But as you can see
It's better if I don't know anything.
Cause you can do it by yourself.
Just like I used to do in these days.
Been wondering of what can be.
And so you're stuck inside my memories.
Hopes Die Last - Stuck Inside My Head
I got up from the chair urgently and began to pace back and forth. Pain wrending my heart into pieces, twinges of anger igniting the surface of my brain. My skin began to tingle...all over. My body got really cold, my head got really warm. The fever engulfed me like a shield. A shroud of protection promising death. If only it were that easy...WHY!? Why is it so fucking hard to be a coward!? Why....
My breathing is irregular, and I'm shaking my head, almost twitching every couple of seconds to keep the feelings alive. Without it I slip into emotional numbness. The anger slips away, The sorrow slips away. The joy. It's the easiest thing to feel, but I don't wanna feel it. I don't want to feel it because I know I shouldn't be happy. And besides as soon as the stimulus is gone, I'm right back down to this novel baseline. This wierd state of mind.
I once went completely numb before, but this feeling is different. It's not a complete numb because it has this somber overtone, this gentle piano piece whisping into your body through your pores. Your numb but slightly sad because you'd rather feel. Any sort of feeling is better than nothing at all. At least when you feel, you know that you're alive in some way, in some form. But when you're numb, you have no idea...whether you are or not.
I wish I was in a major episode again. It feels wierd to say, but at least I could look myself in the mirror. Even if I hated what I saw. What I see. I draw my hands down my face again, gently pulling the skin down. The contact feels comforting in the wrong way. Back then...But now...I just feel worse now about not being able to do things, if that makes sense at all...Because now I'm completely liable, I'm in dysthemia now...I should be able to piece together my life. This is the highest I'm ever going to get, I should be making the most of it! But no...
Another flight of thoughts. I can do this, I know I can. It will take a long time, and I'll need a lot of people but I can do this...No I can't. I can't do anything right. And I try to deny it, and I ponder the equation endlessly, adding more and more variables until I finally give up. Because even in my mind, it's just too complicated. It just can't happen. Add it to the woodpile; throw it to the brushfire along with the bible.
I'm still waiting for the chance to burn that goddamn thing. It would be pretty cool, I think. Pretty cool...Yeah, because burning something I don't believe in is really cool...is really hardcore.
I'm pitiful. Half a man...Can't get shit done....GOD!!!!
I just want to throw the chair into the closet door or destroy it on the floor, but then those things will break. And I can't throw it in any other direction, or I'll hit the TV or my window...And so the anger subsides again. Almost instantly. Returning to this numbness.
Mimicking vocal distortions to songs, to try to make myself feel cool. I used to do it in public all the time. Just for a little attention. I wanted someone to say, hey that's really cool what you just did...But no one ever did. It doesn't matter how hard I press my voice, how much I shred my vocal chords. I'll never be cool, and I'll never be any good at it. That's just how it is. Song ideas rushing through me as the rage builds. I've been getting so angry lately, and my breathing gets desperate and ragged. And I grip my head and force mild pressure....I curl my nails right outside, just barely covering my eyes. One day I'll have the courage to claw them out. To claw yours out. I'm shaking and twitching and...god...I feel horrible.
This is when I feel creative. And it always dissipates. And I can never remember it. Never remember just what I created. And the numbness creeps back in.
I want to feel. I want to feel. I want to be in love so badly. Oh, so badly. And I'm whining and complaining like a little bitch. A man isn't supposed to be so weak, but I just can't stand anymore. I just can't bear it anymore.
How is it so easy for other people? It's so hard for me...They say just do this. It's not as easy as you think. And I try, and you just ignore me half of the time. And I'm doing the best I can.
If you try your best, if you give it a chance, you're supposed to get results. But you never do. The emo boy doesn't work. The smart boy doesn't work. The nice boy doesn't work. The average guy doesn't work. You have to have looks for any of those to work. You have to be handsome...winsome. And I'm not. I'm just not. I'm just not.
Is it dysmorphic to look in the mirror and think everything's wrong? The textbooks say it's not, so I guess it isn't....Stupid psych course.
But if I got a chance. If I got happy. Just imagine what I'd look like. If I could follow through with all of my plans. If I could be reliable. My skin would clear up. I would work out. I would bathe regularly. I would get haircuts and shave all the time. Why can't I do that now? Why is it so hard for me to just get up and do those simple things? It doesn't make sense.
I just cleaned out my room. And I hated everything in it. I through it all away. I don't want to remember my past. I want to start anew, and lie and say I was born in 2010.
I want to be free of this nightmare. I've accepted everything. I expected everything. It won't change. It just won't. But why, oh why, can't I be wrong about it? Just this once?
I want to be able to throw away my cutting tools, which are now in plain site for all the world to see...I want to feel another's skin on my skin.
I want to cut your skin off and sew it over mine, I want bathe in your blood and drink it all down, and I want to sleep with your bones every night. Or just one.
It would never bring me satisfaction. I'd always have to get another and then another and then another...Because it wouldn't be real.
God please kill me.
I was born in a house of glass and silver floors
There were so many people wearing masks
One question and the answers I ask
Any where is better than here away from you
Make me, break me, give me away
Lie to me, you lied so bad, give me away
What do you say
Just you and I
South on the five
For a couple of days
You take your car
I'll take my bag
You take the wheel
I'll gather money for gas
I was born to be given away
Make me break me give me away
Lie to me you lied so bad give me away
They told me...
A little boy who had been wearing my face
Had told me I was born to be given away
From First to Last - Afterbirth
Every day gets worse,
Locked in a vice, my thoughts perverse
You must wonder why I look at you that way
Tonight I'll make my way into your house
I must; I'm lusting for your body
Skin looks tight, think I just might have
To take a bite, but I know one will turn
To three or four or more my little whore
Tonight, tonight
She's not alone (can you taste the wicked in the room?)
Bobbysoxer so pure, so young
(By morning her soul will be gone.)
I did a beautiful thing,
Relax baby, that's a good girl
You're like my work of art
I can control, I can contort any
Position that I wish,
I make my fantasy reality
Hold still, it will be over soon
I blend with the walls so I won't be seen
My love, you smell so..
I took one good look,
And I followed you home
From First to Last - ...And We All Have a Hell
Oh, mother, is it hard to recognize me now?
Oh, mother, why can't you recognize me now?
I said my life time every things fine, but I lied
Little boy
Little man
I've lost my name
Heroine, oh Heroine
Where have you been when I needed you?
Lie to me
I lied to you...
I lied, I did
Heroine, oh Heroine
Where have you been when I needed you?
From First to Last - Heroine