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Cat Nap

My cat doesn't want me
to hold him at night anymore,
when we sleep.

I am getting insecure. lol.

He creeps up and sniffs my face.
then curls on his side to sleep next to me.
And usually I put my arm around him,
or pet him till I or he falls asleep

Nowadays, if i so much
as put a finger on him,
first he tries to push my hand off
with his back legs, and if that don't work,
he gets up and moves to the foot of the bed in a huff.

And if he is really annoyed,
he just jumps off the bed
and goes and sleeps on the couch. =(

Oh, but when it gets nearer to dawn,
he comes creeping back
and starts to squeeze himself between my arms,
or wrap himself around my head
or lays on my stomach, or side, or back
(depending on how I'm laying)
or just try to sleep as close to me as he can.

Why are cats like that eh?
When you need someone to hold on too,
to cuddle, to help you sleep,
they don't wanna go anywhere near you.
But when you are sleeping,
thats when they start to disturb you
and try to squeeze out every ounce of patience in you.

Did I

Did I tell you, that I used to believe in wishing?

That one day I will be granted three wishes
and I used to think to myself,
what would I wish for?
Money? Happiness? Love?

I would go around asking people I knew,
what would you wish for if you had three wishes?

When I was a kid, I believed in fairies.
When I grew into a teenager,
I believed in the stars.
I would sit in the back yard and stare at the stars.
I would wish and wish with all my heart
for all the things that I thought I wanted.

I had a little ritual.
I would start with that little nursery ryhme
that I learnt as a kid...

Star bright star light first star I see tonight...
I wish I may, I wish I might...

The stars would twinkle
and I would feel peace.
And hope.

What did I wish for?
So many things.
So many desires.
So many wants.
Most of all I wished for happiness.
Happiness forever, for the rest of my life.
To never feel sadness. To never cry. And to be loved.
So loved that the minute I withhold my love,
those who had a taste of it would crumple up and die.

Did I tell you that I used to believe in miracles?

I did. I believed that one day
a miracle would happen
and all that I wished for
would come true
that one day I would get outa 'here'
and live that perfect miraculous life
that I've always dreamt of.

I held on to that belief even as I grew
into the adult that I am now.
I always had that little light in my heart to guide me.
That will help me through
whatever dark moments I may be going through,
so that when I awake, I will be fine,
still with hope, still looking out for the future.

I wonder what happened. I wonder alot.
A lot of things seem to be out of my control
- even things happening in my own life.
And I end up wondering.

Wonder wonder wonder.
What's the point.

The light isnt't there anymore.

I don't believe in anything.

I used to care about things.
About life. Life after death.
About angels, demons, the good and the bad.
I used to be afraid. I used to feel guilty.
I used to feel satisfaction.

I don't care anymore.
I still believe in God
but I just don't feel
what I should be feeling.

What should I be feeling?

I'm sick of the anger.
The hurt. The pain.
I am fucking sick of it
and I want it to end.
I want to go up to Fate
and slap him and tell him
to stop fucking with me.
Stop messing with me
and just leave me be.

Did I tell you, that I had a wall?

That I so successfully built.
And now it's gone and I am vulnerable again.
Why is it that when you try to keep yourself
away from whatever it is that would hurt you,
something comes along and tries to get inside?

And when you let it in,
all it does is break you
and you are left to pick up the pieces.
Again and again and again.

I don't wanna pick it up anymore.
I don't wanna fix it.
I don't wanna care.

I want it all to end.
And no matter what anyone says,
I know that I have never asked for much.
And I know that many love to see me in pain.

So stop pretending.

Fuck it all.
I am sick of trying.

My heart hurts

Please forgive me if I am being "morbid".
That I am not always, not twenty four seven
happy, bouncy, laughing or better yet, not always bitchy.
Being bitchy is always better than being depressed isn't it?

I am one of those people who lapse
into depression time to time and I am not sorry.
Those who know me, know that.
But I find that people around me find it easier
to deal with my bitchiness than my depression.

They don't seem to know what to do
when I get that faraway look in my eyes,
that my mind seems to be flying away
to some darker place where pain feels good
and hurting outside is better than the hurt inside.
That the images in my head seem to be
more real that what is real around me.
Images that come from long ago
where words uttered bring more jolts of pain
than an accidental cut with the kitchen knife.

