Her scent on the pillow, it drives me wild. I want to fall asleep to it, nuzzle up next to it and drift away, dreaming of rainbows and cupcakes and running through the sprinklers on a hot summer day in July but it’s gone. It’s like she was never here. The beer cans by the chair? Cleared up. The pretzels on the floor? Scooped up. I have this eerie feeling that the end is near. It’s coming. Her part in my story might be wrapping up but I still have more to write for her, storylines I want her character to go through with me, the unreliable narrator. Scenes that are supposed to play out, at midnight on the edge of the beach, in the sand writing messages to aliens, tired but pushing on to make it to sunrise. I want to make it to that sunrise but I’m afraid I’m staring at a sunset with darks times in front of me. A sunset that covers her in darkness and clouds her from my sight, I'm unable to see her and she won't remember me. We'll just be foggy memories to eachother, ships on opposite sides of the world searching for eachother but going the wrong way. I'm always going the wrong way.

Sitting in the shower, letting the water hit me where it hurts, my body looks like a sound wave on its side, a rippling mess of mass. I’m warm, the water is too but that’s not it, my blood feels slow, like molasses, I feel weighed down but I’m doing it to myself, I’m the one sitting in the bathtub letting the water hit me. It’s my hand on the trigger. It’s my hands around my neck. I’m a difficult person. I don’t make small talk, and I’m perfectly happy being a room with someone, someone I don’t know very well and thus could open them up and read them like a book, maybe just the first chapter, hell, maybe even just the first page, but I don’t. I’m perfectly happy not knowing them. I don’t care about what their book is about, I’ve decided I’m not gonna buy it. I’m not even in the bookstore. I’m in the car, in the parking lot across the street, inside a box, inside of a bubble, with headphones on, blindfolded. Out of the shower, take a proper amount of NyQuil so that I can fall asleep and stop being so warm, so weighed down. In dreams I'll be lighter than air. Maybe I’ll sleep naked? No, that’s fucking stupid. I’m definitely leaving the window open though, so that I can hear the midnight howl the soundtrack to my thoughts alone, in the dark.

How many times have I realized that I'm not in love with that person, I'm just in love with being in love with that person?

I took an acid bath. I washed the skin from my bones and got down to the core, what really matters most. I don’t talk about this, I don’t talk about that, I just talk about fantasy, sometimes. Sometimes I wish my dreams lasted longer and I didn’t have to get up. It’s not helpful, it’s not healthy, it’s normal, at least I think. It’s hard to be strong, on the inside. I’m like a cardboard box trying to be a chair; it’s not what I’m made for. But I can begin again, I can be recycled. I’ll be given a new job, a new purpose, a new chance.

I can't let go of the past because there's nothing in the present to hold onto. Just moving through doorways and dragging my feet across the pavement. Eyes closed. This is no future.

Little festering wounds itching his skin. He takes the pain away, one by one. We are monsters in the night. We are devilish ghouls. We bring fear.

The sun dips down and settles behind clouds painted harshly against the skyline. I close my eyes and let the smell of freedom burst through my nose. I hold onto you tightly, you breath deeply and squeeze back, softly. Leaves blow across the road like confetti in the wind. We're in the car looking for a new place to drive. You're so charming. Smiling. Laughing. Playful. You push my hair aside and I love it. Engine droning, throbbing along with your beating heart, we stop at a red light and three imaginary boys run through the crosswalk. We pull up beside a glass office building and in it's reflection we look at each other and nod, slowly, then drive away. So, where were we going?

I fell asleep on your shoulder. Funny, shouldn't it be the other way around? Your underwear has pink flowers on it. You're beautiful. The stuffed animals are a nice touch though I feel pressure from them. Performing in front of an audience is always tough. Another "goodnight" dissolves into a "good morning".

My book is bleak. It's a first-person tale told in one night of chaos, darkness, reflection and sin. It has no romance but it has sex. It has no characters that make right decisions but it has characters that have regrets. It's reality. It's about the emptiness inside us and the things we try to fill it with. At least that's what I want it to be about. What's your book about?

You know that feeling you get when you're happy? You notice the way the bathroom tile feels against your bare feet. You drag them against the floor, unafraid of the hair and sickness that gets trapped down there beneath your soles. Your teeth get whiter, your reflection in the mirror doesn't seem that bad at all. Your brain is firing on all its cylinders. You stop thinking logically and it's good. You notice the magic inside. The buzz of the soul. There's nothing inside you but your soul, and it feels goooodddd. Then the sink gurgles and the water slips down the drain. But don't worry, it's not a sad ending. It's not an ending at all, it's never ending. This is your life and it gets better one day at a time.

Paths down the rabbit hole lead me towards something inevitable. I could turn away, I could turn around to see you there, with a complicated face, standing behind me pushing me away. I want to run to you. I want you to tell me the simple answers, but I can't. There is power at work. I'll venture off into the mysterious making sure to never lose sight of that lamp post. I've got a path to stay on. I've got a purpose. I march to the beat of the drum, the magic of the night, the dreams in my sleep, tonight, tomorrow and forever after.

The screech of tires set me free from silence and spark a chain of thoughts. Sunset in the parking lot, I want to see the moon come up. Another sip of the bottle, another puff of smoke, I check my teeth in the mirror, yellow, goddamnit. I'm starving. A knock at the window, a women with bags, she has a cardboard sign. I bet she's starving too. Where am I? Some shopping center in Brea? I see a 30 minute photo. I see a nail salon. I see a karate studio. Are they called studios? Parents still make their kids practice karate? I think my questions stop there. Building up inside of me is some kind of energy, pulsating through my body, jiggling my bones, moving my flesh. If only my brain knew how much my body wanted to leave. Decades will pass and I won't move. But that's impossible, this seat lacks comfortability. It's given me a pain in my neck. I should get some sleep, it'll be a long night. A night I'm certain will carry rejection, embarrassment and tomfoolery, in reverse order. If only I could dream of something better, but the emptiness inside prevents me from dreaming anything at all.

