It's so hard to start.

I light up a cigarette and prepare to fail, once again, just as I have been failing for the past... 10 years maybe? This time, I sit down and start typing. Words don't exactly pour out or flow, but more like come out in a very awkward way and almost automatically. Like I'm only typing because I have fingers and words are being formed in my screen because I was taught how to write. Back in the day, there was so much to tell, so much I wanted to say. Right now, all I want to say is... I have nothing to say at all. I feel like I've been put in a liquid nitrogen capsule and left there to ease my train of thought, but for some reason they forgot about me and my brain froze and crystallized; Now I can't even think anymore. All there is, is nothing. But I guess it's what I always wanted. To anesthetize my soul to the point where nothing can touch it, nothing can break it anymore. Few days back I came across a good video that a co-worker shared on Facebook,  in which a man was talking about how we don't really want what we think we want. And that's probably the best thing I've heard this week. I wanted for so long to numb it out, to kill whatever was rotting inside me, I wanted to get rid of it and bury it so deep that it could never comeback to the surface. Because no eye on Planet Earth should see how ugly I am on the inside. I hoped and hoped for the day when I woke up free of all that was eating me inside. And I woke up like that at some point, but I just can't remember when, how, or why. I think my brains out, trying so hard to figure out how is it that one can lose all humanity and awareness of reality, and just sink in such deep denial, and actually believe that it's alright. I reduced rage to a death stare, anger to going out for a smoke, frustration to cleaning the bathroom, longing to sleeping pills, pain to a joint, loneliness to a ketamine bottle and love to an idealization of what things should be between one and another. I reduced it all to ashes, leftovers of what once was a fully functional, emotional being, able to see through things and speak out a truth that was too complicated to be spoken.

It might have been just not entirely my fault. There was her. Once upon a time, there was her. The one who got away. Who still gets away whenever I think she won't be leaving me, not this time. Even though I know there's nothing to be done, and I will never get her back, aware of the fact that I might not even want her anymore; her voice, like an angel's, it bounces from left ear to right, echoing in my head, reminding me of everything that could have been, and everything that isn't. But she alone is not enough to drive me crazy, I've been taught well by life, I'm stronger than that. There's also the rest of them, all those who left. Some looked back, only to remind themselves why they left in first place. Some others never did, because they knew for a long time it wasn't worth the bother, or because they always knew exactly why they left. Whatever they did after leaving, it doesn't really matter now, because they're long gone already and I don't seem to give a shit anymore. Which sounded really good for a while. Until you realize that it's not just that that would stop hurting. But all the other things that are supposed to hurt, just stopped hurting as well.

It's not that I want it all in life, I just didn't know this wasn't what I really wanted. And I would gladly give it back, but I'm scared that if I get rid of this as well, I will have nothing left to choose from, and I will cease to exist. Even in the emptiest of all emptiness, I can still feel precisely that. A lack of feelings. The hole in my heart is so big that, if I wanted to get rid of it, the only possible way would be to let go of my whole heart. It has been contaminated so widely, this... sickness has spread so much, that removing the black cancer that devours it would only kill it once and for all. So I hold on to whatever I have and hope to find an antidote to the poison I regurgitated myself before it's too late.

Just when I thought I had found some light in the end of the tunnel. Again, I saw what I wanted to see, not what was being shown to me. Or maybe, what was shown to me was exactly that, what I wanted to see, because you knew how to manipulate things and how to get to me and I would bid my life, you get off from doing it. And that's what I love about you, because even though we don't seem like it, we are so much the same in so many ways. And while I write this I hear a voice in the back of my head that says "maybe you just need to find your reflection in someone, anyone, and for some weird reason you are infatuated with this one person that doesn't even think of you when taking a shit".
But hey! You might be my ticket back home, and whatever obsession I have developed will eventually lead to a sick and twisted form of love, the kind of love only a damaged person can build upon, live from and deal with. So I'm gonna keep my head up and walk my way to you.

It'd be great if we do meet in the way.

Comeback maybe?

Here I am again, in front of my computer -every time I write a comeback post I'm using a different laptop- completely lost and anxious. I wanna see words flow and flow, my fingertips pressing up, down, left, right, ENTER, FRANTIC TYPING, ENTER, SPACEBAR, TYPO, BACKSPACE, TYPING, SPACEBAR, TYPING.
Fuck this shit.
What a bunch of nonsense.

You and I know that writing takes much more than that. Takes a feeling for a start. Something you wanna put down in words, something that can make little characters on a white screen dance in your head and hypnotize you. And that's what I'm lacking. A feeling. Or maybe, I'm just lacking of the right feelings. One can write about emptiness and despair, of course. But when it's due to something deep and meaningful. That's what makes pain beautiful. Where I stand right now, everything has become simply pointless. I once felt the smell of beauty in pain. I can't tell if I even feel pain anymore.

I've become all I've ever feared, but this shit ain't over.

I don't wanna know

How much you DON'T want me. So STFU.

Double Suicide.

By double suicide I mean, body and soul. By body and soul, I mean heart and mind. By heart and mind, I mean feelings and thoughts. By feelings and thoughts, I mean love, hate, pain, longing, grief, loneliness, despair, happiness, life, joy, death, suffering, sadness, YOU. By love I mean hate, by hate I mean pain, by pain I mean longing, by longing I mean grief, by grief I mean loneliness, by loneliness I mean despair, by despair I mean happiness, by happiness I mean life, by life I mean joy, by joy I mean death, by death I mean suffering, by suffering I mean sadness, by Sadness I mean YOU.
But... what does YOU mean? 
By you I mean what you make me feel. Meaning all named above. You are my reason for living and at the same time for leaving.You are my body and soul, you are my heart and my mind, you are my feelings and thoughts, you are my body and soul.
You are my double suicide...

Memories (2009)

Under the rain I walk alone, I look back and remember...
How we used to be, what we used to be, who we used to be... 
Still hurting me, like a knife in my chest, being pulled in and out with every word, with every kiss... 
And there you are, standing in front of me, crying, wondering what you did wrong... You did nothing wrong my dear, I was already rotten...

Before you go, may I ask you a question? May I ask you two questions? 
What did you see? What did you want to see?
It's there though, I am not completely faking. Not all the time. I'm not faking... I'm not. I wasn't.

One day you'll realize there's nothing left but a scar... 

I wish I could say something else than this... but...

You're playing the guitar so loud I cannot concentrate

I know what I've done (2009)

Yes, I regret it... Yes, I feel sorry about it... 
Is that what you wanted to hear? You've heard that before, haven't you? 
Does it do any good to keep repeating it? No.
Then I'll just let you go, no more words needed. I've showed you what I wanted to... or maybe I should say... all I could show.
I told you. 
You didn't listen. Nobody does.
Now I'm the one to blame. 
Yes, I'm the one to blame, I don't wanna blame anybody else, I know I can't, I know I can't. I'm the only one to blame.
Does it do any good to your heart broke to pieces? 
I knew it, it doesn't.
Don't cry over spilled milk. It's worthless. 
I feel helpless too. It's over, we both knew it... and still...

I've been there. It hurts. But wounds like this will heal...
"But one day my wounds will heal and they will become beautiful flowers..."
True. 
For you thou.
My wounds become poisonous scars over my dead body...

I'm poison. 
You were warned, but how could I trust that? You didn't listen... You never listen, why would you listen to me?

Who is me? Who am I?

The name is... "Warumono"

Warumono Kurenai.