her.
The more we talked, the more I wanted to know of her.
The more I got to know of her.
The more I liked.

She was like nothing I had heard or seen before. Every word was....real.
Unquestionably devoted to the little things in life she made me realise a few facts.
1) I'm an emotional wreck when I don't need to be. She was right. I should be happy.
2) Life is an art form. She never used those words but from her mannerisms,pictures, words I picked up on this. Thankyou that I did.

She always seemed happy. I admit maybe alcohol had some effect but at the end of it all happiness comes from deep within. Instilled in us, nurtured and left to roam freely upon our shells. How I longed for just a slight connection. And then something changed. We spoke freely to each other. I spilled things I would never spill to anybody. Why?
I have no idea. I wrote a sentence. I wrote a paragraph. Next thing I knew I had devoted entire blogs to her. I tried to conceal it at first. Little revealing sentences here and there. Why? Was I afraid? I have no answer. But here I am Spilling my mind,heart and soul onto the screen. Her eyes can roam here. Those perfect eyes. See what I've written. Interested? Great.
If not what can I do?
Just sit here and keep playing my fool's fiddle.

Fuck.

Here I Am.

Well. I'm happy. I'm actually smiling. I can feel the creases in my cheeks, the shakes inside when you try and contain a laugh.
What a beautiful feeling. Matches a beautiful mood.
I sit here on my sofa full of joy, a lust for life re-awakened.
Give me a bottle of whiskey, a slap and send me on my way.
I refuse to fall off this pedestal. I've experienced my fair share of shit but fuck it.
It's the past. And the past ain't now.
All it took was a few words off her and i realised something.
I don't need to be happy inside.
Just on the outset.
Because I know if you fake something long enough you become that something.

Here I am depressed as fuck. Insides aching. I can feel the tears in my eyes, floodgates waiting to open. I refuse to let them.
I'm happy-go-lucky. Atleast I still feel something. I'm not some fucking cold hearted cunt.
I'm a frozen hearted prick. A modern day Jeckyll and Hyde, two personas, one person.

Here I am fucked off. Anger frothing over, spewing out my mouth. I can feel the venom flowing,rushing over my enemies. Let them know I'm not backing down. Call me what you want.
I couldn't give a folding fuck. At least I'm not a liar to me. I'm true to myself.
I keep my head above water, to see where I can go from here.

Here I Am.

Fuck.

...........

Locked deep in thought
The pen in my hand
Wont write for me anymore,
My heart won't scribe about any whore,
Just the ones that I care about
But the way things seem
My pen inks found itself in a drought.
Hide my thoughts in hieroglyphics,
A puzzle to ponder,
My feelings locked up
Leaving you to wonder
How the fuck can I be so bold?
I'm asking how you can be so cold?
It's funny.
When I wake up
I'm clean shaven cut
But when my eyes are opened
I'm a rugged unshaven messy scrub.

Fuck.

I hear them calling me.
I see them chasing me.
Im trying to stall them
To hasten their stampede.
This don't always work for me
and sometimes it gets to much you see.
But i keep my head down
feet planted firmly on the ground.
I hear their sounds.
I smile, shake hands and fuck them off.
I piss them off and it gets me off.
The good times we're facing
The way my heart is decaying.

Still chasing, still running
its funny.
Days are dark, the nights are sunny.
I dream of money, spend lavishly
on a girl who smiles so happily.
Its all fake on my part
But they dont know that,its an art.
Can't be taught, can always be fought.
The way I hide my sadness causes slaughters
and me so much stress.
I drink to forget.
The barricades up.
I couldnt give a fuck.