(no subject)

There are two ways through this and only two ways through this. One is to bleed. That is not an option. The other is to find a way to bleed internally. Fight my way to to a place where the words and obsession, passion and blood run wild, no matter how deep I may have to go.

I don't care how cliche that sounds. Call me a starving, bleeding artist. I don't care. Cliche exists because it's true.

But it requires so much effort now. I'd have to work so hard - and I'm tired.

But I have to dig there. Pick-ax's if necessary. Hatchets, scalpels, all applied to the heart, to the soul, to dig out something that feels.

It's healthier to do this with words than with skin. I can at least be comforted in that I know this.

This cannot happen tonight. The hours are too late as is. But soon. I can't stand feeling this dead inside. It's not me. It's not me and I can't not be me. I can't not write. I can't not brim over with feelings that rage along every ragged breath. I must get there.

This entry was originally posted at http://quirkytizzy.dreamwidth.org/1088188.html
Some day I feel like I'm going to come here and not find you at all. I know you are fighting your hardest to keep going, to be. I hope you succeed. I like to see you here. I don't want you to not be here.
I fucking NEED to see her here.

I don't know how it would affect me if she died, but she knows I know I'd feel it, and she knows why.
This might sound a little a strange...

For those who carry darkness within themselves, but put the cover of suppression on it, those, sooner or later, find their way to Silent Hill. Go search for Silent Hill and walk through your personal nightmare...
That's more than enough feelings for one person.
I bleed by putting on my headphones and listen to angsty music until I cry and then my interests start shifting to more comforting and then uplifting songs.