ghosts

Flashing Lights.

If something hurts you enough, you pretend it doesn’t exist. The less power you put on something, the more power you want to forget it. I can’t say I miss the past with it’s nostalgic cloud that hangs over me. I can’t say I miss you, without feeling like a fucking hypocrite. I love how memories form in between the liner notes. How melody haunts a montage of memories harbored deep inside of your soul. How people have a way of coming into your life, without physically being there anymore.

I should have said goodbye a long time ago. I should have written this elaborate “dear john” letter the moment things changed. The moment I couldn’t hear songs the same way. The moment I felt I couldn’t be myself anymore. I felt ruined, that a part of me stopped believing in the cliche kitschy things of yesterday. I lost, you won, and everything else that follows, but all of that is old news. This cloud of fog that follows. Opening up a series of smokey destinations, I didn’t know I wanted to exist anymore. Old distant news with headlines of the past.

Smoke and mirrors, and shooting stars. Waiting, wanting, and longing for things that never had a place with me to begin with. Even after all this time, I can’t help but wonder what was the biggest illusion. What was your biggest performance. This belief of being greater and better then the rulers of the past. The lights flash, the lights dim, and I can’t help but still wonder. Even stars fall, even lights dim, eventually the darkest nights make way for the brightest mornings. The further you fall, the closest to the ground you become. All I could ever want is to see you crash and burn, just like the rest of them. Maybe you need to hit rock bottom to see how it feels on the other side.

I would never wish bad things upon you, but I could never wish you well. Seeing the last of our memories behind the glass, in photographs and songs, I just can’t help myself. I was never the good, I was never the light, but I could be the darkness in all it’s glory. I hate myself for believing in all the wrong things. Believing in sinners dressed up as saints in their perfectly tailored suits. Watching the fog clear, watching the smoke disappear and everything has changed. Songs have a different meaning, once you can listen to them again. Melody fills the cracks where the light once hit. Sooner or later, I start to feel like myself again.

I don’t believe in shooting stars, but I never believed in the ghosts of memories you gave me.  You never wanted me to hate you, and I don’t. I just want to forgive then forget you, then move on.

2/15/2009

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The ghost of you and me.

Disappearing is easy. You fall through the cracks and blend in with your over powering surroundings. If there was a how to guide of “How to disappear completely”, you’d have written all the books. It’s always harder to forget but you’ve made it easy to remember. You become a ghost of your former life, just a fragment of a story people tell at parties. The person you were and the person you used to be. All of which have nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with me. Nothing to do with who we’re trying to be.

I can change.
I can be what you want me to be.

You didn’t have the time to wait and I didn’t have the strength to see myself. Through the darkness, the trenches, and the misery. That was then. People can change. I can change and I tell myself  constantly. I can be better then what you want me to be. I can be perfect. I can be happy. I can watch this madness take over my veins and infect my bloodstream, pretend it doesn’t exist. Pretend that ghosts stop haunting even after the sun comes up. I was never good at hiding and you were never good at pretending.  Even I can’t pretend as good as you do.

Then you fail miserably.

Before you know it you’re right back to the drawing board. Reinventing yourself. Hiding all of your past failures and pretending a part of you didn’t exist. It breaks you up inside, but you never tell anyone. You bleed, you fall, and you never tell a single soul. You hide every flaw so perfectly, just as well as you guard every inch of your heart. You disappeared into the fog and like the mist you reappear. Reappearing only a fraction of the person you used to be. So hollow and vacant and still, I can’t help but want all of you.

I was wrong for everything. Wrong for wanting the imperfections and expecting perfection. Wrong for believing in changes that actions could never deliver. Wrong for believing in the ghost of you and me and all the memories that followed. Still I wanted it all. Everything and in-between. Maybe I expected too much. Maybe I wanted more than I deserved. Still I wanted ghosts to reappear in the forms of you and me. But I can’t have you. I can’t be who you want me to be. The more time passes the more you become what you always were. A mystery to the people that you surround yourself with. Like the ghost you were, you disappear completely.

I can’t do this anymore.
I don’t need you anymore.
I don’t want anything to do with you.

Disappear and take all my memories with you.

12/17/2012

 

 

Invisible.

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You can’t see me.

I am crystal clear that radiates blue. Even a glowworm glows and you find them. Among the crowds through the lighthouses. I am standing in front of you but you don’t see me. I radiate blue but you can’t find me. I am fading away, leaving, and one day I will disappear.

