My Thoughts Are Pollution

Coming-of-age ramblings that don't mean much in the long run

Month: June, 2014

Fireworks

There are fireworks going off outside. I don’t know who’s launching them, or the legality of it in my state, but they’re beautiful regardless. Each explosion of light brings me a little closer to the me that was happy. It’s like watching the stars in bloom. And every booming sound they make makes my heart jump.

I love fireworks. For the longest time, one of my biggest dreams was to lay in the grass and watch fireworks with someone I loved. I accomplished that dream, even though we’re not together anymore. Even though I despise her. It’s a good memory in spite of that. She can’t take that one away from me.

Now I want to do it again, but falling in love has become a lot more difficult for me. I’ve gained weight, and my acne won’t go away even though I’m in my twenties. What affects me even more than that is the fact that my heart is a lot more closed off than it used to be. I still wear it on my sleeve, but I’m wearing long sleeves now, and rolling the heart up with them. It’s not as visible; It’s not as obvious to others that I crave their affection. And honestly, I don’t crave it as much as I used to.

My heart has been acting like these fireworks. It bursts and blooms for someone, then fades away leaving nothing but a trail of smoke in my lungs. I cough and choke on the feelings after having them. I’m reminded how much wrong these feelings have done me, and I spit them out. Then I see her, and my heart does it again. It’s exhausting. It’s exciting. It’s a whole fucking lot of things.

For now, I’ll watch the fireworks alone. That’s okay with me.

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The Boy Who Lived

You may have read my earlier post about my experience living through a house fire. If not, go read it.

I’ve always felt weird about living through something like that. Like, I’m supposed to be grateful, right? I’m supposed to be happy that I survived.

I’m not happy.

I’m miserable. I’m a fucking wreck. I’m on six different medications. (Yes, it went up.) I am depressed. I am anxious. Sometimes, I get so anxious that I can’t handle being around myself or anyone else. It becomes too stressful to think, or breathe, or do fucking anything.

But I’m alive right now. I’m lucky right? I survived third-degree burns, and even managed to get away without scars on my face. I should be fucking hopping around, all of the time. I should have an incredible appreciation for life, instead of this disturbing obsession with death.

I don’t fucking get it. Why am I even alive if I was just going to go on to do nothing? Why did I come away so clean? I’m a failure. I’m a fuck-up. I’m a mess. I’m a mess who survived when I shouldn’t have. Why didn’t I die? I’m not worth anything to society. I’m practically a deadbeat. I’m practically dead.

What is wrong with me?

Stay

Steady hands
Steady man
But I’m unsteady, I’m not ready
and I don’t understand
Shaking limbs
Wavering whims
Don’t regret it, I won’t let it
all cave in

and I will never
mean anything more
but I don’t need to
anymore.

Just stay
Just stay
it’s something unjust, and I’m falling in lust
just stay away
Moving eyes
Moving inside
It’s so moving, but I’m losing
track of my lines

and I will never
mean anything more
but I don’t need to
anymore.

Well I can’t begin to discuss this
with a level head
And I feel so disgusted
with the words I haven’t said
and I’m trying to stay sane
I’m trying not to stay the same
I’m trying
I’m trying
I’m trying not to fade,
fade out
Like you will
fade out
it’s real
I’m real,
you’re real.

and I will never
mean anything more
but I don’t even want to
anymore.

A new song.

Aimless Musical Rant

When people do acoustic covers, I think it’s completely unnecessary to make the song all minor and “cool”. Like, do your thing to the song, whatever, but minor does not equal good. I get it, it emphasizes your fantastic voice to sing it all sad-like, but the song wasn’t written that way, and your twist, while substantial, did not change the meaning of the song enough to justify itself. I mean, doing it the way I do it (just a straight cover with very little changes to the original song) isn’t better or anything, but I feel like you guys that do this are just using your talents to manipulate great songs into boring, typical ones. 

Every acoustic song doesn’t have to be in a fucking minor key, guys. If you’re going to put your spin on it, don’t just tweak it into a “sadder” sound and call it good, you’re clearly more talented than that. 

Okay, my rant aimed towards musicians better than I is over. I’m obviously just jealous that you’re capable of even doing that much, when I can’t manage it myself.

 

Expletive.

What am I doing what am I doing what am I doing what am I doing here?

I need a goal. I need something to work for. I’m working towards my own recovery, but it isn’t enough. I need something more concrete, something to accomplish, a goal, a dream, anything at all to get me out of this… this… whatever the hell this is! I don’t know. It’s not even a rut, as I’m doing more with my life in trying to recover than I’ve done in months. It’s just… I feel like I’m trapped. I have nowhere to go but down, I have nothing to do, nowhere I need to be, but I don’t want to need to be anywhere because that would just stress me out and… fuck! I’m making no sense right now. I just want to go home. I am home. But I don’t feel like I’m home. I need my best friend to feel like I’m home. I’m nowhere without him around. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck what the fuck am I doing 

 

 

with my life?

