Metamorphasize

Honesty

How can people throw such brutal statements around, sending blows in all directions, people cry from the wounds received in the cross fire.

I wish I could afford such carelessness, then I realize, I could be brutally honest and no one would know.

When I shout S.O.S, you think im joking, making fun of the last cry of so many souls lost to the uncontrolled sea. How can you think so little of me and expect me to find that funny? To play along with that?

When you scream, you expect nothing in return, I wish I could live up to that expectation. But sometimes I cant.

I am a loose canon, I can go at any moment, the only way to stop me is to feel numbness.

I'd rather walk this earth until the end of time than ever feel a second of numbness towards the world and creation as a whole!

I either become a shell, hollow and only echoes the lies you tell yourself and hope it sounds as good as the way you said it. Or, I hold in, condense, hide, get lost in myself. And hope I don't brake one day.

I do this everyday, when I walk fast its not because I like the class I need to go, or because its raining. I do it in hopes that if I hurry the day will end sooner, and I will last another hour before blowing. I cannot allow myself to pleasure of bursting, or allow other to see the darker side of me. I just have to do what I've done for so long, be honest, honest enough to open up for a second and explain how I feel in one thought, as I transfer it in a code to others, no one understands the message I send.

The moon says something, What scares it more, the response or the echo of its voice.

The echo, showing you are alone, you feel comfort in this, until you feel you've broken and cannot be put back together on your own. You question if its worth it.

What is the point? Putting yourself back together to fall apart again?

I ask myself that question everyday when I will myself out of bed, putting all of me into the one action, knowing once I get going I wont allow myself to go back to bed. My pride is all that pushes me one I move, music is a life-raft for me as I paint my face. Trying to hide the bruies on my face that appear after another endless night of sleep.

Wehnever I go to sleep I hurt myself, in everyway possible. Sometimes I wonder if I might die as i lay myself to sleep. That thought comforts me, knowing it could so easily happen. The barrier between life in death, so delicate, so final, so appealing some nights.