Two knives

Dear blog.
I don't rememer how long it has been since we last spoke. Hours, days, weeks, months, years... A decade? It's all the same once you realize time is only a human concept. Are we human? Then time belongs to us.
We own time. Were in time. A swirling vortex.

It's been interesting, were fixing the place up, sweeping out the glass... It'll be nice one day. The more people who flock there, the more it feels like home. But the one I trust leaves soon. I hope he finds his way back home to us.

Laying in his lap, arms pinned back, covered in blood. How sick and twisted we are, flirting with our insides. But it was beautiful, even amongst the running red and the taunts of those around us, mocking, hating. I wanted to cover them all in blood, but this was mine, this was my moment.

I'm tired of the mixed up people who somehow find there way to what was once a second home. I'm tired of the people I once called friends. I'm tired of everything, blood weak, bruised skin, chronic fatigue and this blistering heat raining down on my dying body. Frustrated, bored and very unwell.

When you lose everything, you figure out you never really wanted it in the first place. But then, you feel you need something. Health, loyalty, protection and love, the kind of love that doesn't involve sex, commitment and heartbreak. A little attention, and a few drops of concern.

A mystery to you is only a mystery to me. If I knew, I'd surely tell you. Ah, a little respect, maybe. A little understanding, perhaps. Am I going soft? Am I so different from the girl I once was or was I always this way? Either way, its getting to me more and more everyday.

There are two knives, one in each hand. One of them will kill, the other will not even pentetrate the flesh. How do I know which one to thrust into your chest, and which to thrust in to mine? I'm having trouble deciding which is better. Yours or mine. Death is the only freedom, my dear, I hope to fuck you understand that I plan to set you free.

I know all the dangers, I know where they are, but Im blind and it's going to take some getting used to. I can't see the things I recognize. I can't make sense of anything, holding on to something, thinking it's one thing and then figuring out it really wasn't what I thought it was at all. I'll get it one day.

I want to collapse my mind. Bring me drugs that will make my head explode. I want to talk to the wallpaper, and try and explain to you that you're a part of it, and I'm just trying to get through to you in a different way. What is communication? The purple flowers are so inviting, stretching fingers over the soft patterns, reaching for the highest one, even though they're all exactly the same. But I so need the one thats up there, why can't I touch it?

Back to my hunting teeth, looking for a place to sink in to, beautiful, golden, young flesh. Filthy blood, smeared everywhere. I want so much what I know I dont want. Oh, the statement. "I don't know what I want". I've gotten to the point of not caring, as long as I have something. As of current, I'm still searching for a puzzle peice, but oh, without sight, it's pointless.

The highest building can't help me now. I'm not really here, you know. I've been gone for what seems like forever. I don't think I want to come back. I'm hurting myself... Not with a blade, a flame or a fist, but with a mind so furious....

I don't want help. That takes the fun out of everything. I just want company. I want people to make up their minds, even if I cant do it for myself. It's horrible, make a decision and realize it was the wrong street. Too late, you've gone to far now, and you're lost, you don't know how to get back to the start.

Wash my mind, cleanse my mind, fuck my mind, break my mind, destroy my mind, find my mind, build my mind, discover my mind, lose my mind, kill my mind.

"What came first, the chicken or the egg?"

Story of my life.