Movies

"And when you go don't return to me my love."
My Chemical Romance

~

The door isn't open. Maybe it never really was. But I can pretend. I can always pretend.

"Give me a shot to remember and you can take all the pain away from me."

The shadow of the unknown beckons. I can feel it stretching across the blankness of my mask. The long lost scent of childhood is either dead or undercover. And, I cannot yet unmask this state of shade. The same old heaviness keeps increasing in invisible weight. Let go.

Let go and know that, in non-random fact, the truth shines through your cracks and whispers to your eyes: 'Tomorrow, I will be revealed.' Meanwhile, acrylic delusions frantically blink, staring at whatever colors they'd been spitting on my face. Don't let go.

Bits and pieces of me may well be scattered across the enneagram lines. But, you... do you really think you're swimming in my stream of consciousness? Look around. You're inside your own head. For the lines that, in your eyes, blur out the rest, they're on the other side of the coin you always flip. And they were facing the horizon right before you shoved them in, right before you sold them out to flush the red sea of lies, the one you'd pushed out of your lungs just to decorate that beautiful boring room.

"You're just a sad song, with nothing to say, about a lifelong wait for a hospital stay."

This soundtrack is bruised and broken. It might as well be dead. But our pictures are in motion and they bear no frames - they extend; they extend to infinity. Now the question is right there. It's always been there. 'Are you watching closely?' Are you listening? Are your lines in the script tearing up the fabric of your heartstrings? Do you need to talk to the director?

"Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo."

Get out. I can't always pretend.

~

"We all carry on, when our brothers in arms have gone.
So raise your glass high for tomorrow we die,
And return from the ashes you call."
My Chemical Romance

Bracelets

"Don't, don't, don't, don't."

Simple Minds

~

It's late and I... I really don't know what to say. Let's see. I'm listening to music to feel better about myself. Sting's Shape of my Heart is playing. "He doesn't play for the money he wins. He doesn't play for respect. He deals the cards to find the answer, the sacred geometry of chance, the hidden law of a probable outcome - The numbers lead a dance." I think anyone would love this song.

Once more, tonight, I'll be hiding behind words. And yes, I know the night is beautiful, even if I can't really feel it. Boyce Avenue's cover of Drops of Jupiter is playing. "Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken? Your best friend always sticking up for you, even when I know you're wrong. Can you imagine no first dance, freeze dried romance, five-hour phone conversation? The best soy latte that you ever had - and me." I wonder if I'll ever learn to play an instrument and make someone feel this way.

"Et si j'ai tort de lire dans tes pensées où rien de beau ne m'échappe - à part toi. Seuls, quelques silences m'effleurent encore quand je dors. Je n'ai plus de raison d'aimer. Et tant pis si je me détruis et je fais le tour de tes mots, tes promesses et tes envies d'ailleurs." The only thing that's more interesting than structure is that freedom one almost feels when they break the structure.

It's truly funny how other people's words can get to me more than my own. My veins are emotion-intolerant. Maybe that's why sometimes my heart seems as if it's gonna explode. Maybe I should stop smoking. He wanted to have the bracelet that was made of my heartstrings. And he has it now even though I had vowed to myself that this bracelet would be the final witness to my final pulse. It's truly funny how, sometimes, everything makes sense - even when all that is substance feels too foreign to exist.

"Do or die, you'll never make me. Because the world will never take my heart. Though you try, you'll never break me. We want it all, we wanna play this part. I won't explain or say I'm sorry. I'm not ashamed, I'm gonna show my scar. Give a cheer for all the broken. Listen here, because it's only-"

What are words compared to this? This thing you can't see. This heaviness I don't want to feel. I don't want to feel. Welcome to the dark side of melancholy.

Welcome to the black parade.

~

"Hey, hey, hey, hey."

Simple Minds

Nothing

"You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do."
Anne Lamott

~

I kept trying to change her mind but I couldn't. I had so many chances to show her that she was wrong. And I failed. Maybe there's a point behind her sickness. Maybe it's for the best that her memory is so remarkably damaged.

The soft wind falls gently on my skin and it all feels so undeserved. I seem incapable of writing anything novel. It's all a bunch of recycled secondhand words that I can't escape. I keep shedding them like dead skin and they just always find a way to grow back.

I know it's not a big lie. And I know the game isn't rigged. But think about it. What's the point of writing or reading any of this? It's useless. It's just a way to convince ourselves that our lives are worth being examined. 

But is it worth it, really? Who gave you the right to think that your life is worthy of this or that honor? Are you full of yourself to the level of believing that your struggle deserves a narrator? Does anyone really care? Or is it all for your entertainment? More drama, anyone?

Look around for God's sake.

These words are like those old reeking rags you see failing to cover an ugly balcony of a nameless shattered home. They're like a worn-out welcome mat that has no key under it. They're like a broken door. They're like my broken door. Why can't I let anyone through? Why do I not have better words?

I don't want any of this. I just want to sleep. I'm not even sure why I wake up everyday. This is not even creative. It's narrative-ish. I wonder if this mosquito knows how much I don't care about her drinking habits. I wonder if the stars who were once my friends still remember my name.

Here goes nothing. Really, nothing. Nothing at all. Do you see it? It's so empty. Can you hold it for me? Do you know this language? Do you know what I mean? I'm not even sure I do anymore. It's okay. It's all gonna be okay. We need to talk. I'm sorry. I'm tired and I'm sorry. No it doesn't matter. It's okay. I just need to get this out. Get out. Please get out. It's not your fault. It's gonna be okay.

I try my best. And they just keep dying slowly. All around me, they're all dying. And I can't seem to make a difference. Why won't they stop dying? Can we just pause life? Please.

What are you looking at? What do you see? Can you help?

It's okay. It's gonna be okay.

~

"He said: Son when you grow up, would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?"

My Chemical Romance