Unbecoming

She has something to say but no one will hear her
So much to give but no one will have her , or...
Perhaps she gave it all away, many lifetimes ago
Desperate lies to herself,
People she never knew... never saw her
Never would, even if she wanted them to
Naive rose bud, your imagination always has been her downfall
Blossoming into a dream
Nightmarish tendencies plaguing every thought
Every action, Every aspect of who she is used to be
Because lying to herself was sweeter than facing the fact that she was lost and alone and always had been and continues to be.
And holding onto something that isn't real was easier than chasing after something so beautiful ever will be.
Second place is her fortress of silence Silence that breeds thoughts
Thoughts that weren't meant to be spoken into reality
Reality that became...
Became everything she ever wanted
Wanted, but knew she would never know
Know what it felt like to live a happy little life like the happy little people who were always boasting their joy.
Joy? What is joy.
She never knew.
She could only pretend.
She wasn't ever anything and she never would be and no matter what she tried she'd always be her, that girl she tried so hard to unbecome, that girl that held fast onto her soul all these years. That girl that killed the girl that everyone once loved.
That girl...which girl?
I, she... we? Can't say.
Never will.
We've been silenced from the start.
We've been ignored, hurt, cut, murdered
Time and time again.
Those who repeat history....
But are we truly doomed?
The downfall is beautiful
The self destruction of an insecure anti social invisible girl.
The destruction of  us?
The destruction I bring upon myself time and time and god damned time again.
The destruction behind the knowledge of a beautiful hope.
A new beginning.
The destruction of everything she ever knew.
The destruction I myself welcome.
The possibility of ...

I don't know whats wrong in my head.

I haven't truly slept in years, not that it bothers me, I couldn't sleep even if i wanted to.
 I don't need it.

My mind usually keeps me up all night with thoughts and memories, most are cheerful and "happy" but tonight my logical brain is working on overload.

I'm wondering if this is my self destructive nature. I enjoy something so I must sub-consciously push it out and hope that losing a good thing hurts less than getting hurt in the end. I've become so accustomed to doing this that it seems my mind is doing this on it's own now, but for once, I'm not deeply afraid of getting hurt. So why am I doing this to myself?

All that's going on in my head is one phrase.

FUCK UP.

You're going to fuck it up Lauren, you always do, it's the only thing you can rely on.

I hope I'm wrong.

Intersection.

Somehow I've found myself here
For possibly the first time of my life,
I want, more than I need.
I crave, and can taste
something that is just beyond my reach.

How is that that I can want
something that I've never wanted
and not want something that I want
want and not want or want and want.
And to not know what any of it means.

My logical being is at war with my emotional being.
But my brain might just have what it wants
The word satisfaction comes to mind.
Only better than satisfaction.
But admitting that,

Admitting that makes me weak.

Smoking the Ashes of Memories Long Forgotten

Every word, that needed to be said was said. The remnants of conversations past and present started to fade away.
Funny isn't it? No matter how hard we try to cleanse ourselves of the memory of each other it comes back to haunt us in every new person we meet. I call it the curse of this sad little town that I'm so desperately trying to escape.
Everything I want to say, every word, every syllable, every punctuation mark is hiding somewhere in the recesses of my disgusting mind. The mind that holds the keys to the secret of everything we could ever hope to want to know. I spent hours wasting away every vowel the world had to offer me, I filled libraries with my knowledge and watched it all burn away.
Every page, every word, every letter.... all gone with the aid of my last cigarette.
So I'll smoke the ashes, and hope she comes back again, because lonely nights of desperation without inspiration lead me to believe that everything I could ever hope to be is all just a lie and my art will never be good enough for anyone outside of this hell hole. Because we're all just so content living these lies and I do;t want to have to stay here forever because =e this worlds to big of a place to waste away in one deserted town that's deteriorating in front of our very faces.
How long will we avoid the truth, we? Them, or rather, you. How long do you want to pretend that you're happy in this mediocre place. Lets just pile one happy lie on top of the other until they all come toppling down on us, crushing the very fabric of reality as we know it, leading us to the light that is the grey sky on a rainy day in the middle of a field of sunflowers and gravestones overlooking the rest of our lives.