Hey Everyone, I Played a Song For The Internet, Like, Today

 

I’m not great, I know, but thanks for checking it out.

Thinking of You

Another recording from high school. The lyrics I’ve put down are slightly different from the recording, but those are changes I made ages ago, not new ones.

I cannot shake this off my spine

’cause I must be yours

and yours must be mine

Take out all reason, right and rhyme

To force things to change,

you are mine.

 

At night when I’ve nothing to do

when I sleep, I think of you.

 

I cannot go out tonight

It’s far too dark and I

cannot turn out the light

but tonight, I am drifting out of sight

I’ll be your beacon burning bright

 

At night, when you lay still asleep

when you dream, please dream of me.

 

Rest your head

on my shoulder instead

of the pillow laying lonely on your bed

Rest your head.

 

Next time that you lay still asleep

Lovely, would you lie with me?

Okay, more shitty vocals and guitar playing ahead, you’ve been warned.

Make it Through

I dug up a few more of my old recordings from high school, and I still enjoy them. I’m going to post them to youtube and share them over the next few days. This particular song is called “Make it Through” and I wrote it a few weeks following my first-ever breakup at fifteen years old.

I wait for the day

when I don’t recognise you anymore

Though I wish to say

All the things I’ve figured out, I never said before.

Why were you in such a hurry to move on

after I found out what’s really going on?

 

There are other times to make things right

For now I have to make it through the night.

 

Can we keep it down?

What used to be a whisper has become a shout

Head for higher ground

as you search desperately for a way out

You found a stone, a foothold to hold on

Someone to use, someone to fall back on

 

There are better times to make things right

For now I have to make it through the night.

Beware: shitty audio quality, shitty singing, and shitty guitar-playing lies ahead:

 

Smoke

I thought that it ran deeper
and maybe I didn’t need to feed her
stupid little thoughts from my head
but she clung to every line, every word that I said
I thought that I could see her
but I was in the back of the theater
these stupid little thoughts in my head
I thought I didn’t need this, every word that she said
I thought there was a meaning there
through the haze and the smoke we were so scared
These stupid little thoughts that I get
I thought I didn’t need this, I need a cigarette
a lit match under a bright moon
a small wish and a light swoon
and the smoke, it curls past my fingertips,
and the fire goes out but the memory sticks
around,
around, around.
Always around,
around, around.

Obsessed

I
am self obsessed
just don’t forget
and you’ll be fine.

and I
have low self-esteem
whatever that means
but I’ll be fine.
and for now, everything is alright
and for now, every seal is shut tight
but just wait
til I break
til I lie.
Oh just wait
it’s just great
when I lie.

When I lied, I thought I could do anything, full of emotion with a spider ring. A million bucks or a penny couldn’t mean a thing to me, couldn’t figure out what it means to me. And I couldn’t see the world when I took fourteen, and I screamed and I cried and I made a scene and I left you to lie in a world unseen. In the back of my eye, there’s a limousine, where memories go when they take their leave, but only as far as my bloodstream. To remove them, I had to go to stupid extremes. And there’s a scar on my back where they cut too deep, and I lost every track that could connect me to the world where I live, where I want to be, to the love that I lack to the mystery. And God, when he saw simply turned around, with his head in his hands ‘low a thorny crown, told his wife and his kids I could not be found, that I fled and I hid and I stopped the sound.

And now, to this day, with each time that I pray, there’s never an answer, there’s just a “die and go away” and there’s a stairway to heaven, but they’ve shut the gates, and there’s a price to be paid but he’s lowered my wage and with every single song and every single day there’s a hundred lives lost and a hundred and one made, so what am I worth, if I can’t get laid? Will everyone change while I stay the same? And I used to think I was a couple of years behind, and I knew it was true until I changed my mind, because all of the purpose, and every chance to find, myself, you can’t follow somebody if you follow them blind. And I’ve accepted the fact that I’ll someday die, but I reject the idea that no one else can stay alive. If they can be happy, then why can’t I? I’ll figure it out, I mean, I do, sometimes. I mean, I did when I looked up right into the clouds, I could’ve sworn that I maybe possibly had it all written down, but f I did it was lost with all my poems about, all my stupid problems and my childhood doubts. But for now it’s just fine to not understand and for now I’ve got another hand in my hand. It’s a fleeting thing, when the camera pans Ill see that there’s just another hand in her hand.

but for now, I am alive.
For now, I am inside.

And its warm.

A poem that turns into broken prose that I wrote in high school.