I don't want to see myself as other people may see me. I don't want my identity to be purely conceived from what I think society says I should be. I don't want these things to happen, but they do, and in turn I'm stuck with what I've got. And what I've got is not me. A lot of times I don't feel normal but I know that's how everyone feels and it useless to whine about it. Still, I feel on the outside. I'm really in a battle against myself. An 'I against I' scenario. I need to better myself, take chances and seize the day but I'm afraid and I'm stubborn. I'm afraid on the one hand I won't do the things I need to do until I'm pushed so close to the edge that I'll take that leap out of desperation and rebellion, screaming "fuck you life. Fine I'll just plow through these things with force and hate." And on the other hand I'm afraid that I NEED to get to that edge to WAKE UP and realize how fast my life is passing me by. But what is that edge? And is there another way to get what I want without having to come those extremes and eventually giving up and taking what wants me? That's scary. I make excuses all the time and I fall back too much on destiny and fate. "It'll all happen eventually, just give it some time." It won't happen until I MAKE it happen. Maybe I'm jaded or bitter because of those times where I stuck my foot in the water and the water was too cold or the sharks were too visible and now I'm sitting on the deck chair looking at everyone having so much fun in the pool on a hot summer day in the middle of July while I sit in my snow globe in the dead of winter. I need to smash the glass, cut my feet and dive in. I need to win.

I try to write about my feelings on here. No such luck. I try to write something real, something that is happening to me but instead I just keep pretending. I just keep writing about somebody else, somewhere else. I'm smothering myself in fiction. There are things I want to talk about and things I should be talking about that I could only do here. I don't think I'd be able to do it in person. You know, because to talk to you, well I couldn't bare for you to see my face all cut up and torn with feelings.

I'm dreaming, and in my dream I feel alive. I feel newborn. Clean slate. Swept of all the guck. I've got all the clues in hand, the puzzle on my mind, and the time to finish it. So finish it.

Transparent eyes, you've got a pair. I can see inside your head. I can see the wheels turning and the act unfolding. I'm the kid in the darkness staring you down. Your skin is glowing, a neon green color bouncing off your body from the television set. Standing outside I'm mesmerized by your crooked jack-o'-lantern smile flashing at me from behind the screen door. "Keir," you call out. I don't respond. Again you flash a smile. You know the game we're playing. "Keir, is that you out there? Am I gonna have to come out there and find you?" You speak with a befitting southern belle accent attached to your voice. You are a damsel in distress. "Well alright then." You finish stepping outside, slamming the screen behind you. You've got some nerve. I'd like to see everyone of them. Barefoot, tiptoeing through the dirt your feet crunch and squish through the soil. Closer now, you're getting closer now. Eyes of a cat, watchful and sinister, I move. I move to where you cannot see me. You see nothing of me. Trees and trees, rows of pines are all you see. No rustling leaves, no broken branch, you begin to doubt my existence. Behind you now, hand over your mouth, "It's all an illusion," I whisper. The rag covers your mouth, your eyes slide back, your posture relaxes. "Dream a little dream of me," softly spoken like a lullaby. *************************************** And a quick side note, I've been writing a lot lately. I just haven't been blogging it because A)I'm...lazy; and B)Sitdiary has been looking really frackin' weird for the past two months. It's very unsettling.

Twinkling starry skies on the west coast. Laying low beside the pool. Becca's in the deep end. She's going deeper. Someone needs to save her. Someone strong, brave and a real good person but it's not me. The headphones keep me drifting. They whisper "nahnahnahnahnahnah" sweetly into my ears. Me head plays over the day. Antique shopping malls, coffee at noon, we both wish we just had more time. Holding your hands, letting go, chasing you around the hotel. What's to come? "A lot of bad stuff," you once told me. But I'm not ready to open my eyes just yet. In dreams begin responsibilities. You diving off the diving board is a wonderful sight. Morning comes soon after.

I was at Rebecca's house, but it's more of an apartment. She's got a cat, Damien or something, that likes to claw at me when I come over but I don't mind. We put him out on the windowsill when we crawl into the bedroom. Always at night, always making moves in the dark. She will never fall in love with me. And I will never care. And I stroke her hair, dark and wet, as she lays across the bed wrapped in a towel. Flies gather on the leftover plate of food I can't stomach to finish as my lip twitches, then again, but she's seen it happen before and cradles my face with her shriveled hands smiling at me dripping water down my cheek. She kisses me rather quickly and sits up on the bed dropping her towel and opening the drawer next to the bed. Laying back down, trying in vain to muster up some voice in my head, one of reason and clarity that will help me out of this mess but all I can come up with are careless whispers.

I wonder what she underlines in that book of hers?

The love blisters I make,they sure do glow underneath the light your bedroom lamp let's us borrow. I'm so sorry that I waited this long to kiss your neck, to kiss your head. Now everything is easy. Without effort or force. I can just wander around the room and I seem to always spin back to you. Grey sheets and your white pillows and your white dress. Your blonde hair. Your freckles at your feet. The shades parted, the time unknown, the sun looks right on your face. I'm scared you're going to underestimate yourself and never leave me behind. You must. You need to give to the world. And when you're done I'll be there, shades of pink, and feeling so wrapped up in your presence. Fuck this if this is so stupid and what have you but it's right to me. It's all for me. It's all for you. Come on, let's you and me get out of here. Let's break those expectations and bury the opposition and move to Arizona. I'll meet you in Arizona underneath the orange canopy on the patio outside of the The Pet Saddle.