Disappear to the highest hills. Disappear through the trees and into the woods, where you’ll never find me. Finding is for things that are already lost, but I am not lost. I am invisible in this world that always sees things. Invisible to the crowds that look for things far beyond their reach. You’ll forget about me as easily as you remember me. Watching my surroundings blur out of focus with the familiar faces walking right past me. No one sees me, but I see you. I see everyone. I see their cracks and fears and every single one of their flaws. Their perfect imperfections that no one seems to see. I feel a disconnect from this world. Single glances taking second chances but I can’t help but feel alone. Standing amongst the crowds of people and asking them to see me.

You can’t see me but you see right through me. The ghost that haunts and appears when needed. But you don’t see me. I am invisible in their visible world. Slowly I watch myself disappear, just begging you to look at me. Everyone thinks they understand but they don’t. Everyone thinks they know, but they never ask. I could stand on the highest hill but you’ll focus on the scenery.

I am here. I am here, but you see right through me. I am here but you look right past me.

You don’t see me and you never will.

I am already gone.

8/12/2015

Distance.

I am seeing ghosts in the places where people used to be. The fog comes for people quickly leaving behind their bodies but taking with them their soul and bones. I wonder how much of what you believe, you believe for yourself. Leaving behind your wounded and settling ashore. I could tell you everything. Anything you wanted to hear. Now I sit and watch a ghost of you, mimic your same thoughts.

What did I do to merit all this silence?
What did I do to lose all your mistrust?

I could ask myself a thousand questions but never get a single answer. How generic our thoughts become once we start to lose someone. How simple our responses once we’ve lost it all. The world is filled with busy movers and shakers. Filled with replacements ready to take our place. But I’m too afraid of the dark to see you gone. To afraid of ghosts and their spirits that linger after. I am sorry, I couldn’t be who you wanted me to be. I am sorry, that I disappointed you just as the others did. Maybe it was foolish to believe that we could live forever. Instead I am living with all the ghosts you left and the memories after.

If I could take everything back I would. Anything to bring back what we had before. Everything that made the imperfections perfect. The responses realistic. Anything to take away the generically calculated conversations. Anything to take away the awkwardness of today and tomorrow. I can’t bring you back, if you don’t want to try. I can’t asks ghosts to bring back the dead, once they’ve already left. I can’t ask people to stay with me, once they’re already miles away. All this distance just to find a peace of mind. All this mystery just to prove that what you’ll miss is what you always took advantage of. Saying sorry is better than saying goodbye. Goodbye would mean this would be over and sorry proves that maybe there’s just one last chance.

Just one last chance, before you go completely.

I promise, I’ll change.
I promise, I’ll be better to you.
I promise, I’ll stop being so fucking selfish because all that really matters is you.

I am sorry.

1/22/2012

 

When you were young.

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Life is full of ghosts. Dancing shadows that we seldom confuse for skeletons. The history is the past and what continues in our present are just distant memories of who we used to be. We watch what fraction of ourselves we have left over from the wars of our memories. The battle cries of good vs. evil. We each find ourselves picking sides eventually. What good is the good without a little evil, we say? What good is life, if we haven’t truly lived it?

I watch the memories of my nostalgic mind slowly turn to dust trying to remember everything. Every last detail. From the colors of my childhood to the weight of an embrace. Everything. Every last emotional moment to every everlasting memory. Going through the photo album of my memory and wanting to hold on to the last of a dying era. We are growing older at warped speed but have a hard time with the growing up. I slowly watch my body decompose and shut down. When all I want is just another moment to shine and dance amongst the thousand of stars. When you are young, you’re cavalier about how you view the world. You believe that every night is going to last forever, that someone is going to save you from all your pain and suffering. Its funny how we used to think when we were young. That people, places, and things, would last forever, knowing very well it was moments before everything fell apart. We love that illusion that moments have a way of repeating themselves. That memories have a way of coming back to us. Instead we are left with high hopes and even higher expectations.

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When you grow up your heart dies. You stop believing in all things you once did when you were younger. You stop hiding in the shadows and start living in the present times and present tense. You watch every last one of your friends grow up and you’re still trying to figure out how. Watching your childhood home become nothing but a rusted memory. I don’t feel any older than I did yesterday, even though my body does. Sometimes on the days when I don’t feel like myself I want to hold on to everything. Hold on to the photographs and the people housed inside of them. Its the ghosts that keep me occupied with the memories of what used to be. Eventually we all have to grow up sometime, even if the memories haunt us.

Even if it hurts us. Even if we are not ready, we have to grow up. When you were young you had this anticipation of growing up, and now it’s here. That time is now.

5/3/2015

Skin and bones.

If I was who you wanted me to be, would you still love me?
If I had been exactly who you wanted me to be, would you still want me?
If I had listened to every word you said, would you still hear me?

I wonder about the silliest of things. Like how a person could disappear and leave their ghost behind. Still haunting when their corpse has long been buried. I am suppose to move on and forget, but I can’t help but reflect and remember. If I had been a fraction of those expectations, would you still give me a chance?

