tents secretary i wade through life like fighting a current, wrestling underwater, slowly inhaling the life of the sea, my lungs seethe with life that is not mine, slowly taking it, to purge this life takes force and will neither of which i poses nor choose to wield. i think i enjoy this sinking feeling, everyone takes credit for tearing me down, feeding their feeble egos thinking they have so much influence. i don't care about them. write your words, sing your songs, spit out the poisonous taste of me on your tongue. i washed you all away long ago. and what about the one who said she'd give it all for you the outward smile and the inward cringe. it was not as easy as you think. is she left with the memories of what didn't even seem right at the time? the flickering images of an uncomfortable existance. i was shortchanged. she got rejection. i got a life time of memories I cannot return to one who might appreciate them more. she looks back in nostalgia, while I with eyes squeezing out tears of regret. "all this shit about you and me/ and memories/ and the way it used to be" I know she'll never get it. you don't know who i am. smiling, laughing, i jump and dance for everyone but myself i find joy in the joy of other and disdain in the eyes of those who take my antics at face value i don't do this because i am stupid, ignorant or tactless. i put on a smile because i love my friends and family and want to see them happy. This is a mask i wear to save myself from those who mock and tear and rip pulling at the very fiber of my being. i will not give in. you don't know who i am, but i know all of you. their are no layers to conceal deep thoughts, just surface area and mindless frivolity. i know you, do you, me? i don't pretend to know myself. i am full of holes and ever-shifting waves of emotion. in this, and ways other, i'm not unique. i think i am incomplete. i am full of so many forgotten lives. how i remember living one so much richer than this. my body is a shell, and my insides sizzle and hiss as they melt away. in that "Sylvia Plath" sense of the word we are all dying, jack says in my head. mine is a death of the heart. i have not loved and i have not lost. i have no heart to lose but my own and i take up my task with able ferocity. why is summer so much like purgatory. i can see the brilliant life of a future that may not be mine. i feel the anger and searing heat of the past rise within me like a scream trapped in my throat, pulling me back to hell i push upward but am greeted by the steel bars of a cage red-hot with resentment. why is it that it is the one's we love who hurt us most. and the ones we don't that ache. life is for the living, away, above, finding love and feeling unresented.' i wish my life were an uninterrupted out of body experience. Watching yourself continue to fuck up your own existence can become tedious and dull. how is it that i still exist? though ii beats the alternatinve-- a long term solution to a short term problem-- i can't help but wonder. how do you survive your own suicide? i could honestly tell you as so much of me has committed the unforgivable sin. but i cannot find the words to tell myself. part of me believes i was never revived, and now somewhere inside my own peaked body a part of me is writhing and gaping for a breath of air that will never grace parchment cracked lips. struggle is futile, but submission is no longer an option. how do you continue to live when half of you is dying? 071203 what's it to you? who go blather from