They don't seem to understand that
their words to pacify me will only
hurt me and them more.
That it won't help.
That the voices and sounds I am hearing
are louder than the sound of their voices.
That if you try to come close to me
then, you won't find me. I won't be there.
Just an empty shell with blank eyes and frozen lips.
And there is nothing I can do
to bring myself back when I am gone.
It's just a matter of time.
Be patient and I will be ok. Soon.

Please don't tell me to stop.
Because it is not by choice.
It overtakes me at random moments
and there's nothing there for me to do
other than go through it and wait.
At times I drown myself in alcohol
to drown out the thoughts.
And it feels better to be in
a drunken stupor on the floor
than in a painful heap with unblinking eyes
staring at the ceiling,
seeing images that are not there,
hearing voices that are not there,
feeling those that are not there
and realising much later that
the wetness on my face are my tears
and my hands are much too heavy
to move to wipe them away.
I party endlessly and drink to keep laughing
and keep the thoughts at bay.
But in the end, we all end up alone.
And then there's nothing I can do to stop it.

At times I think about death.
If it's going to be an adventure.
What if we were to die today?
I think it will be exciting.
It will be a whole new adventure.
Experience new things.
Maybe meet other dead people
who will tell me how they died
and we can laugh about it together.
Maybe meet our guardian angels
and bitch them out for not helping us more.
Maybe meet the devil
and have a tea party at his house. Ha Ha.

I wonder why it's so taboo to talk about death.
In the end, when you think about it, all of us are dying.
It's only a matter of time. Don't you think?

I will be alright. Just give me time.

I want more.

Something more.
More than this.
The waiting,
the memories,
the emails
and the promises
are not enough.

Have you ever felt that way?
When ghosts and the words are never enough?

I want more.
So much more.
I search and look for more.
But I can never get enough.
The random chats and the visits.
I want more.

But it just feels so damn wrong.
Wanting something that
you're not supposed to want.
Feeling something
you're not supposed to feel.
I want more.
That is all I know for now.

That one special moment in time
left me hungry for more.
Yet I am grasping at straws,
never knowing if
what I am feeling is mutual.
I want more.
I can't get enough.
And the hardest part
is not being able to say
what I truly feel.
I want more.
Yet I am afraid.
Afraid that when I fall
I won't be caught.
Afraid to try.
Afraid to ruin everything.
Afraid that this is just
another one of life's games.
Afraid to be the victim again.

My pride is talking.

Yet the hunger in me
is awaken again.
I want it.
I want more.
And I can't wait to feel
that raw emotion
that blinds you
when you are overcome by it.
That moment when the world stops
and the only thing that matters
is fulfilling your desires.
When sight and sound is limited
and you can only feel.

I want more.

Please catch me.
Or just let me go.

I see your true colors shining through...

its kind of funny. i cant really explain much,
but you know there are people
who do things you just cant explain,
there are people who are so fake
and so two faced that you just cant explain.
there are people who you thought were your friends,
that really are not.
there are people who you thought
were the least of your friends,
and who are more friends
then you would have ever imagined.

the past few weeks in my life
have produced some interesting situations.
it has produced some interesting propositions.
it has definitely opened my eyes up
to the ways of the people of the world.
and with every day i learn more and more...
i learn who is real. who is fake.
who wants to fuck me. and who wants to stab me.
i have found out a lot about a bunch of people, a
nd at the same time i have found out
that i knew a lot less about a lot of people,
that i thought i knew.

quite the conundrum i must say.
a bit of a quandry.
interesting and fun.
sad and happy.
angry and vengeful.

Waste Myself

I'll waste myself on strangers
so I don't have to lie there alone.
The heat of something living
to ward off the cold undead fingers
of our once bright love.

What monstrous thing has it become?
Formless, whispering and chittering in the dark,
driven insane by unbelievable circumstance.
Its words (your words) crawling over me
- a swarm of angry thoughts
that nip and bite and burrow.

The stranger mistakes my desperate grasp for lust
- in moments we are lost in one another.
A hot burst of life against the night.
For that instant I feel release and released.
For that brief moment I am alive and free.

But in the final sex-rattle,
the convergent lust-spasm,
why do I name my demon?
Why is it always your name
I scream into the dark?