cry i am trying so hard to let him in and not put up my famous wall, now that i have i think i should have just not bothered. for the first time in a month i didnt even get a "hey i got s**t to do so ill ttyl ---nothing. i try so hard to have a emotionally stable relationship and here i sit madd as hell. i can almost guarantee that i am overreacting but i really hate this s**t. i feel so responsible for whatever is making him stupid and i dont even know whats wrong with him. its taking every ounce of my being to not be psycho and like call him a million times. as much as i wanna feel i dont. as i spoke, the phone wrang ...guess who? i would have rather had him not even called. i feel crazy and i think its not totally cause of him. damn, i lliked having someone to blame it on. i need new friends and to get the hell away from this ******** up existance.
"The last few months I have been living with this couple.
Yeah, you know, the kind who buy everything in doubles. They fit together, like a puzzle.
And I love their love and I am thankful that someone actually
receives the prize that was promised by all those fairy tales that drugged us.
And they still do me. I'm sick, lonely, no laurel tree, just green envy.
Will my number come up eventually? Like Love is some kind of lottery,
where you can scratch and see what is underneath. It's "Sorry",
just one cherry, "Play Again." Get lucky.
So I have been hanging out down by the train's depot. No, I don't ride.
I just sit and watch the people there. And they remind me of wind up cars in motion.
The way they spin and turn and jockey for positions.
And I want to scream out that it all is nonsense.
All your lives one track, can't you see it's pointless?
But then, my knees give under me. My head feels weak and
suddenly it is clear to see that it is not them but me, who has lost my self-identity.
As I hide behind these books I read, while scribbling my poetry,
like art could save a wretch like me, with some ideal ideology that no one can hope to achieve.
And I am never real; it is just a sketch of me.
And everything I made is trite and cheap and a waste of paint, of tape, of time.
So now I park my car down my the cathedral, where floodlights point up at the steeples.
Choir practice was filling up with people. I hear the sound escaping as an echo.
Sloping off the ceiling at an angle. When voices blend they sound like angels.
I hope there is some room still in the middle.
But when I lift my voice up now to reach them. The range is too high, way up in heaven.
So I hold my tongue, forget the song, tie my shoe and start walking off.
And try to just keep moving on, with my broken heart and my absent God
and I have no faith but it is all I want, to be loved and believe in my soul, in my soul..."
SadJamiee Community Member 
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