I changed my ways to accommodate your wishes. I changed every aspect of myself to make yourself better and still you wanted more. I wasn’t the change you expected. I wasn’t who you expected me to be. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if I had been exactly what you wanted me to be, would you still want me. I would have bled myself dry, if it meant that this would work. I would have stopped the madness hurting inside, if it meant you would stay just one more day.

How you flocked to the girls with their skin stretched over their bones. How you loved the illusion of this skeleton of a body and fixated on the ideas of that perfection. The countless nights, I counted meals and accounted for every last calorie. Would that be enough? How the extra calories could be slept away or purged until the obsession starts all over again. The illusion of being perfect and the risk of losing it all. I couldn’t control the monster of madness inside. I couldn’t control the obsession of hurting, all for being exactly what you wanted me to be. I begged, I pleaded, I cried, and still you stood so tall. Ordering your demands and I couldn’t help but want to do everything, just to make you stay. It was never enough. Your words flew out like venomous rage, still here to haunt me. I was never your perception of perfection. No matter what I did, I was never enough. You liked me, but you loved her. You cut me down but raved about everyone else’s perfections. I purged every last bit of my insides and you stood tall counting on my imperfections. It wasn’t enough that scratching the surface never deepen the cut. How foolish to believe that if I had been every word of what you wanted, I would have you.

Skin heals, cuts fade and eventually all the bricks you threw at me, will rebuild the little foundation of life I see. You disappeared and buried every last bit of who we used to be. You didn’t count on your ghost being left behind to haunt the remains of a memory. I loved you and all you ever did was bring me down. Took my sadness and devoured it into madness. Maybe we are all just a little mad, but some worse off than others.

You liked me but you loved her. How I always thought otherwise. If I were skin and bones would you love me in the end? If I purged ever last bit of you out of me, would I finally let go of you? If you hadn’t met her, would you still want the same from me?

Would you?

7/12/2007

Would it make you feel better to watch me while I bleed?

Words have a way of suffocating you when you’re trying to breathe. Long after they have been said. They’re the ghosts that come back to haunt you, long after the guilty parties have left. You cling on to them, allow them to marinate inside of you and never let them go. You find yourself believing these things because that’s what you’ve taught yourself to believe. Bruises heal, cuts scar, but words have this long lasting effect that echo through you on the darkest of days.

Everyone says to forget them. Erase them from your mind. That part of your life is over and time to focus on the now. Every once in a while when things happen to hurt more than normal you go back to those words. Those words that make your heart break. Those words that remind you of bleeding and hurting, all over again. You give these words all the power to infest your insides with hatred and you can’t help but allow it to. No matter what you tell yourself its always in the back of your mind, “You’re not good enough, and you never will be”. You are your worst critic and no matter what you tell yourself during the day, it’s the nights that haunt you more than anything. It’s the nights that you are honest with yourself and you can’t help but pick yourself apart. You’re only doing what others have done before you. Nit pick at everything you do and making themselves superior from how you’re feeling. It doesn’t make them ugly, because you know how ugly of a person you already are. Its the same fight you have over and over with yourself. This devil and god continuing to rage inside of you and you can’t help but succumb to the darkness. You fight this battle every night and you tell yourself one day it will be over, one day it will all disappear.

I wish it was easy to forget. That believing people was easy as snapping your fingers. It’s not. While I sit here I just want to pick at the broken scabs and watch myself bleed. It’s what everyone else wants. They want this failure, this shell of a person that radiates black and blue. They want a vessel to point fingers at. How easy it would be to watch the blood drain from my veins just to make you feel better. How easy it was to say the words and never caring of the actions that came after it. It takes more than an empty apology to make things better. I have a jar of empty apologizes and my arms sore from every cut you gave me. I can’t breathe anymore. I can’t sleep, I can’t think, and I can’t help but replay every negative aspect of life people have thrown against me. You make me a victim but I can’t help but always feel like the villain. I am the bad guy, I am the one that’s always in the wrong. But I’m still the one bleeding for your amusement.

We bleed, we give up, then we rise again. It’s not easy being who everyone wants me to be. It’s not easy pretending that everything is fine. I am not fine, I am not even close to being okay. Some days are harder and some days just disappear.  I would have bled myself dry if that would make everyone happy. But I can’t. Instead I watch the cuts turn to scabs and the scab heal into scars. I can’t forget what has happened because the scar is there to remind me. To remind me of the bleeding, the hurt, and the pain of words that I can’t seem to rid from my mind. One day the ghost of the words will no longer haunt me. What a joyful feeling that would be. Until then I sit with my scars and continue to heal.

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7/2/2009