He is Numb.

He is Numb.

He feared he’d never be there again. There he lies, staring; staring at the ceiling thoughts racing while at the same time his mind is blank. He wonders why he is there alone and forgotten. Why is he alone at a time like this?

It’s nearly morning, but why should that matter? There is no reason for him to get up. He rolls over slightly and thinks of her. No, she is not the one who got away, just the one he never pursued. He was young and she was not. He was alive and excited. She was apprehensive and disingenuous. He was a good listener, she needed to talk. When she didn’t need to talk she often made him laugh. He and she were almost a perfect couple or at least they should have been.

She, wanting something more, but not of him, went in search of it. Not having the ability to express himself, he sat and watched. This is what is on his mind when all else fails. This is what he considers, when there is nothing to look forward to and nothing to look back on, because he never made a move and with this he lies in bed.

He tosses, he turns, and he settles. His mind is clear now breath is calm, he is thirsty though. He rises from bed and stumbles to the kitchen. He is fully dressed from the evening passed. He makes his way into the kitchen. He flips the light switch even though he knows nothing will happen. His lights have been out for some time now. Habits are hard to break, flipping of a useless switch, drinking when all else fails. Obtaining a glass he is fine, drinking his water he is content and as if it never stopped he thinks of her once more. Moving from water to something a little more suitable for this feeling, his habits emerge once more. Drown the feelings he never let swim. Drown the memories of her so they will not resurface.

She was meant for great things. He was meant for mediocrity. He tries to imagine these things, involving himself, involving them together. He cannot. They are not together, nor have they ever been, or ever will be. Thinking of her, he remains unable to sleep. With this he drinks some more. He is now located on his kitchen floor, he lays. Lying awake he tries to stop thinking of her, of anything. He cannot. His only remedy is to continue drinking. So he continues.

Proof doesn’t matter when you have none of your existence. Proof doesn’t matter when you intend to consume the entire bottle and that he did intend on doing such. Stumbling to his feet from the cold harsh floor he makes way to the other end of the hall. He moves slowly and missteps. He hiccups and he burps. He fumbles for the door and struggles to open it. It is a struggle he chooses not to compete with; he places his back to the wall and slowly slides to the ground. Placing his head in his palm he sobs, and he cannot think while he cries and he is happy for that.

His mind is finally clear as he passes out on the floor outside his bathroom door. He is no longer thinking of her and he is no longer able to think. As he lay there, covered in his tears and dressed in his clothes from the night past he is no longer able to feel. He is asleep, he is numb.

I've been a good little worker bee, I deserve a gold star.

It may be too hard, to take it easy -
It may be too easy not to work so hard.

I never thought I'd be this alone.

I want to be with someone who cares for me -
Family loves, but doesn't care.

Overthinking, overthinking...

Incomplete...

I can't sleep I have no outlet.
I keep too much in, there's no one here.
No one to hear me.
She was wonderful once I think...

What happened to that?
She would be happy just to see me.
Now a present is what makes her smile.
Bearing gift, I come to give them.
To see her smile is worth it, I thought.

Now I think this isn't true.
Now I would give anything to see my smile, with just her.
No one else, she would be perfect.
We have been together so long, it would be easier to stay.
Wouldn't it be?

Will I be able to find anyone new?
I'm difficult. I'm average. I'm stubborn.
I joke too much, work too much, and don't complain...
Okay, I complain.
Who will want me?

How can I say goodbye to a safe thing?
How do I say goodbye to something familiar?
I will miss this regardless.

bleh.

tired.

i work to the bone
you don't work at all
you are never home
i am all alone

i wish that you could see
what you make me do
how you make me feel
it's not worth it either way

Music for me.

Okay I went to a concert last Sunday with my brother, a belated birthday present from him. Now, for me to go to a concert is something special. I don't think I show it much, but I am very into the music I'm into. I am not very genre specific I just love great lyrics and entertaining tunes (however most of my library is bitchy pop-punk, I loves me my songs-about-a-girl, which is about 87% of the Genre). I do however find some time in my other life as a gangsta to participate in the listening-to of rap music.

As I stated earlier, going to a concert is something special for me. I hate crowds of sweaty people and standing for hours on end, I get that enough at work. I also don't quite love live music. However, if I have that deep connection to that artist I've probably only downloaded and not purchased or if I know I will have an end-all-be-all good time I will go see them. This past Sunday was one of those wonderful exceptions. the headlining act was Lupe Fiasco, all 1-2 of my possible readers do google him, please take that away with this blog. And no matter how much I enjoy his music, or his performance for that matter (It was amazing, sung 3-5 songs without even saying hi to the crowd, focused as ... well, he was focused). What really impressed me was his opening act, B.o.B. (AkA Bobby Ray). He was without a doubt the best performance I've seen all year (Mind you I don't go to shows and it is still quite early in the year, but still).

He presented himself to both the people who didn't know him and those that know his insanely popular single ("nothing on you") as another ATL rapper (A rapper from Georgia). He was, however an artist. He came on stage, rapped a song or two and stepped off. As he made his way back on stage he had an electric guitar in hand, it was at this point I was sold, but he kept on going. He commented on how others had told him to put the guitar down and just rap and how he responded with continuing to pursue his musical aspirations. What followed his introduction of the guitar were not just rap songs with a little string. They were something along the lines of a 90s-sounding, reggae influenced, SKA sounding, mega mash-up of genres. And my G-d did it sound good. He later continued performing while playing an acoustic guitar as well as being supported by a full band. He didn't only have talent but also stage presence. He was energetic, fun and sounded great live. I have suffered through many an opening act, in the little concerts I've attended, but B.o.B was nothing of the sort. I knew not one song, and he never lost my attention.

Timeless.

Personal Journal of Harold Elijah Less, Private in the Militia Enforcement

Bookfour.

Dayonetwentyfive, the days are drifting together. They were once separate but are now one. It's no longer Twenty four, seven. It's Now Twentyfourseven, Onesixtyeight. Things aren't looking the same either. They don't smell or taste like they used to. I just am, but nothing seems to want to be.

Dayonetwentyseven, and I don't know what time. It's light out but I can't remember if it has been for some time. When you have no one to rest for, nothing to rest for it's as if you don't need to anymore. I don't go out at night anymore. It's not safe anymore. Ever since Noah didn't return I was left to fend for my self. I search for scraps when I remember I'm supposed to eat. This occurs when I lose hours of my day, but know I haven't slept. Where do they go? Where did everyone go?

Dayonethirty, I think. I remembered. I was reminded what it was like to be with another. They were warm to the touch. Soft, mostly. This won't last long.

Dayonethrityfive, I know I'm writing. I know their watching. I'm not safe. I'm in hourfiftyfour/houronesixtyeight since my last blac--

Dayonetwentynine, I've gone back. That's where I go. I don't know how I know; I just know I've gone back. It's not the first time. That's why I am no longer able to maintain a sleep regiment. Sleep is for those that wake in the future. Sleep is everyone's personal time machine. My mind is mine.

Dayonethirtyseven, Where have I been, I wish I knew. Honestly. If only I knew where I was, I could find out were I've been all this time and why I'm here. I miss the feeling. Any feeling really even pain. I can't feel anything and I miss that.

Dayonefourty, I haven't seen it. It's been missing since that entry. I can't think straight, not anymore. There's a link, someone is in my thoughts. I'm alone and I'm being watched, but I AM alone.

Daytwelve, Listen me. I'm here. I'm with you. Wake up! It's not to late to escape. Jude can be saved. As well as Noah. You just have to break away. You control the scope of things. Take yourself away, bring yourself back. Look back. Don't log blindly, look at what you write. Look at what I write. There is no sequence. They make there be no sequence. I feel you taking hold. Look back! Loo--

Dayonefortyone. I don't think I belong here.

End Journal, Bookfour

Up somewhere

My plans feel through today and I made the most of it. I didn't get to hang out with someone I wanted to, but my defaults are always there. I love my core of friends. Happy all parts are back together.We watched Alien today. Alien was, well it was made in 1979 and Sigourney Weaver has not aged since. I think she's a ... dun, dun, dun, ALIEN!

I don't have much to say, I'm in a good mood, wish I had the opportunity to cheer others up. And also, Avatar was good. Not AMAZING! It was however enjoyable. Same with Sherlock Holmes. I want to see "Up in the Air."